Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ever since he was a child, Fugo had been treated more like a trophy than a person. He was gifted, that much was obvious, and not only possessed high academic intelligence but also was a musical prodigy. He knew his classmates had been jealous of him, they were never subtle when they talked behind his back about how wonderful his life must be. If he wasn’t so scared of the consequences, he would tell them all how wrong they were. But he couldn’t, it would look bad if he tried to say anything negative about his family. It’s not like anyone would believe him, anyway. They would call him a liar, and then when his parents inevitably found out he would get into trouble for trying to give the Fugo family a bad reputation. Everything was about numbers and reputations and appearances, and due to Fugo’s natural gifts his parents needed him to be the face of the family’s next generation. Meaning, he wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, no matter how small.

Whenever he was at a piano recital his parents could tell if he was even the slightest bit off, and the drive home would either be a giant lecture or unsettling silence. If he got any test grades below a 95, words like “embarrassing”, “disgraceful”, and “lazy” would be thrown his way, and he would be forced to spend the next week practically locked in his room after class so he could study. If he cried during or after an argument with his family, his mother would give him a mocking frown and ask him, “oh, why are you crying, Pannacotta? If anyone should be crying, it’s me! How do you think I feel? Imagine if anybody saw you like this, you should feel ashamed for making everything all about yourself.”

Each time Fugo found himself in these situations, he felt something that he could only describe as some sort of monster grow inside of him. It was ugly and it was blinding, and the intensity of the anger he felt terrified him down to his core. Sometimes his father would scold him over getting an A- on a test, and Fugo would become consumed by thoughts of how he wished he could take that test paper and make the tall man in front of him choke on it until he passed out. When his brothers tormented him whenever his parents weren’t paying attention, Fugo would sit there and just take it while fantasizing about what household items would be best to hit them over the head with.

One time when he was ten years old, he was sent to his room without dinner again for messing up a note in his recital, and he almost lost control over himself. He sneaked out of his room, blinded by this sudden, uncontrollable anger, and fiddled with a small pocketknife he owned. His parents were tired and watching tv in the living room, so they didn’t even hear him coming. It was the perfect situation, not that Fugo had planned for things to go this way. In fact, he hadn’t planned anything at all. For the first time there wasn’t a single thought running through his head – there was only rage. He got the knife out and went to raise it above his head, but he froze upon seeing his blurry reflection in the clean weapon. Wait. What am I doing? Am I insane? What on earth is wrong with me? His thoughts came flooding back and the anger he felt vanished, the nasty beast inside of him going dormant. Instead, a chill ran through his body, making him shake. He was crazy, he must be. He was about to attack his parents like some kind of lunatic! Yeah, maybe he hated how he was treated at home, but he didn’t want to kill anyone! He had never felt so horrified and guilt-ridden in his life, and he quickly ran to the bathroom so he wouldn’t puke on the nice hardwood floor. If anyone heard him retching then they must have ignored it, because Fugo found himself curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor alone for the rest of the night, too scared of what he might do if he left the room.

Thankfully, since then Fugo had gotten a better grasp on his anger, but his guilt still plagued him. Logically he knew he should be getting help with this problem, but his parents wouldn’t allow it. He had tried to somewhat confide in his mother about his anger issues as an adolescent, but she brushed him off and told him that he was simply overreacting. Nothing could be wrong with her son, he was fine! His father reacted in a similar way, saying that he just needed to focus on school and piano, and when he got a well-paying job then he would be happy. When his brothers overheard, they ridiculed him for trying to get everyone to pity him, and his parents pretended they couldn’t hear. Fugo hadn’t tried to confide in them since. He settled for reading books and trying to find ways on his own to overcome this ugly side of him.

While he was much better than he used to be, every now and then his anger bubbled over. Usually this happened with his family, typically around his brothers but sometimes his parents if they were arguing. He lost his filter and would yell and throw things at the wall, and once he calmed down his head would hurt, his ears would ring, and he would feel disoriented. However, even after witnessing his outbursts firsthand, his parents still wouldn’t accept that their son needed help. They just told him to get over himself and to listen to them. They knew best, and these little childish temper tantrums were embarrassing for them. Fugo knew they just didn’t want any of their rich friends to catch wind that their son had to go to something as horrible as therapy, and he had to take deep breaths to quell the angry beast threatening to take control again.

Lately, their arguments had been over college and careers. Fugo was at the top of his class on a pre-law track, and over the summer he was going to go on an internship across the country. Once he graduated, he would go to law school and become a lawyer, then he’d make a shit-ton of money, marry some rich girl, and have a bunch of kids to continue the family name. That’s how it was going to go, Fugo had no say. He hadn’t cared about the career part when he was younger, honestly. He cared more about the “marrying some rich girl and having a bunch of kids” part because honestly nothing about that sounded appealing. At all. But now that he was actually studying law, he found that he hated that, too. He didn’t hate the material itself – he was indifferent towards it – but studying law made him despise his parents even more. Whenever his parents spoke about his future, they were excited, their eyes would gleam, and they almost looked proud. But when they actually looked at Fugo, they stared at him with apprehension and disappointment. It made him furious. I’m the one doing all of the work, why can’t they just look at me like they care? I don’t even want to be a lawyer! I would rather study art history, or sociology, or English literature, or literally almost anything else! This is so stupid! These anger-fueled thoughts fought with the side of him that lived in fear of his parents and of what they would do if he went against him. After all, they raised him, fed him, sheltered him, and had been paying for his education for years. He had absolutely no right to disrespect them, yet his anger would still win more often than not.

Over and over they argued, and it never once went in Fugo’s favor. He was punished for speaking out against them, but life would continue as normal the next day. Well, sometimes they would give him a cold shoulder, and sometimes they would threaten to stop paying for his education, but once he apologized and asked for their forgiveness everything would be okay again.

Except for now, apparently. Fugo’s parents had been at their wits end with his “attitude”, and instead of doing the logical thing and getting him help, they decided to punish him more. After their most recent argument where Fugo finally admitted that he didn’t even want to study law, they decided to push back his internship until the following summer and teach him a “proper lesson”. Now Fugo was on his way to this place called the Bucciarati Family Farm. He barely had had time to get info on the place before his bags were being packed and his driver was whisking him away from his house. His brothers sneakily laughed at him the whole time he was leaving, and since he was feeling spiteful he spit on one of their shoes as he walked by. Fuck them, fuck everyone here.

The farm was about two and a half hours away from his hometown, and they had to drive through one of the bigger cities in the state to get there. For most of the drive he and his driver sat in silence, but that mostly was because his parents must have told his driver not to answer any of Fugo’s questions. All Fugo knew is that he was going to work on the farm for the summer so he could understand that he should be grateful for the opportunity to have a career as good as being a lawyer. Besides that bit of information, the blond was completely in the dark. Would he be stuck with a bunch of hillbillies or something? Would he have to sleep in some tiny room with a bunch of other people and no air ventilation? Would the house be old and rundown? Would he be forced to actually butcher a chicken or something? He might die if he had to do that, that sounded utterly horrible. What if this Bucciarati person was a hardass who forced him to work in the hot summer weather until he dropped dead? Was he even getting paid for this or did this count as volunteer work? God, this is stupid. How was he expected to work full-time on a farm when he had no prior experience? He hoped whoever was in charge didn’t have high expectations, because he didn’t know the first thing about farm life. Why would he? He had only even been to a farmer’s market once, and even then he did something stupid that got him in trouble with his parents and they never went back to one. So why were they sending him to a farm, of all places?

Fugo was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice how close they were to the destination until he caught sight of a sign reading “Bucciarati Family Farm, 1 mi”. It didn’t take long for his driver to turn onto the street, and Fugo could feel dread building up inside of him as the large homestead came into view. He was surprised the farm seemed to be in a normal, suburban neighborhood and not in the middle of nowhere like he had expected. It didn’t make him feel any better but hey, at least he probably would have some cell phone reception out here.

I’m sure they aren’t literally expecting me to stay here all summer, they must be trying to scare me or something. I’ll be here for one month tops and then they’ll come and pick me up. I have too many things to do this summer; I have to practice piano and keep up on my studying, I doubt they’d really want me to fall a whole summer behind, he reasoned in his head, staring pointedly away from the farm until they pulled up right in front of it. As much as he hated his own house, he definitely did not want to be stuck here of all places until the end of August.

They were parked in front of what looked to be a little store. Flowers were organized along the sides and there were tables where fresh fruits and vegetables were for sale. Two wide doors were held open by painted rocks, so Fugo was able to look inside and see that there were shelves and refrigerators storing things from baked goods to dairy products, though it was too far away to see them in much detail. Some guy with a weird bob cut was sitting behind the cash register while another, shorter person with an orange headband was helping out a customer outside, and both of them turned their heads towards the car when it stopped. Bob-Cut-Guy said something to Headband-Guy and then came out from behind the register, making his way towards their car with a smile. He looked… slightly familiar, but it was hard to place where exactly he might have seen him before.

Fugo’s driver stepped out of the car and the two of them exchanged some polite words, and then Fugo’s door was opened and he was allowed to step out. Already the blonde could tell that he was going to have a problem, the air smelled weird and it was far too hot out, and he was expected to work in these conditions? Just the thought made Fugo want to gag, but as long as he didn’t have to take care of the dirty animals he probably could manage. Probably.

“You must be Pannacotta Fugo, right?” Bob-Cut-Guy asked, putting his hand out for him to shake. Fugo internally cringed at hearing his full name; he had to correct that before these people started calling him something stupid.

“Don’t call me that. I just go by Fugo," he replied, keeping his words short and stiff. Fugo knew he sounded rude; he could see the sharp look his driver was giving him. In the distance he noticed that Headband-Guy was making a face at them and it took all of his power to not make an angry face back. After all, he had to maintain some level of politeness right now. At least he had to try, who knew how long he would last before his anger reared its ugly head and messed everything up.

Bob-Cut-Guy, however, didn’t seem put off in the least and kept his hand out. “I’ll keep that in mind. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fugo. I’m Bruno Bucciarati, my father owns the farm but I’m the one you’ll be working with mostly. The building next door is the house you’ll be staying in with me and a few of the other workers. We already have a room set up for you and we can help you move your bags over there now if you’d like.”

Fugo listened to the explanation and finally shook his hand, knowing that his parents most likely would hear about it from his driver if he continued to refuse. His eyes followed the direction Mr. Bucciarati’s other hand was pointing in and looked the house up and down. It honestly didn’t look too bad; it was a lot bigger than he had imagined. How many people lived there though? What exactly counted as ‘a few’?

“I won’t have to share my bedroom with anybody else, right?” he found himself asking before he could even finish the thought in his head. He stared Mr. Bucciarati in the eye and still couldn’t find any trace of annoyance in them. The man just chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

“No, you’ll have a room all to yourself. I figured you wouldn’t want to room with strangers, after all,” he said as he walked towards the car, and Fugo watched as his driver helped him take some of the luggage out of the trunk. Then, Mr. Bucciarati turned back towards the store, and cupped a hand next to his mouth.

“Narancia! Come here and help wi-“ he paused, a confused expression forming when he saw that there was no one working the storefront anymore. There was, however, a blond guy walking out of the greenhouse on the other side of the store. He wore blue overalls and had the strangest curls in the front of his hair. Since he was the only other one around, Mr. Bucciarati decided to call out to him instead. “Giorno! Can you tell Narancia to stop running away and to help me like he knows he’s supposed to be doing? I know he ran in the greenhouse!”

Giorno seemed to be slightly conflicted despite keeping his expression generally neutral, his eyes flickering from Mr. Bucciarati to the greenhouse a few times. He made up his mind quickly, though, and silently nodded before calling for the other guy to come out.

Fugo could hear a small ruckus from inside the greenhouse before the short guy from earlier popped his head out and glared at Giorno. “Dude, not cool! I told you not to tell Bruno where I was!” he huffed, a pout forming. “Whatever happened to listening to your elders?”

Giorno frowned slightly at his coworker, taking into consideration what he was just told before looking over at Mr. Bucciarati and replying with, “Well, Bruno is older than you. So, I am listening to my elders, as should you.” He then ignored whatever was said back to him and retreated back inside the greenhouse. He hadn’t even given Fugo a single glance during that whole interaction. He must not be the type to talk to strangers, which Fugo could appreciate. He’d actually quite like if none of them spoke to him at all so he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone until he could go home.

A sigh was heard from beside him, and Fugo saw Mr. Bucciarati pinch the bridge of his nose before waving the guy over towards them. Headband-Guy (Narancia, was it?) groaned in annoyance, but still jogged over without any further complaints. His hair was messy and would probably fully cover his eyes if not for the tied headband, and he was a few inches shorter than Fugo. His eyes scanned him over more than once, and Fugo just raised an unimpressed eyebrow back, already feeling annoyed.

“Narancia, this is Fugo. He’s the new worker who I told you would be staying with us this summer, remember?” Mr. Bucciarati introduced, gesturing at Fugo. He and Narancia shared a brief look, and Narancia wiped his hands on his black t-shirt. He then looked at him with a wide, toothy smile and held a hand out for him to shake. Fugo took one look at it and immediately recoiled away, giving him a little sneer without meaning to.

While Fugo may have shook Mr. Bucciarati’s hand, there was absolutely no way he was going to even think about touching this guy’s hand. Even though he wiped it, it was still filthy with what was hopefully dirt stuck under his fingernails, and there were multiple jagged scars not only on his palm but also crawling up his tanned arm. A bandage was in the spot between his thumb and pointer finger but even that looked like it had dirt on it. Seriously, if you have a cut you can’t just let dirt get into it, that’s a bad infection waiting to happen!

Fugo hadn’t realized that he spoke his thought out loud until he saw Narancia snatch his hand back and hold it close to his chest, giving a weary glance towards Mr. Bucciarati, who only looked surprised for a moment. “Um, Narancia, why don’t you get the hose from Giorno and clean off your hands, and then come back and help bring these bags inside, okay?” Mr. Bucciarati spoke in a calm tone, which seemed to help Narancia look a little more relaxed.

Once the dark-haired boy had run off again, Mr. Bucciarati sighed and turned to Fugo, the smallest frown on his face. “… Fugo, I would appreciate if you could keep those thoughts to yourself,” is all he said, and he didn’t quite sound angry but there was some underlying tone that made Fugo feel just a little bit guilty. It didn’t matter though; it wasn’t like he would be here for very long.

They stood there in silence until Narancia returned with much cleaner hands and a fresh bandage. Fugo thought he would immediately go for the luggage but was surprised when the shorter guy’s hand shot out in front of him once more, still waiting for a handshake. “Better now, princess?” Narancia quipped, his facial expression stuck somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Fugo saw red.

He roughly grabbed Narancia’s hand and squeezed as hard as he could. If he wanted a handshake, he’ll give him a handshake. “Excuse you, I am not a damn princess, you idiot! I’m so sorry I didn’t want to shake your dirty, FILTHY hand!” He knew he was being loud and downright mean as he roughly shook the tanned arm up and down, and distantly he could hear Narancia yelp from the pain and Bruno tell him to let go, but he was just so furious that he couldn’t stop himself. He squeezed harder and harder, and the reasonable part of his brain that hadn’t been swallowed by his rage wondered if he should let go so he didn’t break this guy’s hand. That thought, too, got eaten.

All of a sudden, he felt the hand squeeze back, and it was so tight that his rage dissipated enough for him to actually see Narancia’s face. It was contorted in anger, and they locked eyes for a short moment before Fugo felt his hand get squeezed to the point that he began to worry that now it was his own hand that was about to break. “What the hell!? What is your goddamn problem, you asshole???” Narancia’s voice was loud and grating on Fugo’s ears, and Fugo couldn’t do anything besides glare back. He started to squeeze again, feeling his anger building up at an alarming rate once more, but then his hand was being yanked away from Narancia’s and he stumbled back a few steps. He all of a sudden felt a bit dazed, and when he focused his eyes he saw Mr. Bucciarati glaring at both of them, his mouth moving. He must be yelling at them, but Fugo hadn’t been able to hear it over the pounding in his ears.

He shook his head to try to get the ache to go away, and when he opened his eyes again Mr. Bucciarati was staring directly at him, is expression completely unreadable. “-and do you understand, Fugo?”

Shit. “Yes, I understand. I truly apologize, I don’t know what came over me,” Fugo responded robotically, barely missing a beat. Asking for anyone to repeat themselves was rude, and now that he wasn’t clouded by anger Fugo could feel shame festering inside him. How could I have lost control like that? I’m better than that. I need to be better. He repeated that last thought over and over as he looked back and forth between the two people in front of him, trying to figure out what was said when he wasn’t paying attention. Narancia was beside Mr. Bucciarati, and he muttered something that to Fugo sounded like “rich priss,” but snapped his mouth shut and looked away when he noticed he was being watched.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence and Fugo felt as though he was missing some key information, but after about a half minute Mr. Bucciarati gave a pointed look to the shorter boy beside him and cleared his throat.

“Ohhh, right,” Narancia rolled his eyes and gave Fugo a long look as he stepped forward. “I’m sorry that you have the temper of a toddler and don’t know how to handle someone teasing you. Okay? Awesome. We’re done with this.” He waved his bandaged hand around as he spoke, walking right past everyone with a laugh to collect some of the luggage from the ground. Mr. Bucciarati suddenly looked very, very tired, and Fugo felt his own eye twitch in anger. Thankfully he was able to keep that monster in his head down, and instead settled for glaring at Narancia as he turned around. He was shocked to see that the black-haired boy was able to carry most of it at once, but Fugo made sure to snatch the backpack that had his laptop and other valuable items. Who knew if there was a place around here where he could get his things fixed if this guy dropped it all?

With a nod towards the house, Narancia began to walk away, grinning when Mr. Bucciarati gave him another look. He stopped a few steps away from the door, looking behind him. “C’mon, you wanna see your room or what? I need you to open this door anyway, so hurry it up!” he called out, and Fugo’s feet were spurred into motion. Mr. Bucciarati was still looking at him oddly, and he would rather follow this annoying brat into his house than stand under the taller man’s gaze any longer.

“Alright, it’s time for a mini house tour! So, there are five bedrooms in the house,” Narancia began once they were both inside, not sounding at all like he had just yelled at him not even two minutes ago. Fugo felt like he was getting whiplash from the change in this guy’s mood. “My room is in the attic, Bruno’s room is down the hall next to the bathroom, Giorno’s room is next to the living room, and then there are two guest bedrooms. Yours is going to be the one directly across from Giorno's because it’s a little bigger and you seem like the type to care about that stuff,” he explained, nodding towards each door before stopping in front of the one meant for him. It sounded like he was making a jab at him, but Fugo couldn’t tell if it was friendly teasing or not, so he made the mature decision to just ignore it.

Once the door was opened, Narancia took a few steps inside and gingerly placed everything on the floor. “So yeah! There should be enough outlets in here for you, and the bed sheets, pillows, and blanket have already been washed. The desk and the dresser shouldn’t have anything in their drawers, and the closet is empty too. The tv is also fully functioning, in case you were worried. Does that work for you? Meet your standards?” When he finished talking, he crossed his arms and waited for an answer, and Fugo still couldn’t tell if he was being passive-aggressive or if this was just how the guy talked when he made friendly conversation.

Well. Only one way to find out, right? “… What if I said no?” he asked, eyeing the boy in front of him to gauge his reaction.

Narancia just stared at him for a second and then snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Well that’d suck. Hear the barn’s roomier if you want more space! You’d hafta deal with a few roommates, though.” So apparently he was just being friendly? That was what it seemed like. Interesting.

Fugo couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips, and then all of a sudden this Narancia guy was way too close for comfort. “Wow! You actually smiled!” he practically shrieked, his bright eyes shining. “Ha! Hey, who woulda thought that you’d be kinda cute when you got that huge fucking stick outta your ass!” he teased, smiling and giggling and looking downright impish.

The remarks caused Fugo to frown again, his face redder than he wanted to admit. In their close proximity, Fugo also noticed that not only did Narancia have light freckles dotting his face, but one of his eyes was discolored, almost like it was clouding over. He had never seen anything like it before. Was that natural, or some kind of injury? “What happened to your eye?” he couldn’t help but ask, oddly transfixed by it.

Narancia’s face shifted between three different expressions of confusion, irritation, and… embarrassment? But as soon as it came it went, and he shot back with a question of his own. “What happened to your nose?”

Fugo froze for a second, immediately putting a hand over his nose to check it. “My nose?” He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He knew that his nose was longer than he would have liked, but… “Is there something wrong with it?” he asked, and he must have looked a certain way when he spoke because Narancia started cackling

“No, of course not! But maybe you shouldn’t ask people personal questions,” he replied, a wide grin on his face. Must be a sore topic, then. Oops. Narancia didn’t seem too put off by it, though, and got out of his face to walk towards the door. “Well, anyway, I’ll leave you to do… whatever. Unpack, take a nap, watch tv, whatever you want really. Supper is at 8pm, so be out by then, okay? You haven’t met Mista or Giorno, but you’ll get to say hi then. They’re really fun, I promise. All you gotta do is not be a dick and I’m sure they’ll like you. But anyway, I’ll be outside if you need anything.” And before Fugo could even say thank you for helping him, the freckled boy had already darted out of the room. The front door opened and slammed shut, and Fugo could only assume that he had run out to tell that blonde guy Giorno and whoever Mista was about him.

… So, Narancia, huh? He’s weird, to say the least. He went from yelling at him to teasing him at the drop of a hat, he was like a little spitfire or something. Fugo wasn’t sure he had ever met anybody like him before; it was annoying and refreshing at the same time. He’d have to apologize later for possibly hurting his hand, even though it seemed like the other was already over it. Still, Fugo wouldn’t get over it until he apologized for his actions. He might not want to be here, but if he had to talk to people he also didn’t want to make his time here worse by getting on everyone’s bad side.

Focusing back on his own things, Fugo forced himself to unpack right away. He folded some of his clothes in the dresser drawers and hung the rest in his closet, set up his laptop on his desk, put some books on his shelves, and switched the pillowcases with his personal red ones. He kept his backpack on the desk chair for now and put his empty luggage either into the closet or under the bed, wherever it fit. When he was finished, the room still looked plain, but it was at least better than before. It wasn’t like Fugo’s room at home was much better, anyway. It was much bigger, it had one of his pianos in front of his window and his awards, medals, and trophies hanging up over his bed, but besides that it was quite boring. He was never allowed to have knickknacks or posters or anything like that.

A yawn escaped his lips, and Fugo glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was only a little after 4pm, so he figured he could take a short nap and then maybe watch some tv until it was time to eat. It was weird having this much free time, he didn’t know what to really do with it. He gently sat on the bed and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was actually quite comfortable. It wasn’t as comfortable as his bed at home, but it was much better than what he was expecting. He could deal with this until he got picked up again, he hopefully just had to make it through the month. Fugo’s head hit the soft pillow and he moved his light blond hair out of his face, taking in his new temporary room one last time before closing his eyes. He knew once he began work tomorrow that he was going to start full on hating it here again, but for now he pushed those worries away and let himself drift off to the quiet sound of the ceiling fan spinning above him.

Chapter Text

Fugo woke up to a loud knock on his door. There were three bangs, a pause, and then three more. “I’m coming!” Fugo called out to whoever was on the other side, his voice still sleep-laden. What time is it? He reached out for his phone, a spike of panic surging through him when it wasn’t immediately where he thought it was. Did he possibly drop it outside? Was it still in the car that was probably back home by now? His worries were put to rest when, upon sitting up, he felt something clunky in his pocket. “Could have sworn I put it on the bedside table…” he muttered to himself as he held the phone up to his face. 8:05pm. “Did I… really sleep that long?” No wonder someone was knocking on his door; he was late for dinner! Or is it supper? Is there even a difference? Whatever, I don’t have time to worry about that.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Fugo groaned, hopping out of the bed and rushing to the door at a lightning speed. Now that he actually had some rest, he found that he regretted every single thing he had said or done when he first arrived. He may have been feeling a little guilty before, but now he felt even more shame crawling up his body. Why did he act like such an asshole earlier? How could he have overslept now? Guess I really can’t stop being rude at any given moment, huh? First I took my anger on my parents out on innocent people. Now I overslept. Fucking idiot. And to top it all off, he was supposed to be introduced to other people tonight. This was going to be another horrible first impression. His parents would be disappointed, even more than they probably already were.

He opened the door, relieved that whoever woke him up hadn’t stuck around. All he had to do was find the dining room, which had to be at the end of the hall. Narancia hadn’t mentioned where it was when he showed him to his room, but there was nowhere else it could be. His assumption rang true when, after shutting the bedroom door behind him and taking a few tentative steps down the hall, he heard a loud laugh from nearby. Another person replied in a much calmer tone, but Fugo couldn’t make out what he was saying. Neither of the voices sounded too familiar to him, so he figured they must be the other people he hadn’t properly met yet.

Once he reached the dining room, he peeked inside. He was allowed to come in even though he was late, right? Someone knocked on my door, so I’m assuming that means I’m okay, he thought as he scanned the room. Still, he didn’t make a move to step inside. He didn’t want to make any other mistakes and give everyone here a worse impression of him, so instead he just stared at the people seated at the table.

There were only three of them, and he recognized Narancia immediately. The black-haired guy was animatedly talking, now dressed in an old, oversized t-shirt and shorts with mismatched socks on his feet. For some reason he still wore his headband, but by now most of his hair was in his face. What was the point of wearing a headband, then? He was talking to the other guy he briefly saw earlier in the afternoon, the one with the G name and the weird curls. He silently ate his food but was clearly listening to the conversation, his eyes watching the others seated at the table. He was wearing what was probably his work clothes minus the boots, so Fugo assumed that he must have just finished working. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to wear overalls for no reason, after all. The third person at the table was someone he was sure he had never seen before. M… Meester? No, that wasn’t it. What kind of fucking name would Meester be? Guess I’m not one to talk, though… Whatever, he’d learn his name soon enough. The currently unnamed guy jumped into the conversation quickly, speaking even louder than Narancia had earlier. His grin was wide as he spoke, and he only stopped to adjust the purple beanie on his head before it slipped off. He wore a plain, short sleeved button up and some slacks, and the only strange thing Fugo could see on him were the weird, tiger-striped socks he wore on his feet.

Mr. Bucciarati was nowhere to be found, however. Maybe he was in the kitchen? That probably was the other room that connected to this one, but Fugo wouldn’t be able to get any answers until he was allowed in the room. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait much longer for someone to notice he was there.

“Oh, Fugo!” Narancia stopped mid-sentence to greet him, smiling brightly and waving. Why was he so happy to see him? It wasn’t like Fugo was the best guest. “You’re late, you know! I said 8pm, not 8:10!” the short boy reprimanded as he pointed a spoon at him. His face didn’t seem angry and his tone was very clearly teasing, but Fugo still felt embarrassed. Whether Narancia noticed or not, he quickly waved him inside. “What’re you standing there for? You’re not a vampire, just come in!”

Fugo nodded and mumbled a small “thank you,” as he stepped inside the room, avoiding looking anybody in the eye. In doing so, he missed the intense look the Beanie-Guy was giving him and was surprised when he actually started talking. “I mean… unless? Narancia, has Fugo ever told you that he isn’t a vampire? He has super pale skin, waited to be let in, and you told me he seemed really irritated when he was outside in the sun. I’m not gonna say anything for certain, but…” Fugo finally made eye contact with him, frowning at the mischievous gaze. He was just going to ignore that. Vampires aren’t real, only an idiot would buy into-

“Holy shit!” Narancia’s eyes were wide as saucers now, and he stared at Fugo with awe. … Seriously? “Mista you’re a goddamn genius! Everything makes so much sense now. You even look like one, Fugo! Your shirt’s all silky and fancy and shit! Are you really a vampire?” he rambled, leaning over the table a bit and completely ignoring his meal. Mista’s grin grew even wider, and Giorno cast an amused glance at them but stayed silent. Fugo bit down on his tongue and ignored them all, walking towards the door that led to the kitchen.

“Giorno, Narancia, look! He’s avoiding the question!”

Fugo bit down harder.

Just as Fugo thought, Mr. Bucciarati was in the kitchen when he walked through the doorway, and the moment the taller man smiled at him Fugo found his guilt resurfacing. He stood up straighter and his mouth went on autopilot as apologies spilled from his lips. “Mr. Bucciarati, I just wanted to apologize again for my earlier behavior. I will admit that I was in a rather irritated mood from the drive up here, but my words and actions were uncalled for since you’ve been nothing but hospitable towards me. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”

Mr. Bucciarati was silent, but then he scooped some stew into a bowl and placed it on the counter in front of Fugo. “It’s alright, Fugo,” he began, and the tension melted from the blonde’s shoulders upon hearing it. “When discussing your stay here with your parents, they warned me that you may be a bit… temperamental, so I wasn’t too surprised. I wasn’t expecting the intensity of it, but it seemed like it surprised you more than me. Am I correct?”

A flush found its way back to Fugo’s face, and he cast his eyes downward in shame. A bit temperamental? What else had his parents said about him? “I… Yes. I try to keep control over it, but sometimes I don’t know what comes over me and I snap. I tend to not even realize how angry I’ve gotten until I’ve calmed down again… But I promise you that I’m working on it. I usually don’t act like that, I swear.” Was that too much information? Fugo scratched at his left hand as worried thoughts flew through his head, trying to figure out why he was even saying any of this in the first place, and he only looked up when Mr. Bucciarati asked him to. The man’s blue eyes were calm but had traces of concern in them. It felt like he was staring right through him.

“Fugo. That sounds like a bigger problem than just being temperamental,” Mr. Bucciarati spoke quietly, most likely so the three boys in the other room wouldn’t hear. Not that they were paying attention, their loud conversation could be heard clearly from the kitchen, but the caution was appreciated. “Have you told your parents about the severity of your anger? I don’t doubt that you normally aren’t like that, but that seems a bit worrying if I’m completely honest.”

Fugo could only nod, trying to find the politest way to explain to him that his parents knew exactly how bad he could get and just pretended that his problems didn’t exist. “I have informed them about this, yes. I’m not sure how seriously they took it, though, since nothing has been done about it,” he replied, finding it hard to keep looking him in the eye. The fear that anything he said in this conversation could be relayed to his parents grew, and he began regretting saying anything that could possibly make his parents look bad.

His worry must have shown on his face because Mr. Bucciarati hummed and nodded his head, being the one to break their eye contact so he could pour himself a bowl of stew. “Hm. I see. Well, if it continues to be a problem here then I’m sure we can find some way to work at it,” he decided, pulling out a drawer so he could grab spoons for Fugo and himself. “I don’t mean this in an insulting way, but you probably should be getting help if this is such a problem for you.”

The last thing Fugo felt in that moment was insulted. He had expected Mr. Bucciarati to either brush him off and then tell his parents about the conversation or just tell him to fix himself quick so he didn’t cause problems, not voice what Fugo had been thinking for years. The blond didn’t even know how to respond to that, a weird feeling forming in him. This man didn’t know Fugo at all, but he was already willing to help him? Why? He took the spoon that was offered to him silently, almost getting lost in thought again if not for Mr. Bucciarati speaking again.

“Before you go to eat with the others, I probably should tell you… Narancia and Mista can be a bit, well, much. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continued to tease or tried to prank you, they can be immature sometimes,” he winced slightly as he spoke, probably recalling some unpleasant past memories. “They do it to everyone when they’re new. Think of it as their way of welcoming you, they don’t mean any harm. But… if they go too far, let me know and I’ll talk to them so things don’t get out of hand, okay?” he smiled again, and Fugo felt compelled to smile back for some reason. Instead, he just thanked him for the meal and brought his food back into the dining room, Mr. Bucciarati following behind him.

Fugo realized that he wasn’t sure where to sit since there were multiple chairs available at the round table, but Mr. Bucciarati just beckoned him to sit in the seat beside himself. This way he was able to face the other three, who somehow still weren’t finished eating.

“No! Everyone knows that hot dogs are clearly sandwiches! Giorno what the fuck, why would it not be? It’s basically like a grinder!” Beanie-Guy seemed to feel very strongly about this, so much so that he wasn’t even aware of them coming into the room. Narancia looked bored and maybe even a little irritated but he still smiled and waved at Fugo once he had sat down, so he must not have been too upset. Fugo gave him a tiny, hesitant wave back, still unsure about how much he wanted to engage with them all. The other guy, who Fugo now was able to remember was Giorno, seemed entirely unaffected by the loud man yelling in his ear, and as he wiped his mouth with his napkin it looked like he was hiding a small smile. All of them stopped what they were doing, though, when Mr. Bucciarati cleared his throat.

“Now, as you all know, this is Fugo. Beginning tomorrow he is going to be working on the farm with you all, and he’ll be staying here full time until the summer ends,” Mr. Bucciarati gave them all stern looks as he addressed them. “I expect you three to treat him as you would any of the others, I would rather not have another Sale and Zucchero situation. Am I clear on that?” Fugo had no idea what that meant, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask. The other three collectively groaned in annoyance at the mention of those names, so Fugo could only imagine what happened.

Narancia was the first to reply, naturally. His head was propped up by one of his hands as he swirled his barely eaten stew. “Yeah yeah, we got it Bruno. Treat him like we treat each other and shit, golden rule blah blah blah, you told us this already. We aren’t kids ya know!” His nose scrunched up as he talked, and weakly glared at his uneaten food. Well, he certainly was acting a bit childish. It was a little ironic.

“How old are you?” Fugo surprised himself by asking that question so directly. He hadn’t meant to ask – he hadn’t meant to talk at all, actually – but he couldn’t help his curiosity. He remembered the black-haired boy mentioning something about being Giorno’s elder, so he definitely wasn’t the youngest. Was it rude to ask someone their age even if they were clearly young?

Narancia looked up from his stew, a toothy grin appearing on his face one more. “Funny you should ask; my birthday was last week! I just turned 20!” he exclaimed before pointing at the others. “Giorno here turned 18 last month, Mista is 20 like me, and Bruno is 24! How old are you?”

That was surprising. He expected Narancia to maybe be 18, and the fact that this short, childish guy was actually older than himself didn’t sit right with him. “I’m 19,” is all Fugo responded with, blowing on his hot stew before taking a bite. It was good, really good actually. He took another bite, this time not worried about the heat.

The smile on the freckled boy’s face grew impossibly wider, and he looked too pleased all of a sudden. “Seriously? Like, I’m older than you, too? Ha ha!” he laughed, and only quieted down when Giorno lightly swatted at his arm and put a finger over his lips as he eyed Mr. Bucciarati. “Oh, hehe, sorry Giorno! But damn, I was about to bet money on you being older than me! Can’t say I’m mad about it though.” Yeah, Fugo would have bet money on that too. A lot of money.

The conversation flowed from there, Mista and Narancia doing most of the talking like before. Bruno and Giorno would occasionally make a comment, but Fugo mostly stayed silent unless he was personally asked a question. He wasn’t used to eating with people like this; at home they mostly ate in silence unless they were discussing test grades or events they needed to attend. Having random conversations like this was odd, it made him feel out of place and a bit lost. Fugo didn’t know how to keep up.

At one point, he found himself watching a heated debate between Mista and Narancia. Those two were the only ones who hadn’t finished their meal, and Fugo wasn’t sure if he was allowed to leave or if he had to wait for them, so he stayed and tried to figure out how they got on this current topic.

“What? Of course if there was a third in command here, it would be me!” Narancia huffed, jabbing his chest with his thumb. “I’ve been here longer! Bruno’s dad is at the top, then it’s Bruno, and then it’s me! Duh!”

Mista shook his head, looking at Narancia incredulously. “You, third in command? Dude, no offense but you’d be the worst! You can’t even work at the storefront by yourself!” He laughed at the end of his sentence, not at all bothered by the angry red that his friend’s face turned.

“HEY! Shut up, that doesn’t mean shit!” The black-haired boy slammed his hand on the table, causing the contents of his stew to slosh around. He paid that no mind, though, and glared fiercely at Mista. “I would be a great third in command! Fuck you!”

“Wouldn’t Mr. Pericolo be third in command, technically?” Giorno piped up, helpfully. He had been curiously watching the other two debate for some time now, but only now decided to make a comment. “He’s the one who deals with the deliveries to the restaurant, which I’m assuming brings in a lot of income. He does important work here, so it would make sense.”

Narancia sputtered, trying to figure out how to respond. Mista didn’t look so happy either. Guess Giorno wasn’t being too helpful after all, even though to Fugo’s outsider perspective it made a lot of sense. “I- Uh…. Well. Okay, okay! Hear me out!” Narancia suddenly jumped out of his seat, the chair screeching as it was moved backwards. “Picture this! You see some old dude with a droopy eye driving some cargo truck to who-knows-where-“

“Well, Narancia, we know exactly where the truck is going. It would go to Tonio’s restaurant, right?”

Narancia glared at Giorno, who put his hands up in surrender, and then continued. “Anyway, you see that, and it’s boring as hell. He probably plays Achy Breaky Heart or something stupid while he drives. Super boring. But then you see me! And-“

“So, we see another short guy with a bad eye?”

Narancia pouted, now turned towards Mista. “Shut up and let me finish, you dick! Anyway, you see me! And I’m not in some lousy truck that probably could use a paint job. No! I’m on a horse, a beautiful stallion! With-“

“Narancia, I hate to interrupt, but isn’t Aerosmith a mare?”

“BRUNO! ” Narancia’s hands clenched into fists and he honest-to-God looked like he was either going to cry or throw his stew out of frustration. Fugo didn’t know which would be worse. “C’mon! Everyone stop interrupting me or I’m gonna fuckin' stab something!” He warned, and him reaching into his pocket was all just part of a bluff… Right? Either way, he calmed down a little after seeing Bruno give him an unamused look and added, “I mean, hypothetical. Hypothetically. Whatever. ANYWAY. I’m on a horse, and I look fresh as hell. Me and my horse, both swagged the absolute fuck out! Tupac is playing somewhere in the background too, Picture Me Rollin’ or something like that. Got that? Good. Now I need you all to be honest, which image is cooler?”

Narancia was met with silence, and his face fell a little at the lack of reaction. But then, Mista stood up and pushed him back into his chair, ignoring his angry whine. “No, no, no, Narancia! You gotta listen to me! So we’ve pictured you, and we’ve pictured Mr. Pericolo. But now you gotta picture me. Now we all know that I am the best cook on this whole farm, no one can deny that. And guess what just happened? All of the food in town except for here is suddenly going bad!”

Giorno frowned at the absurdity of that. “Going bad?” he parroted back, sipping on the last of his drink. “Like, from mold or something?”

Mista clapped his hands in response, glad that he got someone to consider his imagery. “Yes, actually! Thank you, Giorno! So, there’s actually some evil scientist dude who is making mold rapidly appear on all this food, right? It’s horrible, and it’s absolutely disgusting! People are dying left and right, and not even the mayor knows what to do! It’s a full-on crisis, the government is gonna get involved and it’s about to go fucking insane!”

Narancia kicked Mista in the shin, staring at him in confusion. “What the fuck does this have to do with anything? Why are we talking about mold at dinner, that’s so gross! Just go home already, why are you even still here?” he complained, his arms crossed as he tipped his chair back dangerously.

“Aww, but you were the one begging me to stay the night earlier, Narancia!” Mista looked down at him in amusement, and Fugo was officially lost. Were all of their meals so… weird? “This scenario is actually based off a weird dream I had last night, but I’m getting to the point so just listen to me! Where was I? … Oh, right! So we hear about this on the news, and Narancia is too busy trying to show off how cool he looks on his horse to notice the immediate danger the world is in! Thankfully Abbacchio told me what was going on when he came by to see Bruno for the 200th time that day, so I was ready to help!”

Abbacchio, who’s that? Fugo didn’t know who Mr. Pericolo was either, or who Zucchero and Sale were, or even who Mr. Bucciarati’s father was. All of these conversations were so difficult to understand without the proper context of who everyone was. Even so, he still tried to listen. At one point his eye caught Narancia’s and saw the shorter boy mouth the words “what is he talking about?” at him. Fugo forced himself to not smile and just shrugged in return. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one at least a little confused.

“So I work nonstop for days, cooking and cooking and cooking! And then we were all going to deliver the food together because I’m not gonna just take all the credit of course, but as I lead Mr. Pericolo’s truck to town he drops dead! The truck is gonna crash, and I thought Narancia would jump in to get control of it, but he just fuckin’ dies too!”

Narancia had finally gone to take a bite of his food, but practically choked when he heard that. “What!?” he shrieked, coughing. Giorno patted his back, and thankfully everything was fine after a few seconds. “I died? That’s not fair! This is taking too long, shut up already!”

Mista ignored Narancia’s last comment, and just frowned in mock-sadness. “Yeah, it’s real sad. Rest in fuckin’ pieces, little man. I’m gonna miss you, but I can’t focus on that right now. I have to get control of the truck. And we gotta stop the evil dude. So Giorno and Bruno, thank God, go to stop the guy. I, meanwhile, get the truck. I’m able to get control of it and I drive it to the town hall. We get the food out and feed the people, and Giorno and Bruno defeat the evil dude in some cool, action-packed movie way. Everyone is happy, they wanna give me the key to the city but I’m a little embarrassed by this sudden fame so I let them give it to Bruno instead because he clearly deserves it. But because of all that, our farm becomes famous and we make so much money that we’re drowning in it! Bruno takes control of the farm when his dad retires because he’s so damn rich now, Giorno gets second in command, and I’m third! The end!” He adjusted his beanie at the end of his story, grinning with pride. He must have thought he came up with a masterpiece.

“Now I’m sure it’s obvious that I’m better suited for third-in-command. It’s not all about your looks, Narancia, it’s about actions and showing that you’re here for the people!” Mista put his pointer finger up as he spoke, but suddenly hunched over and cried out in pain when Narancia kicked him in the shin again even harder.

“You sound like a fucking politician, Mista,” Narancia booed. “No one likes politicians, get out of my house.”

Mista scoffed at him, rubbing at his aching shin. “This isn’t even your house, dude! Don’t be pissy because I one-upped you!” And to top it all off, he nudged Narancia’s tipped chair back just enough that it completely fell over. Narancia yelped, his arms floundering in the air as he tried to grab something to steady himself. He wasn’t able to reach anything though and toppled over, crashing to the floor. Giorno simply watched as he sipped his drink, finding this turn of events all the more amusing.

Mr. Bucciarati shook his head at them, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fugo noticed he didn’t seem surprised, so was this a regular occurrence? “Mista, Narancia, enough please,” he sighed, craning his neck to make sure they both were okay. To show that he was fine, Narancia hopped up a moment later, rubbing his head and sticking his tongue out at his friend beside him. He then turned to Mr. Bucciarati, and both of them had the decency to look at least a little guilty. “Sorry, Bruno,” they both apologized at the same time, and after Narancia righted his chair they sat down again.

“Narancia, please finish eating your meal,” Mr. Bucciarati nodded towards the still barely touched bowl of stew, and Narancia sighed and scooted his chair forward so he could eat. “Yeah yeah Bruno, I know. I’m just not that hungry. I can try to eat as much as I can though, okay?” He shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth to prove his point, not caring that it was barely warm now, and Fugo saw Mr. Bucciarati’s gaze grow softer at that.

Once Narancia ate as much as he could before declaring that he absolutely would die if he ate another bite, Fugo finally decided to ask if he could go back to his room. “Um, Mr. Bucciarati,” he began, looking up at the man beside him who was kind enough to take his bowl along with his own. “May I be excused so I can go back to my room?”

He heard either Mista or Narancia snort, probably laughing over his formality, but Mr. Bucciarati only smiled at him and nodded. “Of course, Fugo, you don’t need to ask. And please, call me Bruno. I feel like I’m my dad when you call me Mister.” He chuckled lightly at Fugo’s frown and walked past him to get to the kitchen. Fugo felt embarrassed. He knew none of the others called him Mr. Bucciarati, but how was he supposed to know that he could be so informal with him too? But he had just gotten used to thinking of him as Mr. Bucciarati, so it was going to be hard to suddenly start thinking of him as Bruno. It felt wrong to call someone with authority over him by their first name, but since he asked him to, Fugo supposed he had to try.

Before anyone came back into the dining room and possibly tried to have another conversation with him, Fugo quietly stood up, pushed in his chair, and escaped out the door. He was thankful that he kept his shoes off because he was able to walk down the hall in relative silence, and when he made it to his door – or at least he thought this one was his door – he dashed inside.

With the door shut and everyone else on the other side of the house, it all suddenly felt too quiet. He walked around the bed so he could shut the window and grabbed one of his books while he was over there. He then turned the bedside lamp on, turned the main light off, and got into his bed. It’s only a little after 9pm I think, I can get some of this reading done and then wash up and go to bed at 10:30. I’m not sure when I need to be ready in the morning, so this sounds like the best time to rest. He planned out the rest of his night and the next morning in his head as he read Thich Nhat Hanh’s You Are Here. He had to read a little bit of it for school, but found that the advice given was not only genuinely interesting but also quite helpful. These past few weeks had been more than a bit crazy though, so he hadn’t had the time to just sit down and read until now.

Just as he was getting back into it, there was a knock at his door. Just two swift knocks, unlike the last time. Fugo put his bookmark in the page he stopped reading at and checked the time; 9:30pm. What could anyone need from me right now? I’m busy.

He expected it to be Mr. Bucc- Bruno at his door, but was surprised to see Narancia in front of him, shifting from one foot to the other. He perked up when he saw Fugo’s face, almost like he hadn’t expected him to answer the door at all. “Oh, Fugo! I was gonna put on a tv show, didja wanna join?” he asked, and Fugo was able to see that the freckled boy was holding a box set of some show called Fist of the North Star. It looked like some kind of anime shit or whatever the name of the thing that some girls at school always screamed about was. No thanks.

“Can’t you watch that with uh, Mista or something?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. There should be no reason why Narancia would want to hang out with a practical stranger over any of his actual friends.

Narancia simply shook his head at him. “Mista went home. He doesn’t live here.”

“Well, what about Giorno?” They seemed like they got along, after all.

“… I tried before. He wasn’t super into it. He didn’t tell me that directly, but it was obvious.”

Fugo frowned. Couldn’t they just watch a different show together then? “Okay… Bruno?”

“He’s asleep. He’d say no, anyway.”

So he came to me as a last resort, then. That’s what he had figured from the beginning, so he wasn’t surprised. Fugo went to open his mouth to speak, but Narancia beat him too it. “I don’t think any of the others like when I put on these kinds of shows, so I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to see if it was something you might like,” he explained, looking a little sheepish as he clutched the box set to his chest with one hand and scratched the back of his head with the other. The shorter boy then glanced back up at him, a certain look in his eye that Fugo couldn’t figure out.

“I’ll pass,” Fugo said easily, staring down at the box set again. Yeah, he didn’t feel like watching some dumb cartoon with a stranger. He promised himself to be polite, he never said he was going to watch stupid tv shows with them… even if he felt a pang of regret when he heard Narancia’s defeated “oh.”

“That’s alright!” Narancia brightened up almost immediately, smiling at him once more. “I’ll just put it on in my room.” It was a silent invitation in case Fugo changed his mind, but that definitely wasn’t going to happen. “Uh, I’ll see you later?”

Fugo nodded, honestly just wanting to get back to his book. Narancia was (mostly) nice, and the blond really didn’t want to be mean to the guy again, but there was no point in being all buddy-buddy with someone he was only going to know for a short period of time. Plus, Fugo would probably make for boring company anyway. “Good night, Narancia.” He hoped that would be the end of it, the last thing he wanted was this guy thinking he could come to his door whenever he felt a little lonely. Narancia was better off being by himself than spending time with him.

Narancia frowned briefly but didn’t push, stepping back from the doorway. “Yeah, g’night Fugo.” He waved, but Fugo was already shutting the door, ready to go back to his bed and read.

He didn’t hear from Narancia, or anyone else for that matter, for the rest of the night, and Fugo was thankful for it.

Chapter Text

The room was bright when Fugo woke up that morning. The sun was thankfully out – it would be terrible to have his first day of work when the weather was bad – and Fugo had to shield his eyes from the sunlight pouring in. He hated being in the sun during the summer, his skin burned far too easily and his eyes were sensitive to the light. I’ll be lucky if I’m not burnt to a crisp by lunchtime…

It was 8:15am by the time he made his way out of his room. The house was quiet and empty, which took him by surprise. Did everyone already start work? A quick glance outside gave Fugo his answer. He was able to make out Giorno watering some of the flowers in front of the store, so the others were probably somewhere out there too.

Deciding that he wasted enough time already, Fugo hurried back to his room to change. It took a few minutes to decide what to wear, but he settled on wearing black capri pants with a red short-sleeved button up shirt. He also slipped on his old, purple sneakers and put on his watch. He wished he didn’t have to wear old sneakers like this, but he wasn’t about to let any of his nicer shoes get dirty from whatever he might step in outside.

It didn’t take long to find Bruno once he left the house since he was only working at the store with Giorno. An older, middle aged man with short hair and a cane was speaking to him, but Bruno waved Fugo over once he noticed the blond was waiting.

“Good morning, Fugo. I hope you slept well,” he greeted, and Fugo noticed that his hair clips were green today instead of gold. His patterned shirt was pink too, and it all reminded Fugo a bit of a watermelon. “This is my father, Paolo. He lives in the house a little ways up the street, it’s right next to the farmstead. You can call him Mr. Bucciarati.” The smile on Bruno’s lips was playful, and Fugo felt embarrassed all over again at being teased by him of all people.

Fugo chose to pretend that he wasn’t embarrassed, and clasped his hands together in front of himself, nodding at the older man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bucciarati. Thank you for offering your home to me, it is very much appreciated,” he greeted, trying to be as polite as possible. This was the man actually in charge, he definitely couldn’t afford to have any kind of attitude right now.

Thankfully Mr. Bucciarati didn’t comment on how stiff Fugo’s posture was or how nervous he must have looked. He just gave Fugo a nod in return. “Hope you’ll be able to learn a lot here. I’m sure it must be different from your home, but life here isn’t that bad,” the man replied before wrapping up his conversation with Bruno and disappearing into the back room of the store. Fugo unintentionally breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone. Mr. Bucciarati didn’t look mean or scary, but his unspoken authority definitely made Fugo nervous.

Now that that introduction was out of the way, Bruno walked out from behind the register and gestured for Fugo to follow him. Giorno was tasked with watching the store while Bruno was gone, though there currently were no customers. “Did you happen to see where Narancia went when you were leaving the house?” Bruno asked, and when Fugo shook his head he sighed and motioned for the blond to follow behind him as they made their way through the greenhouse.

Fugo hadn’t seen in this building yet, and when they stepped inside he was shocked to see so many different kinds of plants lined in rows. Someone, most likely another worker, was currently in the back watering them and Bucciarati waved at her as they walked by and out the back exit. Fugo wasn’t sure what to do, so he just kept his eyes forward and ignored the girl. When they were outside again, Fugo found himself in front of three more greenhouses. How did I not notice these before? Why are there so many of them?

Bruno wordlessly opened the door to another one of the greenhouses, checking behind him to make sure Fugo was still there and then holding the door out for him. The inside of this greenhouse was huge and looked much different. Instead of an assortment of flowers and other plants for sale, there were plants growing in the ground in patches with spaces between them so people could walk. Do people pick all of this stuff? The idea of having to hand-pick everything in here was overwhelming. There wasn’t anyone inside besides them though, or at least that’s what it seemed like at first. After taking a few steps forward, music could vaguely be heard coming from the back of the building where some potted trees were. A voice was quietly singing along, and when Bruno picked up on the sound he nodded his head. “Thought so,” he murmured more to himself than to Fugo, and made his way towards the sound.

They found Narancia among those trees, bopping his head to the music playing from his phone and following the lyrics as he picked the fruits that were growing on the tree branches. He had a bucket full of what looked to be oranges and he was starting on his second one, though there weren’t many fruits left to pick. Bruno just stood there, watching with his arms crossed for a few minutes. When he concluded that Narancia was either too engrossed in his music or his work to have heard them coming, he called out his name.

“Ack!” Narancia jumped at the sudden interruption, whipping around with wide eyes. When he saw both Fugo and Bruno staring at him, the black-haired boy made a dive for his phone, rapidly pressing on the screen to stop the song before it could continue any further. He then straightened up, giving Bruno a wide smile even if it wilted slightly until the stern gaze. “Wan’ an orange, Bruno?” he asked, trying to lighten the suddenly tense mood. “You look like you might need somethin’ sweet right now.”

“Narancia.” Bruno completely ignored his offer, causing the shorter boy to furrow his eyebrows in worry and begin fidgeting with the phone in his hands. Fugo noticed the bandage on his hand was gone now, but there was still a mark left from whatever injury he had gotten, adding to all the other marks littering his hands and arms. The blonde curiously wondered about exactly how clumsy someone needed to be to get hurt that often, but his train of though was interrupted by Bruno continuing to speak. “Did I not specifically tell you that you were going to be helping Fugo today and you needed to be ready to help him? Why are you back here listening to music instead? I shouldn’t have to beg you to listen to me all the time.”

Whatever it was about how Bruno spoke made Narancia tense up, and then his expression became guarded and irritated. “Not my fault he was still getting his beauty sleep!” he huffed, squeezing his phone a bit as he glared up at them. “And I was working, not just listening to music. I’m doing what you told me to do while I was waiting for Fugo to wake up! You gonna get mad at me for doin’ my job?” he asked defiantly, and the look in his eyes was so intense. It reminded Fugo of something, but he just couldn’t remember what. It bothered him. Still, he couldn’t look away.

Bruno seemed like he was about to argue right back, but stopped himself at the last moment and instead stared at Narancia silently. It was as if the two of them were having some telepathic debate Then, after a minute or so, Bruno sighed and broke their eye contact to glance down at the bucket of oranges. “Narancia… I thought we talked about this. I’m letting you try to grow these oranges in your free time, not during work time. I know you’re excited about it, but your actual work comes first. Once we know for certain that we can sustain citrus trees inside the greenhouse then we can start doing more with it, but for now this isn’t your priority.”

All of the irritation seeped out from Narancia upon hearing those words, but he almost looked a little rejected now. “But… but they’re good. I’ve tried them, they taste good and there’s nothing wrong with them. Even Giorno liked them! The trees are fine in the greenhouse!” He picked up one of the oranges with his free hand, inspecting it as he spoke.

Bruno’s lips pursed together and he gave a quick glance in Fugo’s direction, and the blonde suddenly felt like his was intruding on something he shouldn’t be seeing. Fugo briefly wondered if he should excuse himself to go to the bathroom so they could talk more, but before he could make up his mind the taller man beside him held his hand out towards Narancia, a softer look in his eyes. “I don’t doubt that, and I’m happy that this is something you enjoy doing with Giorno, but you need to focus on your other work first and then you can take care of this. Right now I need you to show Fugo around a little bit and do the work outside that we had agreed on,” he explained, and smiled when Narancia placed the orange on his palm.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Narancia sighed, finally glancing at Fugo again. “Gotta do the important stuff first. I’ll just get back to this later. Sorry Bruno.” He smiled at the two of them, but there was something off about it that made Fugo confused. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but now wasn’t exactly a great time to dwell on that.

Bruno shook his head, reaching forward to gently ruffle Narancia’s hair with his other hand and making the headband on his head almost slip off. Narancia swatted at the offending hand, his face scrunching up in annoyance as he stepped out of Bruno’s reach and “fixed” up his messy hair. The mood was lighter now, and it was like there was never any argument at all. He must not be the type to hold a grudge, Fugo thought, watching Narancia adjust his headband and make a face at Bruno.

“Anyway,” Bruno stepped back, gesturing for Fugo to come closer. “Like I just said, you’re going to basically be shadowing Narancia today, Fugo. During your stay here I doubt you’ll be doing anything like operating heavy machinery or other more complex things, most of what your work this summer will consist of is basic, generalized work. So some days you’ll work the storefront, other days you’ll be out picking the vegetables, and you’ll also tend to some of the animals sometimes. Narancia does a lot of those things as well, so I figured he’d be a good person for you to learn from first. He’s very efficient at most of his work.”

Fugo noticed Narancia’s face tinged red when Bruno spoke and he was trying to fight a smile off his face, and when he noticed Fugo looking at him he looked away, suddenly finding an ant crawling along the ground to be the most interesting thing in the building. Weird. The blonde focused back on Bruno, listening the best he could to the instructions the man was giving him.

After a few minutes of explanations, Narancia seemed to have gotten fed up with just standing around and took a step forward, waving Bruno away with his hand. “Geez Bruno, I think we get it. I’ll take over from here, I doubt Fugo’ll have any problems with this.” Bruno looked like he wanted to say more, but he decided against it when Narancia grabbed Fugo’s wrist and tugged him towards the exit. “We’ll see you later, Bruno! C’mon Fugo, let’s get outta here.”

Once they left the greenhouse, Fugo quickly noticed that Narancia was leading him down a large dirt road that led down to a few more buildings, including the barn. It was much noisier now, the sounds of workers talking and different animals making noise flooding his ears. A rooster crowing on a fence spooked him, and he glared at the annoying thing and wondered why on earth some of the animals were just allowed to walk around like they owned the place. He then eyed the barn, an uncomfortable feeling welling up in him. The idea of working with a bunch of dirty, smelly animals was absolutely appalling. But, almost like Narancia could read his mind, the freckled boy turned towards him and grinned.

“You won’t be going into the barn today,” he reassured him, instead pointing at a smaller building that looked like it needed a paint job. “See that shed? We’re stopping there. I gotta… check something.” The older boy’s face scrunched up a bit, and Fugo worried what exactly they had to check on in there. He couldn’t imagine what could be so bad inside of a shed that it even made Narancia annoyed. Are there broken tools? Or, uh… spilled seeds? I swear there better not be some bug infestation…

Fugo was so focused on trying to figure out the new mystery that he didn’t even notice Narancia was still talking. He felt a tug on his wrist and blinked a few times, staring at the boy in front of him. He also realized that Narancia had never let go of his wrist in the first place, so he pulled away from his grip and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yo, were you paying attention? I was just telling you about some of the things you’ll see on the farm,” Narancia put his hands on his hips and gave him a stern look, and honestly it was almost comical how he was so obviously trying to copy Bruno in that moment. Fugo felt bad that he had accidentally been ignoring him, but he already had the instructions so what else did he need to know right now? Narancia pouted his lips at him, but then sighed and continued walking. “Ugh, whatever. I was just saying that those barrels you see near the pens have food in them. Like this big goat pen right here has a barrel next to it. It’s a lot easier than having to go into the shed in order to feed everyone. We just keep certain foods in there along with smaller tools and mulch and shit. Nothing super big, we have other storage buildings for the hay and the tractors and other machinery, but you probably won’t be touching much of that. Lucky you! Anyway, hopefully this will just be a quick stop and then we can get to our actual work!”

Jesus. This guy talks way too much. Fugo was able to keep himself from rolling his eyes, but couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. Narancia thankfully didn’t notice, and he talked the whole way to the shed. He seemed to be in an especially chatty mood now and Fugo wondered if he was going to be this talkative every day. Even just thinking about having to deal with that made his head begin to ache. What a pain.

Once they got to the shed, Narancia finally shut up, not even bothered by the fact that Fugo hadn’t responded to anything he said even once today, and yanked open the old, wooden door to the shed. He took one peek inside and groaned, which made it clear that whatever problem he was hoping to avoid was still in there.

“Goddammit!” Narancia’s hands balled into fists and he turned to look at Fugo. “Here, carry this will you?” he asked, and didn’t even give Fugo time to ask what ‘this’ was before he was tossing a large, heavy bag of mulch at him. It hit Fugo in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to stumble backwards and then fall back on the dirt road. A cloud of dust pillowed around him, and one of the chickens nearby made a clucking sound and stared at him. It looked like it was mocking him, so Fugo glared back at it and it went running to its companions. Little shits... Another bag of mulch was tossed next to him, and the blonde turned his glare to the boy in the doorway.

Narancia was carrying two bags of mulch over his shoulders and looked far too pleased for someone who just sent another person falling to the ground and had potentially hurt them. He kicked the shed door closed with his foot and stepped forward until he was right in front of where Fugo was sitting. “C’mon, pick those up and follow me.” He nodded towards the bags he threw and then, without waiting, began walking back down the dirt road.

Fugo scrambled up, hissing a little as he stood. There definitely was going to be a bruise or two come tomorrow, he could already tell by the pain. Nevertheless, he still did his best to carry the heavy bags and follow behind his new coworker. He only just barely caught up to him before he had to stop and put the bags down. “Narancia, wait!” he called out, trying to not sound so embarrassingly out of breath.

Narancia turned and upon seeing Fugo struggling, raised an eyebrow and walked towards him. “Seriously?” The black-haired boy gave him a lopsided grin and took one of the bags from Fugo, putting it on top of one he was already carrying. “You’re weak as shit, dude, you seriously gotta work on that. These are only twenty pounds each, shouldn’t be that hard to carry. I’m sure you can at least carry one, though. If you throw it over your shoulder instead of pressing it against your chest it’ll be easier,” he explained, and Fugo felt his eye twitch at the look Narancia was giving him. It felt like he was looking down on him, but Narancia had already walked away again by the time Fugo properly picked his bag up so he couldn’t say anything about it. How the hell is he so strong? He doesn’t look like he should be strong at all! This is so stupid, why do I even have to do this work if I’m only shadowing him?

Fugo followed Narancia until the other boy stopped behind the barn, putting the bags of mulch down. Fugo did the same, putting his bag next to Narancia’s. The short boy looked very aggravated all of a sudden, and he actually looked a little similar to Bruno now. He was definitely more exaggerated in his expressions, but the look in his eyes was the same.

“HEY!” The suddenness of Narancia’s yell caused Fugo to startle. His eyes followed where Narancia was looking, and he saw two teenaged boys sitting against the wall of the barn. One of them had dyed green hair in some weird, slicked back ponytail hairstyle, and the other was either a redhead or had dyed orange-ish hair that was parted down the middle. They were staring back like deer in the headlights, and both of them were holding what looked like cigarettes. Fugo had no idea who they were, but he wrinkled his nose at the two of them. Smokers were disgusting to him.

“Zucchero, Sale! Do you two ever do your fucking work!?” Narancia shouted, and grabbed one of the bags of mulch. He threw it at the two of them like he had with Fugo, but there was clearly much more anger and force behind it. The first bag hit the green-haired guy square in the head and knocked him back, and Fugo’s eyes widened. What if that seriously hurt him? Narancia didn’t seem to care about that at all and just as easily threw a second bag at the other guy, who thankfully was prepared and caught it.

“Narancia, chill! We were just taking a break, that’s all! No need to get your fucking panties in a twist, kid!” the one who Fugo assumed was Sale sneered at him, picking up the cigarette butt that the first guy had dropped and flicking it their way. Narancia got even angrier at that, tossing the other two bags at him one after the other and then walking right up to the two of them, snatching the two cigarettes they had as well as the rest of the pack that was placed between them.

“Talk like that to me again and I’ll send you fuckin’ flying, Sale. Also I’m older than you, don’t call me a kid!” Narancia practically hissed at him, his glare intensifying. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you did to Mista when you first started working here. I don’t even know why Bruno keeps you two hired! All you do is sit back here and smoke or get high and shit. Giorno told me that some animals can get sick from secondhand smoke, didja know that? So don’t fucking smoke, especially near the barn!”

He then looked down at Zucchero, who was probably just knocked out, and seemed to contemplate something. After a quick glance in Fugo’s direction, he huffed and then turned back to Sale. “You’re welcome by the way for carrying this shit for you, now bring it over to whoever you’re supposed to give this to and do the rest of your work. I swear if I have to do one more thing for you assholes I will tell Mr. Bucciarati and he won’t be happy!” He pointed a finger at the two of them, his other hand clutching an item in the pocket of his shorts but eventually letting go of it, and then once he thought he made his point he spun around and began making his way back to Fugo.

Sale, meanwhile, stood up and put the bags in front of him and then woke Zucchero up, placing his bag on the ground too. He then watched Narancia walk away and finally seemed to notice Fugo. “Who’s that guy, Narancia?” he asked, and Narancia immediately replied with, “None of your business!”

“If he’s working here then it kinda is our business, right? We should know about who the new workers are,” Sale reasoned with crossed arms, and Narancia grumbled a bit as he faced the two again, now standing next to Fugo. “Fine. This is Fugo, he’s staying here and is gonna work here for the summer. Fugo, this is Sale and Zucchero. Don’t talk to them unless you gotta, if you think me and the others are bad I swear they’re a million times worse. Now let’s go.” And with one more glare at the two teens, Narancia was off again with Fugo trailing behind him.

They were both quiet for the first few minutes of their walk to their next destination, but right as Fugo was finally starting to relax in the silence between them Narancia spoke up. “So yeah, those two are actually assholes. Sale and Zucchero have worked here for like a year now and no one likes them but each other. It’s a long story but Sale even fucked Mista over back when they first met – it was real bad – and Zucchero almost gave me a concussion! But I like Sale’s older brother Squalo. I kinda hated him too at first but actually him and his boyfriend are really nice! I’ll introduce you one day; they’re cool as hell! I wish they worked here instead but they have other jobs so it wouldn’t work out.” Narancia babbled, looking less and less irritated the more he talked. Fugo once again opted to stay quiet, hoping that if he just didn’t say much then Narancia would get the message and stop talking too. It’s not that he hated being around him, but he would much rather just get to work as quickly as possible so he could get back to his room sooner. Plus, Fugo was never great at making conversation anyway.

Unfortunately, Narancia kept talking about anything and everything and it quickly became more than just a little annoying. “So I really wanted to start the apple orchard, right? Like it sounds so fun!” The shorter boy had metaphorical stars in his eyes as he talked about some story, but his hands were fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. Fugo just made a non-committal noise in response. They had gotten over to a field of some kind of crop, and Fugo assumed this was their destination. Now if only Narancia could stop talking, maybe we could get to work and I could get this over with.

“But Bruno, to this day, is still so against the orchard because he personally has some vande… vandaytah? … vendetta! He has some kinda personal vendetta against apples for no good reason! This man won’t even try any food that has apples in them, that’s how much he hates them. It’s so dumb.” Narancia seemed to be done talking after that, grabbing the gloves and other materials they needed for their job. He tossed a pair of gloves at Fugo, and as the blonde went to put them on he heard the other continue to speak. “He’s just such a fuckin weirdo, yknow? You meet him and he seems responsible and mature but then you give him a fruit juice that’s like 10% apples and he will refuse to drink it because he’s actually a big baby. Like the juice doesn’t even taste like apples, just drink the damn drink! Ugh… Hey, are you listening Fugo?”

Fugo covered his left hand with his right and squeezed, trying to calm the sudden flood of anger that was rapidly pouring into him. He tried to just nod, but seeing Narancia looking at him like he was annoyed that Fugo wasn’t listening made him lose his control for just a moment.

“Narancia can you please just shut the fuck up so we can work? We have a job to do, so just tell me what I specifically need to do so we can get this done. Otherwise just don’t talk to me right now, it’s fucking annoying!” Thankfully Fugo didn’t yell, but his tone was much colder than he meant it to be. Actually, his wording was bad too; he hadn’t meant to sound like that at all. He could see the surprise, then the dejection, and then the anger on Narancia’s face. Shit, not again. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that, he must be pissed now and I’m going to get in trouble, fuck-

“Oh. Okay.” Narancia suddenly didn’t seem angry anymore, unlike when Fugo had been rude to him yesterday. He didn’t seem sad either, like when Bruno told him off earlier. His lack of reaction made Fugo pause. “Sorry, sometimes I’ll talk a lot when I’m nervous or irritated. And I mean, I honestly just wanted to- uh… nevermind. Yeah, I’ll just explain what we’re doing and then I’ll be quiet.”

Fugo mentally slapped himself in the face. He didn’t mean to literally tell Narancia to shut up, but of course he couldn’t control his mouth and he said something that should have made him angry. Him not getting angry doesn’t make sense, Narancia doesn’t make any sense! “No, Narancia, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” he started, trying to explain himself, but the shorter boy just waved a hand at him.

“Don’t worry about it Fugo, I’m just glad you didn’t sugarcoat it,” Narancia said nonchalantly, moving to get the other equipment they needed. “If you want me to shut up then I’ll do it once I tell you what you’ll be doing, don’t worry about it!”

Narancia then gave a quick rundown of what they would be doing for the next hour or two – hand-picking beets. Fugo obviously paid attention, but half of him was still trying to figure out why Narancia had such a weak reaction. Narancia reacted strongly to everything it seemed, so what was different about this?

They worked in silence, as promised, and thankfully Fugo was able to stop worrying about the other boy and instead just focused on his task at hand. The distraction was appreciated, but only for the first half hour. Then Fugo found it was far too hot, his hands were beginning to hurt despite wearing gloves, his muscles were getting sore, and he still couldn’t figure out why on earth he was even doing all this work when Bruno had told him that he would only be shadowing everyone this week. Maybe Narancia was using him so he could get out of doing all the work on his own. Wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe that’s why he was nervous, he didn’t want Bruno to catch him forcing me to work when I wasn’t supposed to.

Once they had finished, Fugo felt disgusting. He was sweaty, his clothes were messy, and he was exhausted. Narancia was faring much better than he was, and he also had gotten almost double the amount of beets picked. Fugo wasn’t surprised given that Narancia clearly had been working here for years. The older boy didn’t seem mad at the job Fugo had done, and he gave him a thumbs up.

“Good job! You did better than I thought you would. Actually, I had thought that-“ Narancia stopped himself mid-sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he remembered their earlier conversation. “Uh, let’s go store these and then we’ll take a break. I think I left my water bottle at the store, so we’ll stop there and then we’ll do a little more work, have lunch, and you’re free to go.”

Fugo frowned at Narancia as he followed behind him, also remembering their earlier conversation. He seemed like he was trying really hard to keep his promise, and he fidgeted with one of the bucket handles in his hands as they walked. He was silent the whole way, and it made Fugo worry.

Once the beets were all stored, Narancia gestured for him to come to the front greenhouse. Fugo didn’t know why they were going there instead of directly to the store, but he felt too awkward now to ask so he just went along with it. They got to the greenhouse, and through the back entrance Fugo could see that there were multiple customers looking around with some workers helping them out. Giorno was also there watering some of the plants towards the back, and Narancia visibly brightened upon seeing him. It made Fugo feel a bit bad again, he must have made Narancia feel uncomfortable for hours.

“Giorno, hey!” Narancia called out through the open door, and Giorno waved at them both in greeting. Narancia then spread his arms out wide, a large grin on his face. “Hose me! It’s hot as balls out here, I’m sweating my ass off!” he commanded, and Fugo instinctively stepped back. He would rather not get wet, thank you very much.

Giorno tried not to smile at Narancia’s word choice, glancing back at the customers inside to make sure no one was paying attention. “Narancia, you know it’s unprofessional to use that language when we have customers,” Giorno scolded lightly, though it was clear that he personally didn’t mind it. Narancia pouted, wiggling his fingers to try to coax Giorno to spray him with the hose. “I’m sure the customers would agree that it’s super fucking hot out, but that’s not the point! Hose me!”

He waited impatiently, and Giorno changed the setting on the nozzle before spraying. A light, gentle shower of water hit the smaller boy, and he spun around a few times to make sure all of himself got soaked. He then flashed Giorno another smile, gave him his thanks, and then turned to Fugo and silently gestured at the hose.

Fugo immediately shook his head, but it seemed that Narancia didn’t actually care if Fugo wanted to stay dry since he grabbed Fugo’s arm with his wet hand and yanked him forward. “Hey, Gio! Fugo wants to get hosed too, he’s just being a bit shy!” he called out to his friend, and Giorno simply stared at them. He probably was trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

Meanwhile, Fugo was trying to get his wrist out of Narancia’s grasp. Of course, though, the black-haired boy was stronger than him so he didn’t budge at all. “Narancia, I said I didn’t want to get wet! Let go!” he complained, glaring at him.

Narancia looked back over at him with an innocent, confused expression on his face. “Huh? Oh, sorry Fugo, you didn’t want me to talk to you anymore so I can’t respond to that,” he replied, a mock-frown on his face that reminded him too much of Mista from dinner last night, and then he yanked Fugo even closer.

“Narancia, that isn’t what I meant and you know it! Don’t be an asshole, let me go!” Fugo snarled, pissed off. Was this his plan all along? I thought he was really upset, but he was actually using this to play some fucking prank on me!? I can’t believe I even bothered caring about this guy for even a second! The more he struggled to free his wrist, the stronger Narancia’s grip became, and the shorter boy was clearly enjoying this.

“Yeah Giorno, he really wants you to spray him with the water but he’s nervous because he thinks you’re scary. I would tell him that you’re not, but earlier today he told me to shut up and not talk to him anymore so I kinda can’t do that, yknow? So just spray him, okay?” Narancia gave Giorno a thumbs up and the two of them locked eyes for a moment. Giorno then nodded and turned to Fugo, and even though Fugo definitely hadn’t been intimidated by Giorno before, he definitely was now. Giorno may have been wearing overalls with ladybugs on them and had a cute ribbon tying back his braided hair, but the absolutely menacing look in his eyes made Fugo freeze in fear. Bruno’s stern looks were nothing compared to this. He must have been angry at hearing Narancia’s explanation of what happened earlier, which was completely not fair since no one was even letting him properly explain what happened. Guess this is just my fate. Fugo then watched as Giorno changed the nozzle setting again, aimed it directly at him, and pulled the handle.

A strong jet of water hit Fugo directly in the face so hard that it stung. “H-Hey! Stop!” he sputtered and shut his eyes, trying to block the attack with his free arm, but Giorno must have started moving the nozzle around because the water sprayed his entire body before stopping. When Fugo opened his eyes, Giorno was staring at him with the hose still aimed his way. “Oops.” He glanced at the nozzle setting. “Must have accidentally changed it. My bad.” His voice was completely unapologetic and it was obvious he had done it on purpose, and he gave Fugo a small smirk as he clicked the nozzle to the setting from before and then sprayed again.

By the time Fugo was thoroughly soaked, Narancia was laughing his ass off. “Don’t you feel a lot more cooled off now?” he asked once he calmed down enough, hiding his snickers behind his hand.

Fugo shot another glare at him. “I feel drenched and disgusting,” he replied, his voice clipped and angry, but Narancia didn’t care and cheerily waved goodbye to Giorno.

“Listen, it’s almost 90 degrees outside, you’ll be dry in minutes and then you’ll understand why we did that,” Narancia shrugged his shoulders as they walked to the store and stepped inside. Fugo hesitated, not wanting his dirty and wet sneakers to make marks on the floor, but ultimately followed Narancia inside as a customer left. His sneakers squeaked and he could feel water sloshing around with every step he took, and he must have looked uncomfortable because Mista, who was working the register, laughed upon seeing his sorry state.

Narancia paid no attention to Fugo, putting his elbows on the counter and batting his eyelashes at Mista instead. “Hey Mista!” he greeted him sweetly, leaning forward and dripping water onto the surface. “Wanna be the most best friend ever and get me the water bottle I left in the back room so I don’t have to walk there? Also take this cigarette pack and throw it out, I snatched it from Zucchero and Sale.” he asked, and Mista rolled his eyes and grabbed the cigarettes from his hand, swiftly stepping in the back room.

When he came back, an orange water bottle was placed in front of Narancia and the cigarettes were in the trash. “Aww, I’m your best friend now? That’s cute, I’ll hold you to that the next time you complain about how I’m the worst,” he teased, laughing at Narancia’s weak glare and then nodding at Fugo. “Hey, what happened to you, man?” he asked, and Fugo cast the two of them an unamused look.

“Narancia had Giorno drench me with the hose,” Fugo replied, wanting nothing more than to get away from all of them so he could get out of these nasty clothes and relax. Only one more hour and then I’m done, Fugo repeated in his head. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

“Ah, well you’ll dry quick, don’t worry about it!” Mista didn’t seem to understand how uncomfortable Fugo was feeling in these drenched clothes, but thankfully he didn’t pester the blonde anymore and made quick conversation with Narancia instead. Their conversation lasted only a few minutes, and before Fugo knew it they were waving goodbye and heading back outside.

Fugo found that Narancia and Mista were actually right; he did dry quickly. And honestly he might have feel a bit better now that he wasn’t soaked or covered in sweat, but he was still annoyed at Narancia so he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of being right. The two of them still didn’t talk much as they continued to work, either. Narancia would explain what they were going to do and sometimes made an offhand comment, but besides that it was silence. It was a little uncomfortable, but Fugo had to keep telling himself that it was better than Narancia rambling about nothing. Because it was. Why would he want to listen to someone who was basically a stranger talk all day? He didn’t.

Once work was done, Narancia had Giorno hose him off again and thankfully Fugo was spared from the gardener’s wrath this time, though he caught Giorno staring intensely at him a few times. Narancia then had Fugo put away the gloves and other equipment they had used, and even though Fugo still wasn’t sure why he was doing so much work on his first day, he forced himself not to complain. And then finally, finally, Narancia announced that Fugo was done for the day and they could go inside for lunch. The others would apparently still be working until the evening, but Fugo honestly only cared about getting inside.

Fugo made sure to take off his sneakers when he stepped inside after seeing Narancia do the same, and as they walked down the hall and into the kitchen he noticed there were empty dog bowls on the floor near the counter. He watched Narancia pick one of them up and fill it with water from the sink, and Fugo glanced around the room. They have a dog? How did I not see it yesterday? He supposed if the dog lived here then he’d see it eventually, it probably just stayed outside for most of the day.

Narancia opened the fridge and pulled out containers of food, and as he handed Fugo one of them the front door opened and Fugo could hear two people talking. Giorno and Mista, maybe? He was proven correct when the two boys made their way into the kitchen a few seconds later, both of them taking containers from Narancia’s hand. The three of them made easy conversation while Fugo stood off to the side, opening the lid to see what exactly he was given.

All that was in there was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which was a little disappointing but he was too hungry to really complain. However, right before he could take a bite he was stopped. “Wait Fugo, don’t eat that!” Mista’s eyes were wide and he held a hand out to stop him. Giorno and Narancia looked confused and a little worried at Mista’s outburst, and Fugo really wished he just brought his sandwich to his room first. “That has peanut butter, you’re not allergic are you?” Mista asked, frantically looking back and forth between Fugo and the sandwich like he was worried the food was going to attack him or something. “I don’t know if Bruno asked you what your allergies were already, so I just wanted to be sure. You’re the fourth new guy that Bruno’s hired this year, I just wanna make sure nothing super bad happens to you.”

“What does me being the fourth new guy have to do-“ Fugo began to ask, his eyebrows furrowed, but stopped when he saw Giorno and Narancia behind Mista gesturing for him to stop what he was saying. He decided to listen to them, so he cleared his throat to give a different answer. “No, I don’t have an allergy to peanut butter. I don’t think I’m allergic to anything, but my parents would have given that information to Bruno when they arranged for me to come here.”

Mista breathed a sigh of relief at his answer. “Oh, good. Crisis averted then!” He grabbed his container of food and made his way out of the kitchen. “Alright guys, I’ll see you later. I gotta get back to work so I’m gonna take this to-go.” With that, Mista was out the door, leaving only Fugo, Narancia, and Giorno in the kitchen.

Fugo wondered if it was going to be weird being in the room with them, but Giorno ended up leaving too after he filled up his water bottle so he could get back to work. Fugo awkwardly stood in the kitchen staring at Narancia now that it was only the two of them again, wondering if he could go to his room or if he had to wait. Narancia didn’t seem to be sticking around for long either, though, and he began making his way out the door after grabbing some snacks. “Oh, Fugo, feel free to grab yourself a drink or some snacks if you want. If you wanna shower it’s in the room next to Bruno’s room, and let me know if you need help turning the shower on. See you later!”

And just like that, Fugo was alone. It was quiet and cool in the house, and Fugo let himself relax. He ate his lunch swiftly, grabbed a change of clothes from his room, and made his way to the shower. It was a little hard figuring out how it worked, but he absolutely wasn’t going to ask for help with it and was able to get it to work after a few attempts. The blonde showered quickly since he didn’t want to waste both the water and his precious alone time, and soon he found himself in comfortable clothes laying on his bed, book in hand. The fan above him was spinning and he almost wanted to take a nap after realizing how worn out he was, but he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday so he stayed awake.

He switched between reading his book, watching tv, and going on his laptop, finding that the hours passed by quickly. Every now and then he heard someone come into the house, but they went back outside after a couple of minutes and didn’t try to disturb him.

Even dinner was more pleasant this time around. Now that he wasn’t worried over first impressions and wasn’t asked random questions, Fugo was able to eat in silence while the others talked and he put his plate away and left when he was done. Narancia especially looked disappointed at his lack of socialization but let him go without protest, and the only thing said to him as he left was Bruno telling him he needed to be up by 5:30 the next morning so he could shadow Mista.

Given that information, Fugo decided to sleep early. He set his alarm for 5:15am, and hoping that he would actually wake up when it went off, was able to fall into an easy sleep. He’d be able to get seven hours of sleep at this rate, so it wouldn’t be too hard to get up in the morning.

Or so he thought.

Fugo awoke with a cough, his throat feeling extremely dry. He stared up at darkness surrounding him, and blindly reached for his phone. Upon finding it, he pressed the power button and shielded his eyes from the bright light. I thought I turned the damn brightness down before I went to bed, he grumbled in his head, but once his eyes adjusted he was able to read the time: 2:38am. There was a notification about having an email from school, but that was it. Fugo convinced himself that he wasn’t disappointed to see that his parents hadn’t texted.

He tried to swallow a few times, hoping that would keep his throat from being scratchy, but it did nothing to help the sting. Sitting up, he glanced over in the direction of the bedroom door, wondering if it was okay to go out and get a glass of water. There was no reason for that to be a problem, but the worry was still there. Well I can’t sleep with my throat like this and I need to be up early, so I probably should just risk it.

Shutting the door as gently as he could to avoid waking anyone up, Fugo practically tiptoed down the hallway and through the dining room so he could get to the kitchen. He went to turn the light on in the room so he could see, and he jumped in surprise when he saw another figure standing there. Giorno was silently staring at him, a little reminiscent of a cat, and Fugo stared back in confusion. “Uh, hi,” Fugo greeted awkwardly, not exactly sure what to do now. Giorno gave him a little wave back, but otherwise was silent. It felt like the other was judging him. Hard.

“What are you doing up so late?” Fugo asked as he shuffled to the cabinet that he was pretty sure had the cups. Of course he was wrong, because upon opening it he saw that it stored the plates and bowls. The cup cabinet must have been above where Giorno was standing. Fuck.

Giorno helpfully grabbed Fugo a cup when he saw his predicament, handing it to him. Fugo thanked the other boy, turning on the sink so he could pour some water in. He honestly didn’t want to drink sink water, but he didn’t know if their fridge had a water dispenser and he felt weird checking in front of other people, especially those who seemed to be analyzing his every movement.

“Do you want tea instead?” Giorno suddenly asked, having seen the look on Fugo’s face when he had taken a swig of the water. It was then that Fugo noticed the little machine pouring hot water into a mug next to Giorno, and drinking tea sounded a lot better than sink water so he nodded.

Giorno decided to give the mug that was most likely meant for himself to Fugo, and began making another one for himself. “Sugar is over there, honey is in the Lazy Susan, and milk is in the fridge if you need any of those. I hope you’re fine with Earl Grey, it’s all we have right now,” Giorno explained, and when he turned around Fugo saw that his hair was down in the back for once. The curls in the front still looked perfect though, which was odd and a little intriguing.

“Wait, you were making tea in the dark?” Fugo asked as he reached for the sugar and a spoon. Giorno only nodded as if that wasn’t a completely weird thing to do when it took a total of .2 seconds to flick a light switch on. “Hm. Also… you never told me why you were making tea in the middle of the night anyway,” Fugo tried to ask again, having just realized that the younger boy ignored him the first time.

“You’re being awfully nosy for someone who was so against making conversation earlier,” Giorno pointed out, giving him a side glance. He then walked around Fugo to grab some honey and milk, adding it to his tea and swirling it all around with his spoon before putting it back. “Sometimes I can’t sleep, that’s all. I also like to sit in the living room sometimes. Why are you up?”

Fugo took a sip of his tea, sticking his tongue out slightly when he felt his tongue burn. “I had a dry throat,” he replied, shrugging. “I’m going back to bed soon though.” He felt that he needed to add that he wasn’t planning on sticking around for some late-night chat, but it seemed like Giorno honestly didn’t care.

Still, Fugo followed Giorno out of the kitchen once both of their teas were done, shutting the light off as they left, and Fugo poked his head into the living room for the first time since he first arrived. His eyes were still getting adjusted to the darkness again, but Giorno seemed to have no trouble navigating in the dark. Once he was able to see better, Fugo saw that Giorno was now seated on the couch, sipping his tea and thankfully wasn’t staring anymore. Instead, he was watching something else that was on the couch next to him, and Fugo was surprised when he realized that it was Narancia who was currently passed out there, curled up on the cushion. Why isn’t he sleeping in his room?

“He sleeps here or outside a lot more often than he sleeps in his room,” Giorno explained without having even checked to see if Fugo had stayed, and it was scary how he was able to reply immediately after Fugo had the thought. “I don’t know why. But sometimes I figure he might need the company so I stay with him for a bit. He doesn’t sleep well.” Giorno then paused, taking another sip of his tea and then staring Fugo in the eye. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. I thought you were going back to your room.”

Fugo couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, staring down at his steaming tea. “I was,” he responded, not exactly sure why he decided to stay either. “I mean, I am. I just, uh. I don’t know. Maybe I feel a bit bad for being rude to him again today.” His tiredness and the relaxing comfort of the darkness made his tongue loose, and before he knew it he was sitting in the loveseat across from the couch.

Giorno hummed as he drank his beverage, and Fugo wasn’t sure if he was pleased or annoyed that Fugo had stayed. He obviously wasn’t mad, though, since he kept talking to him. “Well,” Giorno began, “Luckily for you Narancia is a very forgiving person. Just don’t, you know, scream in his face or deeply insult him and he won’t do anything. Though I’ve heard you’ve already done that…” The other boy’s fingers started gently running through Narancia’s hair, and this time when he stared at him as he sipped his drink it felt accusatory. Fugo gulped out of nervousness, wishing he had just said goodnight and gone to sleep like he had planned to.

“Relax, Fugo,” Giorno must have sensed his unease, and Fugo frowned when he heard the other chuckle at him. “Narancia told me it wasn’t a big deal. Don’t freak out, no one is angry at you.” Giorno seemed completely relaxed, but for some reason Fugo felt as though the other boy was holding back on saying something. They continued to sit in the dark room, both of them finishing their drinks in relative silence. Fugo was stuck between honestly liking Giorno’s weird and quiet company and worrying that the other hated him.

“You should go back to bed, you look tired.” Giorno suggested after a few more minutes, and Fugo nodded in reply, standing up and finishing the rest of his tea. He felt more tired after it was pointed out to him, and he was glad he was given an easy exit from the conversation. He said goodnight to the boy and made his way out of the room, but not before taking one last look at the two on the couch. Narancia had moved a bit in his sleep, so now the top of his head was pressed up against the side of Giorno’s leg, and Giorno moved a blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch so it covered the black-haired boy's body. When Narancia made a sleepy grumbling sound he moved his hand back so he was petting the shorter boy’s hair again, immediately relaxing him. Fugo thought it was sweet, but then it made him angry for what he thought was absolutely no reason, so he quickly turned away and left.

Once he was back in his bed, Fugo realized he felt conflicted. He told himself over and over that he didn’t want to talk to any of them unless he had to because it was just a bad idea, but now he wondered if he was making a mistake. He saw how easily Giorno, Mista, and Narancia interacted during the day, and it was clear that Giorno had only acted the way he did towards him because he cared about Narancia. They all had some kind of bond, and obviously it was something that had been cultivated for most likely multiple years, but Fugo couldn’t help but want that too. He glanced over at the phone on the bedside table, trying to silently will it to flash on and signal that he had a notification from his family, but the screen stayed dark.

Fugo sighed, rolling over onto his opposite side, and stared at the closed window on the far wall of the room. So maybe I would want to be friends with them, he admitted in his mind, though he wasn’t happy about it. But I barely know how to make friends and I doubt they would actually want to be friends once they get to know me. And it’s stupid to think I could even get a bond like that after a few months. And even if I did, I would just be leaving in August and it would all be worthless!

Fugo grabbed one of the extra pillows on the bed and hugged it close to his chest, groaning into it in annoyance. Even entertaining the idea sounded stupid, he was only thinking about it anyway because it was late and he was tired and jealous of how much of a family they all seemed to be. He would be fine in the morning. I just need to get to sleep again.

Of course, now that he was actively trying to sleep he couldn’t keep his eyes closed, so he was tormented with having to replay his interactions with the others from the past day and a half over and over again, as well as thinking about what his family had been doing and if they even cared that he was gone. Briefly he wondered if he should talk to Bruno tomorrow about what he had been thinking about, but immediately cast that thought aside because it didn’t make sense. Bruno didn’t need to hear all that.

Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, his thoughts about his family translating into some not-so-pleasant dreams. It was a common occurrence, however, and at the very least he was able to sleep through the rest of the night without any outside disturbances. As long as Mista didn’t make him do the same amount of work in the morning as Narancia had this past day, he would be fine tomorrow.

Chapter Text

So it turned out that Mista actually was a lot more lenient than Narancia was when it came to Fugo doing work, which was a godsend considering Mista usually only helped with two things: cooking food and working with the animals. He especially was attached to a few specific chickens, and at one point had even tried to get Fugo to hold one, which the blond immediately refused.

“It’s okay Number 5, he didn’t mean it,” Mista cooed at the bird, who cheeped almost sadly. Mista frowned and turned towards Fugo again as he cradled the pitiful thing in his arms. “Look Fugo, you made her sad. She gets bullied by all the other hens, the least you could do is be nice to her!” he exclaimed, and the ugly bird made another annoying sound that got Mista’s attention. He shushed her like a mother would a baby, and Fugo thought the whole thing was ridiculous. They were standing in a chicken coop at not even 7am and he had to watch this guy shush a chicken because he claimed Fugo was being mean to it? And he named the chicken something as stupid as Number 5? Oh, and he referred to the group of hens as a whole as the Sex Pistols? Why was this his life now. He almost missed Narancia… almost.

“Anyway, we have regular chicken feed for them but I also like to feed them the kitchen scraps,” Mista told him, putting Number 5 down with the other hens and grabbing the bowl of scraps and a bucket of chicken feed he kept out of their reach. “Here, you can take the bowl.”

Fugo hesitantly accepted the bowl, not liking the shit-eating grin on the other’s face. The bowl smelled nasty given the array of foods in it, and he just wanted it away from himself as quickly as possible. “So, do I just put it on the ground?” he asked, startling when one of the chickens stepped onto his shoes and pecked at him. Mista shook his head, his grin only growing wider. Oh no. This couldn’t be good.

“Nah, you gotta hand feed them because they’re little babies,” Mista replied, nodding at the group of six hens. “We have a lot of other birds but these guys are special, so just grab a handful and kneel down. I promise you’ll barely feel a pinch if they accidentally peck you.”

Fugo knew he was being set up, there was no way Mista sat down and hand fed six rowdy hens kitchen scraps every morning and also took care of the other chickens, but he couldn’t say no because he was supposed to listen to his instructions. So, he begrudgingly stuck his hand in the bowl and grabbed a handful of scraps. It was absolutely disgusting. Yeah, he would rather listen to Narancia ramble on about nothing and be overworked by him in the hot sun than do this ever again. Mista looked ready to laugh, and he gestured at Fugo to kneel down on the floor and feed them.

The moment he did, his vision was obscured by all six of the chickens flying directly at him. They landed in front of him, in the scrap bowl, on his other hand, even in his hair, and he fell backwards out of surprise. The bowl fell out of his grasp, the contents of it going flying on the ground and onto himself, and he could hear Mista holler in laughter as the hens began pecking at him and the food. He tried to shoo them off of him but he really didn’t want to touch them and they kept climbing back on top of him, and he vaguely could see Mista pulling out his phone to either take a picture or capture a video of him. Dickhead.

Eventually he was able to get the hens off of him after Mista finally stepped in. “Number 2, his hair isn’t food! I know he’s a blond but his hair is closer to white than yellow, it doesn’t even look like your food! Number 3, stop pecking Number 5, we’ve been over this!” He snatched up two of the hens, who squirmed and squawked and kicked like toddlers, but it was clear Mista was having a blast at Fugo’s expense.

Fugo stood up, wiping at his clothes to get the gross, slimey stuff off of his hand, and he found that he was extremely dirty. There was even some stuff in his hair, which was gross, and he absolutely couldn’t work like this. So, once Mista got the chickens settled, Fugo roughly handed him back the bowl. “I know that’s not how you feed the goddamn chickens. Never have me do that again,” he hissed, but instead of getting annoyed Mista only barked in laughter again.

“Dude, I can NOT take you seriously when you have feathers in your hair and some food scraps on your face!” He pointed at the spot on his own cheek as he laughed at him, and Fugo fumed as he furiously wiped it away. He then checked his watch, which he would have to clean once he was done with work. It was only 7:05am.

This was going to be a long day.

Fugo had hoped that the days would get easier the more he adjusted to the work, and to some degree it eventually did. He didn’t need to be walked through everything anymore, and some jobs were easier than others. However, some things didn’t seem to change. Each day there was some kind of joke that Mista and Narancia, and occasionally Giorno, would pull on him. Narancia would practically jump on his bed or yell in his ear at 5am sharp to wake him up, Mista purposely embarrassed him in front of several customers when they worked the storefront together, and Giorno never really did anything on his own but seemed to enjoy his embarrassment just as much, if not more than the other two. Somehow Bruno never saw these occurrences happen even once, so the three of them had to have conspired together and planned for things to be this way. Fugo just wished Bruno wasn’t so busy with his jobs on the farm; maybe the older man would actually discipline the others for tormenting the new guy.

However, despite his building irritation and embarrassment, Fugo surprisingly was able to keep his cool for the most part. He was a bit snappy and frequently left the other three when they were bothering him so he could go work on his own if he knew what he was doing, but he hadn’t had any outbursts. That was good, it was progress. Fugo had to pat himself on the back for that, it had been almost two weeks and he hadn’t lost his composure like he had during those first two days. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he actually got free time to do what he wanted when he wasn’t working and, minus the occasional visit from Narancia asking if he wanted to join the others for some stupid or boring thing they were doing in the evening, he was left alone. The only times he actively sought out the others was when he legitimately couldn’t figure out how something like the laundry machine worked, since he embarrassingly was a bit clueless at home chores. Usually the only one available was Narancia, so he ended up helping him out and at least as of right now hadn’t done anything bad. In Fugo’s mind, however, was just lucky that the black-haired boy hadn’t tried to turn his white clothes pink in the wash yet. It was only a matter of time.

He was surprised his parents hadn’t called or even texted since he arrived, but by this point he figured it was just part of the punishment they were giving him. They must have known Fugo expected them to call so he could demand that they bring him back home, so they were going to wait a few weeks before personally checking in with him. But Fugo couldn’t imagine that they would throw him away with some strangers for a summer and just not care to make sure he was okay. After all, they spent too much money on him to be so careless. He was too valuable. They probably have been checking up with Bruno. I feel bad for him, they’re not exactly easy people to talk to... but Bruno’s good at talking to people, I think.

This Friday morning began the same as the last Friday had gone. Instead of (hopefully) being woken up to his cell phone alarm’s harp ringtone, he was startled awake by a loud, obnoxious voice grating on his ears and two rough hands shaking his shoulders.

“WAKE UP!” Narancia himself always looked a little irritated when he was waking him up, and it definitely didn’t help Fugo’s mood. The blond, like he had been doing every day, batted Narancia’s hands away with one hand and then physically pushed Narancia away from his personal space with the other. The shorter boy stumbled back a few steps like he still hadn’t seen this coming, but quickly got his balance again and crossed his arms. “Fugo! Jesus fucking Christ, it’s 5:10!” Narancia was glaring at him now, and all Fugo could do was glare back.

“So what if it’s 5:10?” Fugo retorted, just now noticing the calming tunes coming from his phone. Apparently his alarm actually was going off. He stared at the device for a few seconds and then snatched it, pressing the power button and checking the screen. As he realized what happened, Narancia began impatiently tapping his foot on the ground.

“Connect the dots yet, genius?” Narancia sneered at him and Fugo noted that his mood was especially bad this morning, which was just great. A grumpy Narancia was just who Fugo wanted to spend his day with.

Fugo turned his alarm off and checked through his notifications despite there not actually being anything to check, and without looking up at the other he responded, “So I slept through my alarm once, it’s not a big deal. You don’t need to yell at me to wake me up.”

Narancia scoffed at that, and when Fugo looked up at him he was giving him a completely bewildered look. “Once? Fugo… do you realize that you’ve been sleeping through your alarm almost every day? I try to wake you up but you sleep like the fucking dead! I’m not just yelling at you for fun! … Well, maybe it’s a little fun, but my point is being gentle doesn’t work. I’m actually doing you a favor here!” he exclaimed, gesturing with his hands now, and Fugo had no idea what he was talking about with being done a favor. The blond never knew of himself to be a particularly heavy sleeper anyway. Maybe he was just overtired from this new work? And, to be fair, he always did have someone waking him up in the morning… Am I really that hard to wake up?

“If you seriously slept in and Bruno found out, he would tear you a new one!” Narancia explained to him, and clearly he was speaking from experience given the way he spoke and the look on his face. “The last thing you wanna do is wake up and realize Bruno is standing at your bedside and you’re two hours late to work. It’s a horrible, he’s such a stickler for that stuff and he’s scary when he’s mad. So really, you’re welcome. I’m saving your ass from the nightmare that is a Real Bruno Lecture.” And with that, Narancia turned on his heel and made his way back out the door, but before the black-haired boy left he turned his head to look back at Fugo, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

Fugo stared back at him, not sure what he was waiting for. “Uh… thank you, then?” Fugo tried, and Narancia rolled his eyes at the lack of care in Fugo’s voice but didn’t make him try again. “Wow, next time try to at least pretend to be grateful, Fugo,” he teased, voice lighter than before. He made a face a moment later though, as if he suddenly remembered something unpleasant. “Oh. At 9 you’re going to be working the storefront with me, so uh… don’t be late.”

Narancia then left, swiftly shutting the door behind him, and Fugo was left to wonder what that was all about. Well, if it has to do with us working together then I’m sure I’ll find out when I get to the store later, Fugo reasoned, deciding that it probably wasn’t that big of a deal. He and Narancia had been working generally fine together, at least from Fugo’s point of view. While it was a bit awkward, Narancia had been keeping his promise and had generally stopped talking about random things with him during work. He still acted mischievous and got on his nerves that way, but they tended to work in general silence now. As uncomfortable as that was, neither of them could deny that they got a lot of work done together. That was the important part, at least to Fugo.

However, despite their decently good track record, it seemed that today was destined to be different from the others, because when he finished his work with Giorno and made his way over to the store, Bruno was there as well. The taller man hadn’t had any need to explain every single new job to Fugo this whole week, so seeing him there caught him off guard. Did I do something wrong? Narancia didn’t seem pleased to have Bruno around either, and Bruno was doing an excellent job of ignoring the boy next to him. They must have just had a talk, then.

“Good morning, Fugo,” Bruno greeted, polite as always. Fugo greeted him back, hiding his confusion behind his smile. Bruno could see through it anyway and quickly cut to the chase. “So I know you know how to work this specific job by now, I’m not here to tell you you’re doing anything wrong,” Bruno began. “Actually, I hear you’re doing quite well. I’ve held back on having you work with Narancia at the store until you were a bit more comfortable with the flow of everything.”

Fugo couldn’t help but try to guess at what Bruno was trying to say. Was there something wrong with Narancia? All it took was the two of them locking eyes for a moment and Narancia was suddenly speaking up, looking honestly a bit embarrassed. “Bruno! Don’t make it sound like there’s some big problem! There’s no problem!” he complained, and Fugo felt a bit bad for him. It was obvious even to him that the freckled boy was trying to get Bruno to stop talking, so whatever it was must have been what he was bothered by earlier in the morning. At least I got one mystery solved…

“Of course it’s not a problem,” Bruno placated, but otherwise didn’t feed into Narancia’s irritability and focused on Fugo. “Narancia tends to struggle with the cash register, he’s not that fast when it comes to counting change and he’s just not great at working the register in general. I don’t need to go into details, but I wanted to make sure that you understood that you’re going to need to mainly work the register. Narancia will deal with any assistance a customer needs. Does that work for you?”

Fugo quietly nodded, not exactly sure what to say to that. How could someone be bad at a cash register? I’ve only been working for two weeks and I know it’s not that hard to understand. Hasn’t Narancia been here for years? So, technically there were things he could say to that, but he knew that would be beyond rude especially when Narancia looked miserable enough as it was.

Satisfied that he said everything that he needed to, Bruno made a quick exit after telling them where he would be if they needed any help. Once they were alone, Narancia began tapping the counter over and over, setting a rhythm with four of his fingers. It quickly bothered Fugo, though he didn’t say anything. Finger tapping was better than rambling.

Work was slow at first, only a couple of customers appearing that hour. Narancia easily was able to slip into his customer service mode, happily assisting anyone with finding a certain plant if they needed it and carrying any heavy objects to the counter. Fugo was more stiff, finding it hard to make small talk with some of the more chatty customers while he rang up their items. The blond just didn’t understand why they couldn’t just buy their stuff and go; no one needed to stand there and chat for five minutes. It distracted Narancia enough, though, and their job was easy when Narancia would talk to the customer while Fugo handled the money part.

However, with the less talkative customers Narancia got a bit antsy. He tried to shove his way into Fugo’s space, insisting that he could be of some help. Fugo was able to ignore him and none of the customers were bothered, but after Narancia repeated these actions a few times Fugo knew he had to put a stop to it.

“Narancia,” he hissed as an older man left to his car with a potted plant in hand. “Do you mind knocking it off? You heard Bruno, you do your thing and I’ll do mine.” How was that so hard to understand? Yeah, he supposed being bad at counting change theoretically was a little embarrassing, but why couldn’t Narancia just accept that and do what he was actually good at?

Narancia scrunched up his nose as he frowned, shoving Fugo away from the register again with his shoulder. “Bruno was exaggerating. I’m fine at counting change, it’s just that no one believes me and I don’t remember how the register works anymore and no one has the time to retrain me,” he explained even though he looked more upset than confident in his words. Fugo didn’t believe him for a second, so he fished out his own wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” the blonde replied with every intent to prove Narancia wrong so he would stop causing a problem and they could finally move on. “Pretend I’m a customer. I just bought some items and I’m handing you this bill. The actual total is $16.34. How much change do you give me? Also there are two other separate customers in line, so you don’t have much time to waste.” The scenario was easy enough, and it took Fugo only a few short seconds to calculate that he would need $3.66 in change. However, Narancia just intensely stared at the bill that was now in his hands, growing more and more anxious after each passing second.

“I… uh…” Narancia fumbled for words, a frown growing on his face. “$4.48?” he answered after way too many seconds had passed, knitting his eyebrows in apprehension. He knew he was wrong.

Fugo sighed, snatching his money back from Narancia’s hands. “No,” the blond said, pocketing his wallet once more. Narancia’s face fell despite already anticipating that answer, and as annoying as it was to have to explain basic math like this, Fugo decided to try and help him out.

“Okay, try thinking of it this way. Yes, 16 plus 4 does equal 20, but since its 16.34 and not 16.00, your answer is going to have three dollars. Now, picture the 34. Okay? Now we’re going to bump that 34 to a 40. What is 40 minus 34?” He then waited for Narancia, who was looking a little lost, to answer.

It took the boy a few seconds, but Fugo hoped that it was just because he was still processing everything that was just said. “Uh, 40 minus 34 is 6,” he responded, and Fugo nodded encouragingly. A small smile found its way back to Narancia’s face, even though he only answered the easiest part right. Fugo didn’t say that, though. Instead he just continued on.

“Good. Now, since 40 minus 34 equals 6, you’ll need a nickel and a penny. Remember that. Now you’re at $16.40. We’ll bump that up to $17.00. Now tell me what 100 minus 40 is.” Like last time, he waited for a response.

“… 60?” Narancia answered, earning another smile and a nod from Fugo. “Yes! Okay, we’re done with the hard stuff now for the most part. Remember that nickel and penny from before? Well now you need to add two quarters and a dime to it. All together the change in coins is 66 cents, okay?” Fugo explained, wishing he had a paper and pencil to write everything out. Narancia looked more than a little confused, but Fugo didn’t go back to re-explain because Narancia ended up nodding along and he had gotten all of the questions right so far anyway.

So, Fugo continued on after making sure there were no customers arriving. “Okay, now we have $17.00 right? 20 minus 17 is 3 – I’m sure you knew that – so you’ll need three dollars. Add the three dollars and that change you calculated earlier and what do you get?” He asked, gesturing for Narancia to answer. Instead of saying the answer, Narancia froze with wide eyes. Fugo’s hand dropped back to his side, both annoyed and amazed that someone could forget something so quickly.

“I… was it 67 cents?” Narancia asked, averting his eyes when Fugo just stared at him. “Sorry, I swear I was paying attention. I just was trying to imagine all the steps in my head but it all got jumbled up and then I forgot what the number was that you said because I was trying to remember how many of each coin I needed, and… yeah.”

Fugo took a deep breath. Okay, he just forgot. He would be fine if we had a pen and paper. I’m sure by now he realizes that he can’t work the register right now anyway. He’s not lying, he’s not playing some trick on me, he’s actually trying to listen. He tried to think calming thoughts even though he couldn’t personally understand how it was so hard for someone to understand the math probem, and he honestly almost had himself fully under control until Narancia groaned in annoyance and hit his fist on the counter.

“This is stupid!” Narancia whined, seemingly done with learning all together for now. “You’re explaining this so weird, it’s too hard to just think this all up off the top of my head! Pick an easier method because you’re not explaining shit!”

In hindsight there were multiple reasons why that caused him to fly off the handle. It was a mix of Narancia’s quickness to give up on the problem when he had been about to solve it, the unintentional jab at Fugo’s own teaching ability, and the multitude of annoyances that Fugo had pushed down without addressing from the past week that caused his anger to come back full steam. But in the moment it felt as though it appeared without warning, and all of a sudden Fugo was slamming his own hand on the counter twice as hard, not caring about the sharp pain that shot up his arm. If anything, the pain only served to make him angrier.

“I’m not explaining shit?” he questioned, leaning in slightly towards Narancia, who leaned away and took his hand back off the counter. “Well maybe you’re just too fucking dumb to understand this! How can you have seemingly worked here for years but you can’t solve basic math with money? People learn how to count money like this in what, third or fourth grade? Why does Bruno let you work here if you don’t even know how to do your goddamn job?” he raged, ignoring the part of him that knew better than to call someone dumb for something like this. That part of him wasn’t in control, and at this point in time it felt like it had never been in control at all.

Narancia, for a brief moment, looked like he wanted to cry. Fugo noticed, but he didn’t exactly process it fully as he was yelling, but he could see the shiny glint in the other boy’s bluish eyes. However, before he knew it the shorter boy had grabbed the front of his shirt in his fists and roughly shoved him backwards, sending Fugo tripping over one of the wooden boxes on the ground. Fugo would have fallen if he hadn’t been able to grab the counter for support, and as he righted himself he could feel the rage once again begin to fade due to the shift in his focus. It didn’t get to fully dissipate though, because as he stood up straight he was met with a pocketknife pointing dangerously close to his face.

“What the fuck did you just say about me?” Narancia was the one yelling now, looking rightfully pissed off. His hand was shaking from what was probably anger, but Fugo was more focused on his face and his words. “Who gave you the right to call me dumb? Not all of us got to grow up like you, you stuck up little rich boy! Who was the one who showed you how to do your other work these past few weeks? Me! Who was the one who handled all the customers that you were too fucking awkward to ask even how their day was? Me! And who was the one who showed you how to even do your own fucking laundry because poor little you probably had some maid at home who tended to you every need instead of teaching you life skills? Why don’t you give me that answer, Fugo? Do you know what it is? I’m sure it’s not that fucking hard!”

It was clear that Narancia was referencing how Fugo spoke in their earlier math conversation, and Fugo’s leftover anger mixed with his genuine fear of having a knife pulled on him at 9:30 in the morning by someone who was upset and clearly knew how to use the weapon. He must have taken too long to reply due to being too focused on his thoughts because Narancia suddenly looked even angrier than before. “Okay, since you don’t know the answer then I’ll just tell you. It was me!” The freckled boy took a step forward, and Fugo stepped back around the box to get more distance between them. He didn’t know what to do, he was stuck between wanting to leave the store and yelling back, so naturally his anger took over again.

“Why can’t you just accept that Bruno doesn’t think you can handle this yourself! I’m just trying to do my fucking job!” Fugo kicked the box towards Narancia as a way to release the pressure building up in him, and Narancia immediately kicked it back and hissed. He must have hit it wrong. “If you just stopped challenging everything Bruno said to you like an idiot then we wouldn’t even have a problem, you know!” Again, a small part of himself yelled in his head that he was the one who needed to shut up, but honestly it was pointless to even try now. The damage was already done.

This time a few tears did actually appear, and Narancia flapped his mouth as he tried to find some retort. Instead, his grip on his knife tightened and for a terrifying second Fugo thought he actually was going to attack him, but instead Narancia just stabbed the counter with it, the knife lodging itself a bit in the wood. As Fugo stared at it, he could see that there were multiple marks left on the counter of a similar size and shape.

“I’m not an idiot, shut up!” Narancia cried, kicking the box again the same way as before, and even though he clearly was hurting himself by doing so he kicked it again and again. “Shut up you fucking-!”

“HEY. You two are causing a scene.”

The new, deep and stern voice caused both Fugo and Narancia to whip around, the words dying on Narancia’s tongue. Standing in the store a little ways from the counter was a tall, well-built man with his arms crossed over a navy-blue v-neck t shirt. His hair was white, so it most likely was dyed, and it was in a lose ponytail in the back. He had a purple hairclip in the front to keep his bangs out of his face, and he did not look happy in the slightest. His lips, which had purple lipstick on them, were set in a scowl that seemed too natural for his face. Was this a customer?

If he was then he was a regular, because Narancia seemed to know exactly who he was. “A-Abbacchio!” He seemed surprised to see him, and he frowned at the tall man. That name sounded familiar, like it had been mentioned before in conversation over dinner or something. “What do you want? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Abbacchio rolled his eyes, yanking the pocketknife from the counter and holding it out of Narancia’s reach before the other could even try to get it back. “That doesn’t matter. You two are lucky I’m the only one in the store right now or else you would have had a major problem. It’s unprofessional to yell at each other on the job, and I doubt your customers want to see you waving around a knife while you argue.” He spoke in a very blunt way, not at all caring if Narancia or Fugo got mad at him. As he handed the knife back, his voice went lower. “You’re especially lucky Bruno didn’t see or hear that, you know how he feels about the knife, Narancia.”

Narancia bowed his head in shame, pocketing the knife easily and wringing his hands together. “I know. I just-“ Abbacchio cut him off with a wave of his hand, more interested in Fugo than him. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Not like I even work here. Anyway, this the new guy you all were telling me about?” he asked, and the way the white-haired man seemed to be analyzing him reminded Fugo of Giorno from his first few days here. He didn’t like it.

Uncomfortable or not, he knew he couldn’t let Narancia be the one to do the introductions even though it was clear the other had been talking about him before. He already made a bad enough first impression… again. “I’m Fugo,” he greeted, forcing the words out because it was currently hard for him to speak due to the swirling thoughts in his head. His anger was completely gone now, having left an empty hole as it always did, and the only thing that ever was able to fill it was shame and guilt.

Abbacchio grunted, not bothering to introduce himself back. “Just watch your mouth, kid. Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he said, and that was that. His focus was back on Narancia, and he spoke as though the other hadn’t been threatening his coworker with a knife a minute before. “Speaking of Bruno, have you seen him?”

Narancia sighed, putting his elbows on the counter as he leaned forward. “Hey, ‘bbacchio. You can’t just waltz in here and ask to see Bruno every day. He’s busy! Come back later.” The smaller boy then tried to shoo him away, but Abbacchio decided instead to just walk behind the counter so he could exit out the back door. Narancia immediately tugged on his arm to try and stop him, complaining about how he was breaking and entering, but Abbacchio easily was able to put him into a headlock and ruffle his hair, causing Narancia to squawk in protest and flail his arms to get away. Fugo was amazed that Narancia, who had been about to explode as badly as Fugo himself had, was now allowing this guy to push him around and say whatever he wanted to him. They must have known each other for a long time, too, then.

“Fine, fine! Bruno’s probably out in one of the greenhouses right now, but if he’s not then he’s probably working in the fields or something and you’ll actually have to wait!” Narancia admitted, finally pulling himself out of Abbacchio’s grip and then immediately jabbing him with his elbow. “Now get outta here, you’re interrupting my work too!”

Abbacchio rolled his eyes, looking down at Narancia’s scrunched up, pouting face. He moved his hand forward, curling his fingers, and gently squeezed Narancia’s nose between his pointer and middle fingers, shaking his hand back and forth lightly. “Cut the attitude, kid. I’ll swing by this weekend if I can, let you borrow those DVDs like I promised.” He then let go of Narancia’s nose and chuckled at that way the boy immediately covered his lower face with his hands and glared up at him. “I’ll see you later if I can.”

As Abbacchio passed by Fugo to get to the door, he paused very briefly and turned his head ever so slightly to stare at the blond. No words were exchanged, but his intent was very clear. Whoever this Abbacchio was, he very obviously was protective over the others and wasn’t happy with what he saw from Fugo. It once again was similar to Giorno, but Fugo could see the more intense warning in Abbacchio’s eyes. Fugo forced himself to keep his gaze steady, feeling as though he was being tested. The white-haired man’s eyes narrowed, but then he huffed and continued walking.

Once Abbacchio shut the back door behind him, Narancia finally seemed to register that Fugo was still in the room. They gave each other uneasy looks, the air around them cold and uncomfortable. Fugo wanted to apologize for what had just happened; hell, he wanted to apologize for everything he had done beginning with his first day on the farm, but once again Narancia beat him to it.

“Listen, dude,” Narancia at some point had grabbed another one of the stools and was sitting in it, one leg curled underneath him and the other kicking in the air. He looked uncomfortable breaking the silence, but he didn’t stop talking. “Sorry for pullin’ my knife on you like that. I know that was probably kinda scary, but I promise I wasn’t gonna like, stab you or anything. It’s just a bad habit that I never grew out of, as much as Bruno hates it. But y’know, I’m just sorry is all.”

Bad habit? How does someone get into a bad habit of pulling a knife on people? Fugo figured it was better to not dwell on that statement, and instead focused on how easily Narancia was able to apologize for what he did wrong. He shouldn’t even be apologizing, Fugo was the one who lost his shit and screamed insults at him. Why was it so hard to just say sorry too? He was able to apologize to Bruno, so why was this different?

Fugo couldn’t bring himself to look at the other boy as he tried to force himself to speak. His eyes stared down at the cash register and he opened and closed his mouth multiple times before any words even began to come out. “No, Narancia, I- Don’t… don’t apologize,” he was finally able to get out, feeling as though he had to mentally push each individual word out. “You were completely right. I was wrong.”

That got Narancia’s attention. The black-haired boy blinked a few times, not having expected his apology to go in this direction. “I was right?” Narancia repeated, hesitantly pointing at himself. His voice was quieter than before and made him sound like he didn’t believe what he was hearing, so Fugo forced himself to continue.

“Yes. If anyone doesn’t know how to do their job, it’s me,” Fugo explained, sneaking a few glances at Narancia as he spoke. “While you’ve gotten on my nerves a bit, you’re the one who showed me how to do most of the work here. Every time I’ve asked you to show me where something is or how something worked, you always helped me. For me to- to turn around and then call you an idiot who doesn’t know how to do your job… I wouldn’t blame you if you went to find Bruno yourself to get me in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong, so I’m-“ His voice got caught again, his words stuck, so he cleared his throat and clasped his hands together on the counter. “I’m truly sorry, Narancia. You don’t need to forgive-“

“It’s chill, no worries,” Narancia cut him off, the heel of his foot hitting one of the stool legs as he swung his leg back and forth. He didn’t look mad even though he absolutely should have been, at least in Fugo’s mind. How is he so okay with all of this? “Why would I go to Bruno? I only go to him when I can’t solve something by myself. Seems like we’re solving this just fine on our own, so he doesn’t gotta know.”

“No, no. You don’t get it, Narancia,” Fugo shook his head violently, trying to find a way to explain to Narancia that just because they apologized it didn’t mean everything was okay now. His anger was never a one-time thing, no one should adopt a forgive and forget mentality with it. “I’ve tried telling Bruno this but I get… really angry.”

Narancia snorted at Fugo’s wording. “Yeah, no shit. Tell me something I don’t know.” He looked like he wanted to tease him more, but a sharp glare shut him up.

Fugo tried again, hoping that this time the gravity of the situation would be understood. “What I mean is, well, I have anger problems, I guess. Things that would make a normal person irritated make me furious usually, and when I get angry I lose control of myself. It doesn’t make me a great person to be around.” Without noticing, one of his hands had started to scratch at the top of his other one, leaving the skin red and stinging. Even when he became aware of it, his brain was too preoccupied with his own anxious thoughts to stop the scratching.

The sound of feet hitting the ground got Fugo’s attention, and he looked up in time to see that Narancia had walked a few steps to stand next to him. The boy’s hand gently touched his wrist, and the unexpectedness of the other’s touch coupled with Narancia tugging at him made his hands move apart. Thankfully he hadn’t made himself bleed this time, but the area he had scratched at definitely was going to feel raw for the next hour or so.

“Don’t do that to yourself.” Narancia didn’t let go of his wrist even after Fugo had let go of his other hand, and even though the close proximity and physical touch made alarms sound in Fugo’s already anxious brain he still didn’t even attempt to let go. Narancia looked up at him, and what else could Fugo do but stare back? This was weird, he didn’t know how the mood of their conversation changed so abruptly or why Narancia cared to stop Fugo’s bad habit or why they were still so close or why his face was beginning to heat up despite the store being air conditioned-

Narancia hummed thoughtfully, a smile appearing on his face. “Maybe having a friend here will make things better,” He proposed, and when did he change his grip so they were holding hands now? Fugo had never held hands with anyone ever in his life besides when he was a kid holding his parents’ or a caretaker’s hand to cross the street. Well, there was also that one time in kindergarten when my parents made me hold hands with the daughter of one of their friends and kiss her cheek and they all cooed about how we were going to get married, but that was gross. There was a pressure on his hand, and Fugo snapped out of his thoughts to realize that Narancia was gently squeezing it. Oh, right. He still hadn’t answered him.

But of course Narancia seemed to have this tendency to speak right before Fugo could get the chance to. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be me of course. Giorno told me you two sometimes have tea together at night when you can’t sleep. You two would get along, I think,” he backpedaled, probably not wanting to come on too strong. “I’m not saying you need to be best friends with any of us either, but I know at least for me it’s easier to have friends around so maybe it could help you. Uh, I dunno, I know it’s not the same situation but-“

Fugo squeezed Narancia’s hand back, being extra careful to make sure that he was being gentle. It may have been a trick of the light, but Fugo thought he noticed a shade of pink dusting Narancia’s tanned cheeks as the boy smiled at him again. The only word that could describe how this situation felt was strangely intimate, which was entirely stupid because how could anything be intimate with someone you’ve only known for two weeks and have spent more time arguing with than talking normally to? It was a dumb thought, it was weird.

“Just think about it, maybe?” Narancia suggested, a twinkle of hope in his eyes, and suddenly everything made sense. Oh. Has he been trying to become my friend this whole time? It would explain why he had been so talkative the first few days, or why he had asked to watch that tv show with him instead of hanging out with the others, or why he was so willing to help him. Maybe he was completely wrong, but for some reason Fugo had a feeling that he was right about this.

Still, he couldn’t shake his worries that making friends here was a bad idea. He had already gone over it before, he already convinced himself over the past few weeks that he absolutely shouldn’t try becoming friends with any of them. But… Narancia looked so genuinely hopeful, like he saw something in Fugo that made him want to get to know him even though they just argued and he knew next to nothing about Fugo’s academics or his past achievements or about who his parents were. The only time people ever cared about getting to know Fugo was if they wanted something from him, but Narancia didn’t seem to want anything except another friend to hang out with. Plus they were still holding hands, which was something that Fugo embarrassingly couldn’t get his mind off of. He knew it was bad to be so caught up on that for so many reasons, so instead he decided to do the only thing he knew how; ignore it.

“I… okay.” Fugo nodded, and when Narancia’s face lit up at his agreement he turned his head away to stop himself from smiling, pretending he was checking to make sure no customers had walked in and witnessed their odd exchange. He took his hand back once someone actually did walk in, but it wasn’t awkward. They went back to working in tandem, Fugo handling the cash register and Narancia assisting customers. When there were lulls in work they mostly sat in a comfortable silence. Apparently Narancia and Mista stored a magazine collection in the back room, so Fugo was allowed to find something interesting to look at. He settled on some craft & hobby magazine, not having been interested in the copious amounts of car and cooking magazines in the basket. They must have been Mista’s, since Narancia grabbed a weird combination of some comics and a home & garden magazine.

It turned out that Fugo felt much lighter after having gotten that apology off his chest, and even though some deep part of his mind was still berating himself for having been such an awful person earlier, he mostly was able to get through the day in a decently good mood. His work days were longer now, having eased into it after the first week, so he didn’t finish until around the same time the others did. Bruno, however, was still out working so dinner was just a quick meal heated up in the microwave. Fugo ate quickly, wanting to be able to shower before Narancia, Giorno, or even Mista got the same idea, but thankfully the three were having one of their dinner debate nights again, as they usually did when Mista decided to stay over after work. Narancia looked disappointed when he noticed Fugo moving to put away his things, and this time it made the blond feel a bit guilty considering their earlier conversation. He made sure to wave at him as he left, though, and Narancia perked up and waved back.

Feeling immensely better after getting all of that grime washed off, and he prepared himself for another solitary night in his room. Once again, though, his earlier conversation with Narancia popped back into his head. The blond couldn’t deny that he wanted to be friends with them – that desire was growing stronger, much to his chagrin – and maybe it could help more than it could hurt. He couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to be close to him, but he could be okay with being friends. Maybe. Plus for some reason he couldn’t bear to let Narancia down again even though he hadn’t even promised him anything. He seemed so happy when Fugo agreed to think about what he had suggested and he had tightened his grip on Fugo’s hand ever so slightly, most likely unconsciously. As much as it flustered him, that memory was what led him out of his room and down the hall, book in hand. In his mind he kept telling himself that he just wanted a change in scenery and maybe some company because he absolutely did not want to think about the implications of him repeating the memory of Narancia holding his hand. It was bad to think like that. His parents would be disgusted with him for being so hung up about it.

Upon walking into the living room, he found that Narancia was sitting on the couch, as expected, and curled up beside him was a… dog? Both Narancia and the animal moved their heads when Fugo stepped in the room, and a bright smile lit up on Narancia’s face at the same time the dog hopped to its feet. Fugo remembered the dog bowl he had seen earlier, but how had it taken two weeks for him to actually see the dog? Probably because I almost never left my room after work…

“Oh, Fugo! Hi!” Narancia greeted excitedly, pausing whatever game he was playing on the TV. Fugo greeted him back, his eyes still on the dog whose tail was wagging. It had a blue merle pattern on it and a bright blue collar, but Fugo couldn’t tell what kind of breed it was or its name. Narancia noticed that he was eyeing the dog, so he helpfully supplied the missing information.

“Oh, this is Sticky Fingers! He’s Bruno’s, and he’s a border collie,” Narancia told him, reaching over to pet the dog. “He’s trained to do work around the farm, but he’s also kind of like our family dog. We actually have two dogs, but our other dog doesn’t like sleeping in the house and usually stays in the barn with the other animals. You’ll meet him eventually.”

Fugo was listening, but he kept getting caught up on one thing the boy had told him. “Wait, go back. Sticky Fingers? ” Was naming their animals the most horrible names on the face of the earth some running theme? Because that was… pretty bad.

It seemed as though Narancia knew what he was thinking because he nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I know. It’s really bad. Bruno named him after some Rolling Stones album before I started living here. I just call him literally anything else and he’s smart enough that he’ll still come when called. Like I’ll call him Sticky, S.F., Zips, Zippy, Zipperman-“

Once again Fugo had to make him backtrack. “Why Zipperman?” he asked, and Narancia laughed a little at Fugo’s confused expression.

“Well,” the freckled boy continued to pet the dog as he spoke, and Sticky Fingers’s hind leg began thumping the couch cushion. “He’s really fast, right? So he zips around and always zips through small openings in gates and fences when he’s not supposed to. So first I started with Zippy, then it got shortened to Zips, and then Mista jokingly called him Little Zipper Boy but Sticky isn’t a puppy so instead I said he was more of a Zipperman than a Zipperboy. And uh, I guess that name just stuck!”

Narancia grinned sheepishly, knowing that it sounded a bit dumb, but honestly the explanation made the name kind of cute. “That’s a lot of names for one dog,” Fugo replied, watching the dog curiously. His family never had pets and he was never allowed to pet dogs that were being walked by their owners on the streets, so he wasn’t exactly sure what to do.

“Wanna pet him?” Narancia asked, tilting his head as he scratched the dog’s side. Fugo nodded silently, and Narancia grinned. It kind of reminded him of how Mista grinned at him back in the chicken coop that one day and- Oh no.

“Sticky, go say hi!”

Before he could brace himself, the previously calm border collie shot forward, barreling into him and sending him to the ground. What was with these animals and them always knocking me over? He thankfully didn’t whack his head or knock anything over on his way to the floor, but now he had an excited dog standing on his chest and licking his face. This was just as bad as the chickens and at the same time even worse because now Narancia was the one laughing at him instead of Mista.

“Sorry, he’s a licker!” he cackled, but saved Fugo from any more misery and called the dog back. Fugo grumbled, standing back up and wiping off his face with a spare napkin that was laying on a table. “You could have mentioned that to me before you sicked the dog on me,” the blond replied, picking up his book and plopping down onto the loveseat. Man, he was tired.

Narancia apologized and unpaused his game again, and it was clear that he was definitely not sorry. Fugo remembered his warning from Bruno on the first night where he told him about how the other liked to pull pranks and tease everyone, and while technically he could just go ask Bruno to tell them all to stop, he also remembered how Bruno said it was their way of welcoming him. He wanted to try to make friends, so he could deal with that at least for now.

Thankfully he wasn’t bombarded with questions from his new companion, and Fugo was able to read a bit of his book while Narancia failed at some video game that he didn’t know the name of. Mista, who had apparently been here the whole time but was hanging out in Giorno’s room, appeared at one point to help Narancia beat a level and then fished out an extra controller so they could go multiplayer. He politely didn’t involve Fugo in his conversation with Narancia after noticing the book in the blond’s hands, which was appreciated.

Bruno also finally finished work well after the sun had already set, and Giorno quickly prepared him some food and a cup of tea. When Bruno came into the living room to eat, he stared at Fugo in surprise but then gave him a gentle smile as he sat down on the couch next to Narancia, who immediately began talking about the game to him. Bruno looked beyond tired and ready to pass out, but he let Narancia lean on him as he played his game and, once he finished with his food, relaxed into the couch and gently pet Narancia’s hair with a fond look on his face. The two of them really looked like family in that moment, and he watched as Mista moved spots so he was on the floor right next to them and could pet the dog. The soft scene once again caused those bad and jealous feelings to come back, and he wondered why he even came out here in the first place. This was stupid, why did I even think I could fit in here when they all clearly already have-

Something nudged his shoulder, and he relaxed the tight grip he suddenly had on his book and looked up. Giorno was in front of him, watching him with a knowing gaze. There was something in his hands, and when Fugo took a better look at it he saw that the other boy was holding out a book of his own towards him.

“Narancia mentioned to me that you had a lot of books in your room, so I just wanted to offer this to you if you hadn’t read it,” Giorno explained, and Fugo wondered just how often Narancia talked about him to everyone else when he wasn’t around because it was definitely more than once. Fugo took the book from Giorno and read the title: The Outsiders by S.E Hilton. He knew what the book was about and knew students usually read the book in either middle or high school, but honestly Fugo’s school never had him read it. “If you wanted to read it, I would love to sit down and talk about it with you after you finish it. I like reading a lot, too. So does Mista, actually. Bruno, too. I’m sure they’d love to hear about what you like to read.”

Now Fugo could see the real reason why Giorno came out here; he wasn’t just offering a book for Fugo to borrow, he was metaphorically extending his hand out to him in friendship because Fugo hadn’t been able to do so himself. He glanced quickly at the others in the room and found that Bruno had taken the controller from Narancia and was now playing, and Narancia had been watching Fugo and Giorno. He locked eyes with the boy, who smiled sweetly at him and gave him a wink before turning his focus back to the tv. Fugo ignored the weird feeling beginning to bloom inside of him and instead remembered the words Narancia told him earlier, the ones about how he thought Giorno and him could get along well.

“Thank you, Giorno,” Fugo finally replied, giving the other boy a small smile at his gesture of kindness. “I’ll be sure to read it. I’ll let you know when I’m done so we can talk about it.” He promised, and Giorno nodded at him.

“I look forward to it,” Giorno replied and made his way to the others, sitting on the ground next to Mista and taking the controller away from him so he could get a turn. Mista moaned and groaned about it, but eventually got preoccupied with Sticky Fingers, who crawled into his lap demanding attention.

At some point Fugo realized he wasn’t as focused on his book because he was more interested in the game and the conversation the others were having. Bruno quickly noticed Fugo’s curious glances toward them, and he could tell Fugo wanted to join in but felt too awkward to jump in. While he knew it wasn’t a good idea to try asking if Fugo wanted to sit with him in fear that the other would shy away again, he easily was able to rope Fugo into the conversation a little bit by asking him some questions.

Honestly, Fugo found that he had quite a nice night. Dare he say he was having a bit of fun, even. He didn’t want to jinx himself, but he had to admit that he was having a little bit of fun hanging out with everyone and eventually he lost track of time. It was weirdly easy to talk with all of them once he actually allowed himself to. He knew it didn’t make sense, but it was like he had known these people for years instead of two weeks. There was something about it that was off, almost like there was something missing, but as soon as he had the thought he banished it from his mind. Stop thinking weird shit. None of that makes sense.

Eventually, his eyes began to droop but he had gotten so comfortable in his chair that he didn’t want to move. Maybe he’d get up in a few more minutes. No one else was moving either, even though Bruno had announced that he had to go to sleep soon. Fugo vaguely remembered something about how Bruno gave them all a day off on the weekends, though last weekend had been an exception, so the others were probably staying up late because of that. Was Mista staying the night, then? It was pitch black outside so that seemed likely. Hm, I’ll stay for five more minutes. It’s warm in here, it’s nice.

Fugo didn’t realize he actually closed his eyes and was beginning to doze off until he felt himself being gingerly scooped up by someone. A flash of terror shot through his system for the briefest of seconds, and whoever had picked him up must have realized that he was awake because they, too, stopped.

“Shh, you can go back to sleep,” a quiet voice murmured, and Fugo was able to tell that it was Bruno talking to him. “You’re tired, so I’m just bringing you back to your room. It’s not good to sleep in a chair.” His voice was kind, and in Fugo’s tired state he could only mumble something that vaguely sounded like a “thanks”.

As Bruno carried him back to his room, Fugo knew that if he was more awake he would be thoroughly embarrassed at being held to Bruno’s chest and carried to bed like a child. Instead, he unconsciously burrowed closer to Bruno, honestly finding himself comfortable in his hold. His parents never treated him this kindly before, even as a kid, and he never realized how nice it could be to be doted upon, even just little bit. … I wish my parents had been nicer to me. I wish they’d just fucking call me or something instead of dropping me off here and going off the radar. Why does Bruno seem to care about me more than my own parents? What did I do wrong?

He couldn’t stop his thoughts from spiraling, and before he knew it he was sniffling into Bruno’s chest, curling up more into a ball in his arms. He knew in the morning he would feel mortified by this, but he was so worn out and tired right now that he couldn’t stop himself. Bruno tightened his hold on him and Fugo could hear the vibrations in his chest when he murmured, “Oh, Fugo…”. He seemed to be able to tell what Fugo had been thinking about, and even after Bruno placed Fugo in his bed the other man didn’t leave. He sat on the edge of the bed, one of his hands gently rubbing Fugo’s arm while the blonde curled up under the covers and sniffled more. He didn’t cry, thankfully, but he was feeling so overwhelmed by how upset he was that he didn’t know what to do. Usually it manifested in that nasty uncontrollable anger, but for some reason right now he just felt sad. Was it because he was honestly only half awake? Or was it because he had been shown more kindness in one evening than he remembered being shown for much of his life?

“You don’t need to bottle everything up, Fugo,” Bruno spoke quietly, and Fugo peeked his head out from under the blanket to look at him. Bruno hadn’t shut the door when he brought Fugo inside, so the light coming from the hallway and into the bedroom allowed him to somewhat see. Bruno still had a smile on his face, but it was bittersweet and his eyes were sad. This was where Fugo was supposed to get angry at people pitying him and yell and lose control, but instinctively he knew Bruno was just sad for him. It was different, somehow. “I told you before that I would help you with whatever you were going through, and I want to emphasize that I mean it. I understand that you may not exactly trust us, but I hope you’ll be able to soon. I want to help you, Fugo.”

“Why?” Fugo couldn’t help but ask the question he had kept to himself before. “Why would you want to help me? I’ve been horrible to everyone here, my parents probably forced you to let me stay here, I just… why?” He hadn’t been able to come up with any answers that made sense when he tried thinking about it on his own, he was utterly confused. There was no reason someone like Bruno would want to help someone like him.

Bruno hummed, still rubbing his arm, and Fugo found that the repetition was comforting. “To be honest? I wasn’t quite sure. Yes, your parents were… a bit demanding when they asked if you could come here, but after meeting you and seeing how you interacted with everyone you just seemed like you could use a bit of guidance and help with the things you were struggling with. I hope you don’t take that the wrong way.”

Fugo mulled over that. Bruno had told him before that he should be getting help for his anger problems, and it seemed like he wanted to be the one to help him just because he was a good person. It still didn’t make much sense, but it was probably the best answer he was going to get. Having seen how Bruno interacted with the others, he was probably just the kind of guy who liked to help others, probably more than he should.

“Oh,” was all Fugo said, not exactly sure what else to say. His brain wasn’t exactly at its top performance this late at night, but Bruno didn’t seem to mind. He seemed ready to sit with Fugo for as long as he needed to even though he already worked for an entire day and probably was going to repeat the same long work hours tomorrow. It wasn’t fair. Fugo didn’t feel like he deserved it.

“Shh, Fugo, don’t worry about me,” Bruno murmured, having seen the way Fugo was watching him. “I’m alright. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve stayed up late with the others due to similar things. I want to help you.”

Fugo frowned, breaking their eye contact and closing his eyes again so he didn’t have to look at him. “I’m not one of them, though,” he mumbled without meaning to, his thoughts slipping out of his mouth before he even realized it. It was true, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about his slip-up.

Bruno made a sound of disagreement, shaking his head. “Actually, Fugo, you’re more similar to them than you think,” he responded, and then they sat in silence. After a few minutes, Fugo found himself slipping up again, running his mouth as sleep began to catch up with him once more.

“I hate my family at home, Bruno,” he confessed, feeling his throat beginning to form a lump. “They’ve never been this nice to me before. They always get mad at me for everything, I hate it.” Fugo heard Bruno murmur something to him, but he was drifting again and the words were just sounds at this point. Distantly he heard a sharper sound like a knock, and then more jumbled word-like sounds. There was second voice now, higher pitched than Bruno’s. Narancia? He was too exhausted to open his eyes and check, and soon everything went quiet again. The hand rubbing his arm disappeared, and instead it moved to his hair, moving it out of the way. Bruno’s thumb swiped along his cheek, had he actually shed a tear or two? Fugo couldn’t tell, but honestly it was likely at this point. Then he felt a gentle press on the top of his head, and as he heard what was probably the sound of his bedroom door shutting he lost his final grasp on his consciousness, falling into a quiet sleep.

Chapter Text

It took Fugo a solid hour to leave his room in the morning. It had only taken him about a minute after waking up to remember the events of the night before, and he had immediately fallen back into his bed, groaning into his hands now covering his face. Since then, the invisible weight of his embarrassment kept him practically glued to the sheets, unable to bring himself to get up and thus forced to think about what had happened. Bruno had carried him to bed in front of everyone and not only did he allow it, he almost started crying for some idiotic reason. That’s so humiliating, everyone probably saw that and was making fun of me. How can I show my face now? I probably looked so pathetic.

Making matters worse, there was still a part of Fugo that yearned to feel whatever that feeling from before was again. Naturally, he shut that idea down, squishing it underneath his metaphorical foot in his head. He wasn’t some little child who needed to be carried and comforted just because he got a bit overwhelmed. Imagine if my parents witnessed that. They would be absolutely livid. He was sure that he would get screamed at if he had acted like that around them.

Eventually his stomach started grumbling to a degree that he couldn’t ignore, and Fugo reluctantly crawled back out of his bed and made his way to the door. Distantly, he could hear sounds from the other side of the house, and fear of humiliation stopped him in his tracks. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the others tried making fun of him for last night. Sure, he could deal with their other jokes, but he was afraid of what would happen if they made a joke of him accidentally being vulnerable. This fear caused him to just stand at his door for the next five minutes, the doorknob held tight in his hand.

Fugo’s stomach growled again, so he twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door very slightly. He heard talking and music coming from down the hallway, which meant Narancia and Mista were probably awake. Narancia and Mista probably were going to make fun of him and would never let him live down what happened last night.

Fugo shut the door, took a few deep breaths, and opened it once more. He couldn’t stayed holed up in his room all day, he was too hungry for that. Once he fully left his room, the scent of something delicious being cooked guided him down the hallway until he was peeking through the doorway into the dining room. Narancia was sitting in his usual seat, blasting some rap song from his phone, and his head was turned towards the kitchen so he could have a loud conversation with Mista in the other room. He kept leaning back in the chair, uncaring that Bruno had told him countless times in the past to stop, and was unaware that anyone else was even around.

“Uh, good morning,” Fugo greeted as he stepped into the room, ready to head back to the safety of his bedroom if either of them tried anything funny. Narancia immediately stopped what he was saying, turned towards him, and their eyes met. Fugo braced himself for the worst, but Narancia just smiled sweetly at him and waved.

“Mornin’ Fugo! Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice just as obnoxiously loud as usual. Nothing about how he treated Fugo seemed to change, which was a shock. When Fugo didn’t answer right away, Narancia sat up more straight in his chair and a tiny frown appeared on his face. “… Fugo?”

Fugo snapped out of his thoughts, blinking a few times. He hadn’t even realized that he never replied. “Oh, I slept fine,” the blond finally replied, taking his seat across from the shorter boy. Narancia narrowed his eyes a little, almost like he didn’t believe him, but then shrugged and continued leaning back in his chair. He really is going to fall again one of these days… Well, that’s not my problem. He’d deserve it since he doesn’t want to listen.

Mista then decided to make his grand appearance, stepping into the room with a plate in hand. On that plate was a stack of pancakes, melted butter dripping down the sides. Narancia’s eyes brightened at the sight and he reached for the plate before it was even fully put on the table, but Mista smacked his hand away. “Dude, chill!” he reprimanded, rolling his eyes when Narancia stuck his tongue out at him. “I still gotta grab you your own plate and utensils! Jeez, you’re such a kid sometimes.”

Narancia grit his teeth, glaring at Mista as he walked away. “Oh shut up, don’t call me a fuckin’ kid! I’m just hungry!” he retorted, but then remembered Fugo was there and added onto what he had said. “Grab some shit for Fugo, too! But don’t get Giorno’s, I doubt we’ll even see him until dinner!”

Fugo was going to tell him that it was fine and he didn’t need any of the pancakes, but Mista had apparently already accounted for what Narancia told him because he quickly came back in the room and placed a plate in front of him. “You like pancakes?” the beanie-clad boy asked, and Fugo didn’t have much of an answer to that.

“Uh, I haven’t had a pancake since I was a little kid,” he eventually replied, looking away when both Mista and Narancia gasped at him.

“No way, dude, you gotta try one!” Narancia piped up, sliding the plate of pancakes towards him. “Mista makes the best goddamn food on the planet after Tonio, so I bet you’ll love it. These have blueberries in them!”

Fugo hesitantly put a pancake on his plate, staring at the buttery breakfast food. Slowly, he cut into it and put a piece into his mouth. Mista and Narancia were watching him intensely, awaiting his reaction. “It’s… good,” he replied, and the two boys rejoiced. Mista clapped him on the back, ignoring the way it made Fugo slightly choke on the piece of pancake he was swallowing.

Bruno apparently already made his own breakfast and started work, so it was just Fugo, Mista, and Narancia at the table. Fugo wondered if he should save Giorno a pancake, but he remembered what Narancia said about probably not seeing the other boy until the evening, so he decided against it. Fugo instead just listened to the two boys at the table talk, sometimes joining in if he was sure it was something he know how to talk about. The two seemed thrilled that he was even trying to join in on his own at all, and Fugo still just wanted to know why they weren’t making fun of him for the night before. The thought stayed in his mind throughout the whole breakfast, but not once did Narancia or Mista even mention what happened.

At one point after breakfast Mista got up, grabbing all of their plates. “Well, hate to leave so soon but I told Tonio I’d go help out at the restaurant since they’re short staffed and I don’t have to work here today,” he said to Fugo and Narancia as he came back from putting the plates in the dishwasher. “Have fun, I’ll be back around dinner, ‘k? Good luck, man.” That last sentence was directed to Narancia, who shot him a fierce glare and leaped out of his seat to shove him. Mista dodged and loudly cackled at the angry boy, and as he watched Narancia chase him out of the room he wondered what exactly that was all about.

When Narancia finally came back in, he announced that he had told Bruno that he was going to help clean up around the house, but he didn’t try to ask if Fugo wanted to join. However, knowing that he wanted to repay Bruno for his kindness from earlier, the blond decided that he should join in as well.

“Oh, you wanna help?” Narancia asked when he came up to him, the shorter boy looking surprised. “Uh, sure! It’d be nice to have help. I’ll grab the bucket from the closet that we keep our cleaning stuff in. You can wipe the tables and vacuum and stuff while I dust everything and sweep the hardwood. Just go put socks on first, makes it easier,” he offered, rummaging through the closet for all the tools they needed while Fugo stopped back in his room for socks. Once he found the bucket, the broom, and the vacuum, and briefly explained what each different spray did and what surfaces he needed to use them on, they set out to work. It wasn’t what Fugo had originally planned on doing during what should have been his day off from doing work, but this didn’t sound too hard.

They worked relatively quietly for a while, only talking when Fugo needed a refresher on what spray he should use. While this silence wasn’t uncomfortable like most of the others had been, Narancia quickly paused work so he could grab some Bluetooth speakers, placing them on a small table in the living room. “You like Snoop?” Narancia asked, duster in one hand and cell phone in the other. He looked so hopeful, his thumb already hovering over the screen so he could press play on whatever song he had wanted to put on. Fugo had to think long and hard over who ‘Snoop’ even was, and when he did he cast the other an unamused look. Snoop Dogg, really?

“I don’t smoke weed,” he replied, turning his back on Narancia so he could continue wiping down the coffee table. He heard Narancia grumble in annoyance and could imagine the pout on his face. He probably scrunched his nose up and clenched his fists, maybe he was even sneering at him. It was almost funny how easy it was to imagine it.

“Huh!? You don’t gotta smoke weed to like Snoop!” Narancia complained, and when Fugo glanced behind him the shorter boy was doing exactly what he expected while waving his duster around in the air angrily. “I don’t smoke weed but Snoop’s like, my favorite artist along with Tupac. But fine, if you don’t wanna appreciate him then we don’t have to play it. Uh… What music do you like anyway?”

Fugo went to give an answer but right before he spoke, he came to the startling realization that he had absolutely no idea. He played a lot of classical music so he could play piano for his parents’ house guests, but he had a feeling that Narancia wouldn’t want to hear any of that. He racked his brain to try and come up with some song he could tolerate listening to, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He never listened to the radio in the car or had friends who would suggest songs to him, so he disappointingly had nothing to say. “I… don’t know,” Fugo finally admitted, hating the fact that he must have seemed so boring. “I play classical music on my piano at home, but as for music to just listen to… I don’t really do that.”

Narancia looked surprised for about three seconds. “Really? Wait, you can play the piano!? That’s so dope! I can’t play music for shit, but Mista can play the guitar! Oh, you see that guitar on the table over there near the tv? Mista gave that to Bruno for Christmas last year and has been helping him learn. Usually it stays in Bruno’s room but I guess he must have taken it out for some reason, I dunno-” Narancia went completely off-topic, his chattiness reminiscent of the first few days they worked together, but he caught himself and snapped his mouth shut with a sheepish look on his face. “Oh, uh, oops! I didn't realize I was talking so much.”

Fugo felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. It didn’t feel right to have Narancia constantly apologizing to him for something like that, and in all honesty he never truly liked it even though he was the one who told him to stop in the first place. Narancia didn’t seem like the type to be cautious about how he talked, and Fugo felt like shit for making him have to keep himself in check. “No, Narancia, it’s alright,” he reassured the other boy. “What I had said a few weeks ago was stupid. You can talk as much as you want. Well, unless I’m in a really bad mood or something because then anyone talking just gives me a headache. But you know what I mean.”

Narancia blinked up at him, looking like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Oh! Uh, great! If I get annoying just lemme know, though. I don’t wanna make you angry.” Somehow hearing Narancia say that made Fugo feel worse even though it was meant in a kind way. He didn’t want anyone to have to worry about they said out of fear that he’d get angry and blow up. Narancia seemed to notice how he winced at his words, because he frowned and tilted his head. “Don’t gimme that look, Fugo! I didn’t mean anything by that, I just would rather not bother people y’know?”

He didn’t give Fugo time to respond, immediately shifting back to their earlier conversation. “Anyway, if you don’t know what you wanna listen to then we can just shuffle my playlist. I have a LOT of different kinds of songs here so I’m sure we’ll find something you’ll like! Just let me know if you wanna skip it, I got premium so we won’t get dumb ads,” he explained as he scrolled through his phone. A few seconds later, the room was filled with some song and the black-haired boy placed it next to the speakers. “Feel free to skip a song whenever you want.”

The first few songs were alright, more upbeat and light than he would have expected Narancia to enjoy. Every now and then he would make a comment about why that song was added to his list, and he would either hum or whistle along to the tunes as they worked. After the third song, Fugo decided to get up and skip it. It wasn’t his style. He walked back to the coffee table so he could wipe down the table’s legs, not bothering to see what the next song would be. A masculine voice rang out from the speakers, speaking the first few lines of the song, and Narancia spoke along to it. When the actual music came and the voice began singing, Narancia sang too. He moved around fluidly, switching between actually dusting and using his duster as a microphone. Fugo couldn’t help but watch as he cleaned, oddly mesmerized by the other’s movements. When Narancia caught onto Fugo’s staring he just grinned, giving him a little wink that absolutely did not make Fugo’s cheeks grow hotter.

“Girl I know why you came out tonight, so shake it off!” Narancia sang, completely confident in his voice as he danced around, his moves clearly practiced. He must have danced to this a lot. It sounded similar to some of the other songs Narancia claimed were only on the playlist because Mista and/or this girl named Trish liked them. “Whatever’s been sitting on your mind, I’ll take it off!”

Fugo stood up to go clean the next area, tossing the dust spray and the hand cloth into the bucket. He kept an eye on Narancia, who had now disposed of his duster and instead had grabbed the nearby broom. “We can dance the night away, fallin’ for you like the rain!” the shorter boy’s voice was pleasant to listen to, a surprise considering how annoying he could sound when he normally talked. It sounded sweet, and it was clear he had natural talent. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing! Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing!”

“Where you at? Where you at? Girl it’s all on you!” Narancia sang as he swept, and Fugo stepped around the table so he could grab the glass cleaner and some paper towels for the mirror hanging on the wall. He didn’t notice himself lightly bobbing his head to the music, listening more to Narancia’s voice than the actual song, but it seemed as though that was what Narancia had been waiting for.

When Fugo reached for the glass cleaner, Narancia took his chance and boldly grabbed the blond’s hand, tugging him over. Fugo stumbled on the rug, almost tripping over his own feet, but Narancia briefly put a steadying hand on his upper arm. “Take my hand, take my hand, put a smile on you!” he sang and then dropped the broom, ignoring the loud clanging sound it made when it hit the hardwood.

Fugo didn’t know what to do, he had previously expected to just help clean for a bit and watch Narancia fool around and dance. But with the way Narancia was devilishly smiling at him, it seemed that the other boy had different plans. “I know that you wanna dance, I know that you scared of love,” Narancia’s voice was so close now and it felt like he was singing right at him, like he was seeing right through him as the words left his mouth. “But if you give me the chance, you know that I’ll be the one!”

Then Fugo was spinning, now understanding the real reason why Narancia made him wear socks while they were cleaning. The little shit planned this all along! He almost slipped after Narancia finished twirling him, ready to snap at the black-haired boy for surprising him like that, but before he could push the other away his free hand was grabbed. Narancia entwined their fingers on both of their clenched hands, and then they were dancing.

“Hola, Mami, you got me losin’ focus!” Narancia’s voice was louder now as they moved around, and Fugo was unable to do anything else besides follow his lead. It probably looked like a bad imitation of some kind of dance you’d learn in Spanish class in middle school or something, but Narancia seemed like he was just coming up with the moves as they went along. “Got what you need, and you don’t even know it! Lost and solita! I found you lost and solita!” It really felt like Narancia was singing to him and not just singing along to the song now, and the implications of that made Fugo flush. He had to force those thoughts away. We haven’t even known each other for a month, and I’ve only just started to act nice to him! He wouldn’t… that’s just dumb. Why am I even thinking about this anyway?

They spun again, and then Narancia brought him in close. Despite these “dance” movements feeling completely random and foolish, Narancia actually seemed like he could be a good dancer if he put more thought into it. “I swear I ain’t tryna rush you, girl, I’ll wait for that,” Narancia sang, his voice softer than the actual singer's and his eyes staring into Fugo’s. He was once again reminded of the other boy’s weirdly cloudy right eye (or was it the left, technically?), but this time he got a better look at his other deep blue eye. It reminded him a bit of Bruno’s, but when his eye caught the light it almost looked violet. It was pretty. He didn’t have time to question his own thoughts, though, because as quickly as he was pulled close, Narancia pushed him away again. “The moment I get to touch you, girl, I’ll pray for that.”

For some reason, spinning and twirling seemed to be Narancia’s favorite thing, because he let go of one of Fugo’s hands and somehow was able to twirl the blond around again despite being a few inches shorter. “Like ooh, nobody up in here is lookin’ as good as you do!” Narancia grabbed Fugo’s hand again and leaned in as he stepped forward, his eyes flickering up and down to look at all of him. Fugo shakily stepped back, trying to not slip on the hardwood, but Narancia was still able to get in close. “I promise you, Mami, it’s true!”

Something about the way Narancia sang that line caused a jolt to go through Fugo’s brain. Did Narancia treat everyone like this? It was clear that the other boy was affectionate, but this was something Fugo just couldn’t comprehend. The attention felt different, charged with something deeper, but also he felt as though he probably was just overthinking it. He was told he overthought a lot of things, so this probably was no different. He was allowing his less-than-proper… feelings, if that was even the right word for whatever was happening to him, overtake his logic.

Narancia launched back into the pre-chorus, going back to their weird dance from before, and Fugo cast a glance at the abandoned cleaning tools left on the rug of the living room. They still had to finish cleaning. Of course Narancia had been watching him closely, because he cut off his own singing halfway through the chorus so he could talk to him. “C’mon Fugo, it’s our day off. We might be cleaning but we can take breaks and have fun, it’s not like we’re getting paid to wipe down the tables and dust the windowsill!” He shook Fugo a little as he talked, as if he was trying to literally shake away the blond’s worries. “Let loose, just a little. You’re so stiff! Have you never just danced before?”

Fugo shook his head, a bit embarrassed. “Uh, I learned certain dances like the waltz as a kid, but no. I was never allowed to do… whatever this is,” he explained, and Narancia looked at him incredulously. The black-haired boy then clicked his tongue and Fugo could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, I’ll help you then. Just go with the flow, it’s easy!” Narancia told him, and he was clearly planning something. He was always planning something, but Fugo didn’t know what to do besides tell him that he’d try his best. After all, he was still trying to make friends with everyone.

The song was at some kind of rap verse now, and Fugo watched as Narancia rapped along, spitting out the lyrics that to Fugo were far too embarrassing and even a tad vulgar. Narancia found Fugo’s dislike of this particular verse all too funny, and he had to stop himself from tripping over his words due to the laughter bubbling up in his throat. Narancia then squeezed his hands before letting go of them completely, and Fugo was too caught up on why he let go that he didn’t have time to react when Narancia dove in.

“Narancia!” Fugo’s voice cracked on the last syllable as he was lifted off the ground, kicking his legs as much as he could. What was Narancia doing!? The boy in question just laughed more before continuing to sing, jumping into the last part. “Hola, Mami, you think I didn’t notice! You got dressed up and you deserve to show it!” Narancia was only able to half-sing the lyrics through his cackles, and he spun them around and around in circles. Fugo put his hands on Narancia’s shoulders just so he could be somewhat stabilized, and he worried that Narancia’s socks were going to cause them both to go tumbling to the floor. Thankfully, however, Narancia seemed to know what he was doing, and he hiked him up a bit more off the ground. It was honestly kind of fun, but… if his parents saw, he would get in so much trouble. His parents would be so mad at him for acting so immaturely.

“Fugo, your parents can’t see you right now!” Narancia snapped him out of it before he got lost in his worries, and Fugo stared down at him as he talked. “I’m the only one watching you!” For some reason, that made Fugo think about just how absurd this situation was. Here I am, being spun around by some guy who I barely know, in a house I barely know, while a song that would never be allowed in my own home is being blasted for all the neighbors to hear. Except, actually, we don't have any neighbors who can hear it because I was sent away to live on a fucking farm! This was all just so weird to him, it was too foreign, and maybe it was okay to allow himself to be just a little excited. Narancia was singing the last few lines now, and Fugo realized he didn’t even like the song that much. He could have skipped it this whole time, but he didn’t and instead allowed himself to be pulled around and manhandled and it should have made him angry and uncomfortable. However, he found that he couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping him. It was more like a giggle, honestly, and he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

Narancia’s eyes brightened upon hearing the sound because of course he had been paying attention, and he laughed more too. “Fugo!” he exclaimed with a wide, open-mouth smile. “Don’t hide, remember what I said earlier?” And Fugo did remember. Narancia’s encouragement might have given him just enough confidence, too, because he uncovered his mouth and smiled at him. Narancia laughed gleefully, finally putting him down but continuing to spin with him, and Fugo was starting to feel a bit dizzy but he went along with it anyway and began joining in on the laughter.

As the song began to end Narancia’s foot caught onto the rug, stopping their movements short and causing them both to tumble onto the couch next to each other. Fugo yelped as they fell, worried that they were going to get hurt or break something, but they both landed safely on the cushions. They did cause the blanket Fugo had neatly folded to fall from the back of the couch and on top of them, but that only made Narancia laugh harder, which in turn made Fugo laugh harder. Fugo’s stomach began to hurt from his laughing and wheezing and he pushed the blanket off of his and Narancia’s heads, but it felt so nice to act like this; he couldn’t remember the last time he was allowed to act so freely. Maybe this whole “friends” thing could end up working out after all.

Their laughter died down as the music stopped, and they just stared at each other. Narancia honestly looked in awe of him for some reason, and Fugo stared back with a cautious kind of hope. The other boy looked like he was about to say something, but all of a sudden the next song began. A loud, throaty scream burst from the speakers and Fugo jumped from the suddenness. Narancia immediately hopped to his feet, frantically rushing over to his phone and tapping the screen to pause the song. He bashfully apologized to Fugo, and they stared at each other again in silence. Narancia was the one who looked so embarrassed now, and maybe Fugo was still riding the high of their dancing and spinning because he began to snicker at him. Narancia tried to glare back for laughing at the song on his playlist, but he succumbed to laughter again, too. “Listen!” Narancia tried to explain through his laughs, scrolling through his playlist for another song. “I-I meant for that kind of song to stay in my ‘Sad and Angry’ playlist! Just pretend you didn’t hear that!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Fugo’s hand unconsciously began half-covering his mouth again as he snickered at him, and Narancia huffed and began playing a different song. It sounded like an older rock song, and it seemed much more like Narancia’s style. “What was all that about, anyway? The dancing, I mean.” Fugo asked.

“Oh, uh…” Narancia scratched the back of his head, trying to come up with response. “I… don’t know? I do silly shit and dance and stuff with Mista and sometimes Giorno when he’s in the mood to, so I guess I just wanted to have some fun with you too. And, I mean, it seemed like you had fun, right?”

Fugo couldn’t deny that, but he tried to seem more casual about it and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose I did,” the blond replied, and Narancia grinned at him again.

Eventually Fugo caught sight of the lonely cleaning materials, remembering that they still had a job to finish. “Oh, Narancia, we probably should finish cleaning,” he reminded his… friend? Are we friends now?

Narancia groaned but went to pick up his broom again, gathering the other cleaning materials with his other hand and stuffing them into the bucket. “Here, just grab the vacuum from the corner and plug it in so you can vacuum the rug. You don’t really need to clean the mirror. I’ll finish dusting in the kitchen, just gimme a holler if you need me,” The black-haired boy told him, and Fugo nodded at his plan. They split up, and Fugo hoped vacuuming wasn’t that hard because he wasn’t about to ask Narancia to come back so he could show him something that was probably really simple.

Of course, because nothing Fugo did could ever just be easy, he found that it was extremely hard to move the vacuum on the rug. It just felt so heavy and he had to use a lot of his strength to properly navigate it. Narancia's stronger, he probably wouldn’t have any trouble with this… That thought made Fugo both annoyed and weirdly made his face flush pink, so he shook his head and continued his job.

As he backed up so he could properly turn the vacuum, he didn’t calculate how close he was to the furniture and his back accidentally knocked into one of the smaller tables in the room. It wobbled, not having the sturdiest legs, and Fugo heard a crash from behind him. The blond froze, staring straight forward. Narancia was still sweeping, so the loudness of the vacuum probably masked the sound of whatever fell. Though, Fugo knew that he had to turn around and see what fell before the other boy came back in and noticed himself. Maybe something just fell. Maybe nothing broke.

He clicked the vacuum’s power off and hesitantly turned around. Before him was Bruno’s guitar, and it was very much broken. Oh shit. He was torn between telling Narancia and trying to figure something out himself, but he ended up deciding to suck it up and ask for the shorter boy’s help. After all, it’s not like he broke something of his. When Narancia stepped into the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the broken instrument. “Oh shit,” he breathed out, an echo of Fugo’s earlier thoughts.

“Yeah,” Fugo agreed, no longer able to look Narancia in the eye. He felt like he messed up, that this was karma for being too childish earlier. While his parents couldn’t literally see him, he still technically disobeyed what they would have told him not to do, and this was his punishment. He would have to tell Bruno what he did, and Bruno… would he be mad? He’s been so nice to me, but I still broke his guitar. It wouldn’t be fair for him to not get mad just because he saw me have a bad night. I deserve to get in trouble.

“Okay, uh, it looks like it’s just the… headstock? I think that’s what it’s called, but whatever it is it’s the only thing that’s really broken,” Narancia told him after crouching down in front of the guitar and surveying the damage, and Fugo robotically nodded. He was just waiting for the other to run and get Bruno, but for some reason that never happened. “I mean, I still really don’t know why he left his guitar out here anyway. He usually keeps it in its case in his room. He musta forgotten it was here. But uh, yeah. Hm… he doesn’t have guitar lessons with Mista probably until Thursday night, so if we can get the guitar in its case and find some way to fix it by then, then he won’t even have to know!”

Narancia smiled up at him, but Fugo just kept staring. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so stuck. Suddenly, the shorter boy was up in his face, tapping the side of his head. “Yo, Fugo. Stop spacin’ out! So you broke something, that sucks. But what’re you gonna do about it? You caused a little problem so you gotta try and fix it, right? Stop worryin’ about the worst case scenario! Now, what do you gotta do to solve the problem? You got a big brain, use it!”

Narancia’s mini pep talk spurred something in him, and his eyes stared down at the broken guitar. “Well if I try to fix it myself then I’ll probably just make it worse. I’d have to go to a professional,” he reasoned after a few seconds of thought, and Narancia nodded in agreement. “I don’t know where I would go though, I don’t know the area and I don’t have a car.”

“Oh! There’s a music store about ten minutes away from here by car,” Narancia helpfully added, putting his pointer finger in the air. “We could ask Abbacchio to drive us there and I’m sure I could convince him to not tell Bruno! If I call-“

“Abbacchio hates me, I think,” Fugo cut him off, not wanting to have to deal with the taller man if he didn’t have to. “He didn’t like that argument we got into before. You know, the one in the store?” He explained, and Narancia rolled his eyes.“Abbacchio doesn’t hate you, he doesn’t hate anyone here. He claims he hates Giorno but he actually doesn’t, so he definitely doesn’t hate you. He’s just, uh, really protective over me. It’s a long story," Narancia explained, waving his hand around in dismissal. Clearly whatever the story was, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Anyway! If you don’t wanna call him we can just take the guitar in its case and walk down to the bus stop at the end of the road. You’d think with the number of times I’ve taken the bus I’d know which stop we’d need to get off at, but I really can’t remember that shit. Thankfully there’s this huge old dude named Polpo who usually drives the bus, and I’m sure if I asked him what stop the music store was closest to then he’d take us there. If we can do that now, we can get to the music store and see how long it’ll take and how much it’ll cost to fix it!” Narancia’s plan sounded good, honestly. He was a really helpful person despite how he came across sometimes, and Fugo was especially thankful for it in that moment.

“Uh, you don’t need to come with me since this isn’t your problem, but I won’t stop you if you want to,” Fugo clarified, not wanting the other to feel like he was obligated to come along. “And, just to be clear, I would be paying however much it costs. I most likely have enough money with me.”

Narancia gave him a joking salute. “Alright, sounds good! So now we just gotta be quick, you stay here and make sure there aren’t any wood chips on the ground and I’ll grab the case from Bruno’s room. And make sure Mista doesn’t ever find out, he’ll get royally pissed at you for breaking something he bought for Bruno. But yeah, I’ll just take a second, I’ll be right-“

The front door opened and shut, the sound of it causing a pang of anxiety to course through the two of them. A sigh was heard from the hallway and it sounded too similar to Bruno for it to be anyone else. “Shit!” Narancia hissed, looking back and forth for any way to hide the instrument. Fugo did the same, but neither of them could come up with a solution in time.

“Oh, did you two finish cleaning?” Bruno asked as he entered the room. His shoes were off so they wouldn’t track dirt in the house, and he very clearly looked exhausted from the work he had done so far. Both Narancia and Fugo were standing in front of the guitar to try and block it from view, but Bruno still was able to see a bit of it on the floor. “Is that… my guitar on the ground?” he asked, eyebrows knitted together, and Fugo began to sweat. This was the beginning of the end, and he knew that he would have to fess up. Bruno probably would get mad at him, and he was sure his parents had mentioned to Bruno that he should tell them whenever Fugo messed up, so they would probably find out, too. They’re going to be so pissed at me, I don’t know what they’re going to do to punish me this time-

“I’m sorry Bruno!” Narancia suddenly cried out and Fugo stared at him in confusion. Why was he apologizing? “I didn’t mean to, I swear! Fugo was dusting in the other room and I was vacuuming and listening to my music and I wasn’t paying attention and I knocked over your guitar… I swear I didn’t mean to, Bruno!” What!? Why is Narancia taking the blame? He didn’t even do anything wrong!

Bruno stared at Narancia long and hard, arms crossed over his chest, and it honestly looked like Narancia was about to cry. “I promise I’ll pay for it to get fixed! I- I have enough money, I think, so I was gonna take it to the music store this afternoon and fix it so you wouldn’t have to worry! I’m really really s-“ He was cut off by Bruno shushing him, and the older man put his hands on Narancia’s shoulders.

“Did anyone get hurt?” he asked, his expression unreadable, and Narancia silently shook his head, his lip wobbling. “Okay, that’s good. But, I mean… Narancia. You should know better by now. If you were still fifteen or even sixteen it wouldn’t be as bad, but you’re basically an adult now; you can’t keep breaking things and being clumsy like this! Your carelessness is going to get you into a lot of trouble one of these days,” Bruno scolded with an even tone, and Narancia looked down shamefully. Fugo felt bad, he didn’t ask for Narancia to get in trouble for him. Why is he doing this? It was very clear that Narancia didn’t take well to getting yelled at, scolded, or anything that could even be taken as a kind of rejection, so it made no sense why he would purposely put himself in that position when he didn’t have to.

“I understand, Bruno. I’m sorry, I’ll be better next time,” Narancia apologized again, and Fugo watched as Bruno’s eyes softened.

“I know Narancia, just… be careful, okay? And don’t worry about the guitar, I’ll deal with it. It’s my fault for leaving it somewhere you’re not used to, anyway. Plus I know you don't really have that kind of money,” Bruno reassured the other with a warm smile, rubbing Narancia’s upper arm comfortingly. It reminded Fugo of how Bruno had rubbed his arm the night before, and the blond wondered if Narancia ever had nights where Bruno stayed up late with him, too. There probably were a lot, given how gentle Bruno sometimes was with the short boy.

Bruno picked up the guitar pieces and excused himself, heading to his room to deal with the problem, and the second he heard the bedroom door shut Fugo whipped around to Narancia. “What did you do that for?” he asked, his voice sharp but the volume low so Bruno wouldn’t hear. “Why did you let yourself get into trouble for me?”

Narancia shrugged, rubbing at his eyes a little to stop them from watering. “I dunno, Fugo. You just looked really stressed out and I figured it’d be better if Bruno got mad at me and not you. Bruno and pretty much everyone else yell at me and get mad at me all the time so it doesn’t really bother me anymore.” Liar. “So I just made myself cry a little and acted like I was really upset and it worked like a charm! See, I’m all good!”

Fugo wanted to call him out on it, but there was something about the way Narancia spoke that made him pause. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it made him think that he should just let it slide. He was irritated and he felt like if one more thing happened then he would explode again, but he didn’t want to do that. He and Narancia were finally getting along, he didn’t want to ruin that by losing his cool. So, he forced himself to look past the obvious lie.

“Hey, don’t look so annoyed about it, I was doin’ you a favor!” Narancia whined, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re welcome, by the way. But don’t worry about having to do something for me in return. I was just helping you out. It’s what friends do, right?” That last sentence gave Fugo pause, and he sent Narancia a confused look.

“… We’re friends?” he asked, and Narancia shrugged again.

“I mean, do you wanna be? You said before that you'd think about it.” Narancia answered with his own question, his gaze a little nervous now.

Fugo pondered that question. He obviously did, but was it okay to actually say it out loud? Well, Narancia did just ask me so I’m sure I’m allowed to say yes. “Uh, I mean, I think I do. I just wasn’t sure…” he trailed off, watching for the shorter boy’s reaction.

Narancia practically beamed at him, looking overjoyed at his answer. “Awesome! Then we’re friends! C’mon, the rug is practically cleaned anyway, we can put this stuff away and then you can go read in your room or something like that.” Narancia already was putting the vacuum back, and as Fugo watched the other boy he thought about what this new friendship meant. I mean, he’s done so much for me already and he put up with my shit these past few weeks, I don’t know why he wants to be friends that badly. And I know he said I didn’t need to do anything in return… but I probably should still do something. It’s only fair.

Narancia was coming back into the room when Fugo decided what he wanted to do. “Uh, Narancia,” he called out to the other boy, who glanced over curiously. “Did you want to watch that show or something? You know, the one you wanted to watch me with that one night a few weeks ago? Now that the living room is clean, we can watch it if you wanted to.”

Narancia stared at him for a few seconds, processing the question, but then his eyes widened and a bright smile grew on his face. “You wanna try watching Fist of the North Star? Really? I, uh, yeah sure! Lemme go grab my box set! I’ll be like one minute tops!”

Narancia probably broke some kind of sprinting record with how fast he ran down the hall, up into his room, and came back to the living room. In his hands was not only the box set of DVDs, but also two pillows, a spherical bear stuffed animal, a box of candy, and a small bag of chips. Fugo was amazed at how he didn’t drop anything in his mad dash back into the room. “Okay! I figured we’d want something more comfy than the dumb throw pillows, so I brought some pillows for my room. The bear is mine, don’t take him or I’ll cut you. And I got some snacks, we just gotta be careful to not make a mess since we just cleaned. And yeah! So here, take a pillow and the snacks and get comfy, I’ll go pop the disc in.” Narancia then gave whatever he was holding to Fugo minus the box set, and as Fugo found a comfortable sitting position Narancia got everything set up with the tv. While he waited, Fugo checked his phone: 1:49pm. It was… surprisingly early. It felt like the whole day had gone by, but really the afternoon was still young.

“Okay! So I’ll play episode 1 for you,” Narancia suddenly was back on the couch, sitting much closer than he needed to. He probably just wanted to be able to grab the snacks easier. “Uh, I know a lot of people don’t like anime or cartoons or anything that isn’t live-action, but just give the show a chance! But also if you actually don’t end up liking it then just let me know and we can stop. I swear I won’t be offended, I’m just glad you’re finally willing to even give it a shot!”

Narancia then pressed play, and the show began. Fugo tried to pay attention, but Narancia seemed to be the kind of person who talked a lot through shows because the short boy seemed to be holding back on blabbing about everything that was going on in the episode. He must really like this show.

They got halfway through the episode before Narancia began to talk. “So, uh, whaddya think?” he asked, trying his absolute best to look nonchalant.

Fugo glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the screen, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s alright. It looks old,” he responded, knowing that animated things tended to have a different style nowadays than this show did.

“Oh, yeah! It came out in… 1984, I think? So it’s real old. There are two series actually, this first one ran until 1987 and then second one ran from 1987 to 1988. There’s a ton of episodes though, like I think all together there’s a little more than 150 episodes. I’ve seen every single one at least twice! It also had a manga before it was a show, you know what a manga is right?” Narancia rambled, rocking a little bit in excitement as he talked. It was… kind of cute, honestly. His excitement was endearing and Fugo once again felt bad that he had made the older boy hold back so much when they first met. It was obvious that he didn’t like having to hold back on talking.

“Uh, aren’t manga like… Japanese comics?” Fugo guessed, thinking he had heard the term at some point in the past, and Narancia nodded his head.

“Yep! The manga started in 1983 I’m pretty sure! It’s one of the most popular media franchises in the whole world! Didja know that? It’s even more popular than Call of Duty or uh, what was that thing called? Oh! Lord of the Rings!”

That got Fugo’s attention. This show was more popular than Lord of the Rings? Fugo popped a chip into his mouth and looked at Narancia, who was looking a little nervous but mainly excited. “Seriously? It’s more popular than that?” he asked, curious now.

Narancia’s grin somehow widened at Fugo’s interest. “Yes! I tried to lure Mista into watching the show by telling him about Call of Duty, but I figured since you like books you’d be more interested in knowing that. But it’s crazy, right? It’s more popular than a lot of things that people here like, but no one will give this show the time of day because it’s some Japanese anime show. It’s a totally dumb reason, too, because this show fuckin’ rules! It’s my favorite thing ever besides music.”

At some point Narancia had slid closer and put the blanket over their laps. There was absolutely no reason for the freckled boy to be this close considering he had his candy and the blanket was big enough for him to move away, but still he sat practically pressed against Fugo’s side. Fugo was a little uncomfortable by the close proximity, not used to it at all, but he didn’t tell Narancia to move for some reason. Part of him might have honestly liked it, he wasn’t sure.

After the first episode ended, Narancia shyly asked if Fugo would be up for another episode or if he wanted to stop. While Fugo wasn’t sure what to make of the show yet, he found himself saying yes anyway. And seeing how excited Narancia got at that made him happy, honestly. Yeah, it was a little annoying to keep hearing him talk through the whole episode and thus make it so he only half-understood what was going on, but Narancia was more than happy to fill him in whenever he asked a question.

At some point Bruno had popped his head back in the room to tell them he was done with his break and was heading back out, but when he saw them on the couch he smiled softly at them and waved goodbye. Giorno also finally emerged from what seemed to be an eternal slumber, and the boy came walking sluggishly down the hall with a giant comforter on top of himself. It was a royal blue color with a gold trim, and he looked like he was half a step away from passing out again. He peeked into the room, most likely having heard the noise, and when he saw Narancia one of his hands wiggled out from under the massive comforter to wave at him. “G’mornin’,” he mumbled, looking to see what they were watching. Fugo could barely even see Giorno’s hair due to the puffy blanket, and he wondered if he somehow still had his perfect curls intact. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were.

“Uh, good afternoon, GioGio,” Narancia greeted in return, giggling when Giorno stared at the wall clock in confusion. GioGio? That was an interesting nickname, not something Fugo had expected him to be okay with. Giorno frowned when he realized his mistake. Narancia tilted his head a little, offering his box of candy to the tired boy. “You okay, dude?” he asked.

Giorno shook his head, plopping down onto the loveseat and looking even more like he was being swallowed by his comforter. “Not really,” is all he replied, sounding just a little bit like he was whining, and Narancia sat up more.

“Is it a code red?” Narancia asked, suddenly very serious, and Giorno shook his head again.

“No, not this time,” the other boy replied and looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. “I’ll be fine, but I’m just going to sleep more over here. I didn’t want to be in my room anymore. You know.”

Fugo did not know, but Narancia seemed to know exactly what he meant because he nodded his head knowingly. “Okay, I’ll text Abbacchio to see if he can bring some M&M’s when he brings the DVDs over later. Don’t worry, I’ll just say they’re for me.” Why would M&M’s help? He figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to pry, so he just watched as Giorno nodded and slowly descended into the mound that his blanket created. It was weird seeing Giorno act so… young. Giorno seemed like the most responsible out of him, Mista, and Narancia, so seeing him laze around and complain and walk with a comforter wrapped around him was so strange.

If Narancia didn’t think it was a problem, though, then Fugo wasn’t going to worry about it either. Instead, the two of them got back to watching the show. Giorno somehow was able to sleep through the noise from the tv and Narancia’s constant chatting, and eventually Fugo forgot he was even there. Actually, he lost his track of time as well as they kept going through episodes. The show was only okay, and yet he kept agreeing to watch more episodes. Bruno finished up earlier than usual, and Mista came back in from helping out at the restaurant at around the same time because apparently he was going to be cooking dinner, too. Narancia seemed excited by that, and Fugo was too given how good Mista's pancakes had been that morning. When Bruno popped back in the room, he saw Giorno and his comforter on the loveseat. After exchanging eye contact with Narancia, he peeked inside the mound to see if he could uncover where Giorno was buried.

“Hello Giorno,” Bruno greeted upon finding him, and Fugo heard the other boy’s quiet, “Hello Bruno.” Narancia was holding back his laughter and Fugo found the scene a bit amusing as well. “You can’t possibly sleep all day and all night, and dinner will be ready soon. Plus, Abbacchio will be joining us tonight and I don’t think you want him to see you like this.”

Giorno immediately sat up and Fugo finally got the answer to his question. The boy’s curls were still there, but they were extremely messy and falling apart. “I didn’t know he was staying for dinner,” Giorno rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and Bruno stepped back so he could stand up. Giorno then dusted off his clothes, stretched his arms, and if it wasn’t for his messy hair and the giant comforter then Fugo wouldn’t have been able to tell that there had ever been anything wrong.

“Is Trish coming by too?” Fugo heard Mista call out from the kitchen. Narancia also looked excited to hear Bruno’s answer, and immediately looked disappointed when Bruno sighed.

“No, Mista, Trish is still on vacation with her mother, remember? They come back next week.” Bruno answered tiredly.

Mista grumbled a bit at that, and Fugo again wondered just who Trish was. Did she work here too? Bruno mentioned her mom, so she probably doesn’t live here… They all must be friends though. “Aw man, that’s fine. That’s less food I gotta make anyway. Oh, speaking of that, dinner will be ready in like a half hour!” he called out, and as Giorno left the room to go tidy himself up, Narancia turned his attention back over to Fugo.

“Hey, uh, since we have a half hour…” Narancia looked from Fugo to the tv and then back to Fugo, and the blond nodded his head.

“Yeah, Narancia, put on the next episode. We can watch one more,” he responded, and the smiles he got from both Bruno and Narancia made him feel warm inside in a way he never felt back at home. Maybe Bruno had been right about what he said the night before, maybe he was more similar to them than he thought. He was still unsure about how to act, but perhaps he really could fit in with them after all.

Chapter Text

Work continued as usual the next day, and now that Fugo and Narancia had finally gotten over that first obstacle things had become much easier. It wasn’t that they became super close or anything, but they would talk while working in the fields instead of staying in heavy silence, they’d spend lunch together and were usually accompanied by Mista and Giorno when they had time, and every now and then Fugo would join the others after work to sit in on whatever they were doing. It was still awkward sometimes, but it was a major improvement from before. Bruno seemed happy about this change too; he almost looked relieved, actually. Fugo hoped Bruno hadn’t worried too much about it, he would hate to have been a bother to the man.

Still, Fugo wasn’t the most social person. One evening everyone went outside to have dinner and to just relax, but when Fugo was asked if he wanted to join them he politely refused. He wasn’t sure why he said no, maybe he felt a little weird about sitting outside with everyone, but he just hoped the others didn’t take it the wrong way.

About an hour after eating alone and heading back to his bedroom, Fugo found himself leaving the room again. He headed down the hallway to get to the kitchen so he could grab a drink or some fruit. He honestly felt a bit restless, but not enough that he was going to go outside. Maybe he would go sit in the living room; it wasn’t like anyone else was in there.

When Fugo made it to the dining room doorway, however, he heard other peoples’ voices from the kitchen. So I guess someone else is still in the house… I thought they all went outside. He couldn’t hear what they were saying at first, but as he got closer he realized that it was Mista who was talking to someone.

“Narancia, you did what ? Why would you do that!? There are so many other ways you could have gone about it!” Fugo heard the other boy ask, which confirmed that Narancia was also in there, and considering that Fugo was almost certain the others were outside, they were most likely the only two in the room. Shortly after, he heard Narancia speak.

“I-I dunno! Is it bad?” the black-haired boy replied, and something about the slightly hushed tones of their voices caused Fugo to pause before entering the room.

Now, technically what he was about to do could be considered eavesdropping. Eavesdropping was bad, he knew this from experience. Eavesdropping on his parents when he heard them talking about him one time had gotten him shut in his room for a whole day. He knew was a bad thing to do. It was rude and immature. He shouldn’t do it.

But… it was just Mista and Narancia. There wasn’t much they could do if they caught him, but just in case he decided to crouch down and busy himself by adjusting his socks. It would be a lame excuse, but he could add on that he was trying to cuff his pants as well considering he usually wore them like that anyway. He felt bad that he was listening in on their conversation, but he couldn’t help but be too curious to stop.

“I mean, I guess not… it sounds ballsy as hell though. What would you have done if he reacted badly?” Mista questioned, and Fugo could practically hear the shrug Narancia was probably doing when the other responded with, “Uh, apologize I guess? … But we do that stuff all the time, what’s wrong with it?”

Who are they talking about? What did Narancia do? Fugo tried to think about who the subject of their conversation could be. Bruno, maybe? Or Giorno? He didn’t have enough information, so he began to uncuff and recuff his pants as he continued to listen. He couldn’t adjust his socks forever, that was just annoying.

“Well yeah, WE do it. But we’ve also known each other for how long now? More than two years?” That was Mista’s voice again. He sounded casual as always, but seemed to be getting slightly irritated. Narancia was quiet for a few seconds, which caused Fugo’s heart to start racing.

He worried that the shorter boy may have heard him and was about to peek his head into the dining room, but thankfully he didn’t and responded to Mista a few seconds later. “… I guess. But it worked, anyway! Sometimes you just gotta, yknow, take a risk! Maybe it was a little… unconventional? Is that the right word? But it still worked! Remember how we became friends with Trish? That was a weird way to get to know someone but look at us now, we’re all friends!”

Trish… This was at least the second time they had mentioned her in the past few days. Fugo was curious to know who she was, he didn’t like feeling out of the loop. He wasn’t about to try and ask though, he felt weird making them explain to him who their other friends were. It wasn’t his business; he would most likely meet her eventually, anyway. So instead of worrying about that, he continued to listen to the conversation on the other side of the wall, leaning in towards the doorway to the kitchen so he could hear better. He gave up on adjusting his clothes, finding the task to be too bothersome to continue if no one was watching, and focused on making sure he didn’t lean forward too far and blow his cover.

Mista made a humming sound, considering what Narancia had said, before he spoke up again. “That’s true, like in hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to take her to an abandoned theme park after knowing her for like, a week… but I do have to admit it worked.”

“EXACTLY! Also that reminds me we gotta sneak back in there and have another movie night! It’s been so long since we last went and I kinda miss it. But anyway, listen Mista! I’m just great at getting people out of their shells! Maybe my methods are risky but I’m three-for-three now!”

Getting people out of their shells? What is he- Oh. Fugo raised his eyebrows when he realized that the two of them were probably talking about him. Did they plan that whole thing from our day off, then? Fugo wasn’t sure how he felt about that. In his mind it was strange that they were planning out ways to talk to him, but… most of what happened that day seemed a bit too spontaneous. Mista had also sounded surprised, so Narancia had probably scrapped whatever plan he had before and did what he did on a whim. Thinking of it that way made him feel a bit better about it, honestly. It was more genuine.

Mista’s response further confirmed his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, suuuure… but you just came to me for my opinion and all I’m saying is that you could’a made a huge mistake doing something like that so early instead of, you know, just talking to him.”

“Tch, whatever! I dunno why I came to you anyway, I’m clearly doing this better than you would!” Narancia sounded like he was getting irritated now, so in an attempt to stop the boy from storming out and accidentally catching him, Fugo decided to get up and properly walk into the room. The second he appeared in the doorway, he was able to see Mista and Narancia leaning on opposite counters to talk to each other. Narancia had his back to the doorway, but Mista could see him and immediately stopped whatever retort he had from escaping his mouth.

“Oh, uh, haha, Fugo! Hey buddy!” Mista tripped a little over his words and Fugo saw how Narancia shot straight up when he realized who was coming in the room. The blonde gave the two of them a confused look, trying to play off like he didn’t understand why they were so jumpy. Thankfully they both bought into it, not suspecting that he was eavesdropping at all. Well, guess I’m finally getting better at that.

“What are you guys doing?” Fugo asked as he walked up next to Mista, who made room so the blond could reach up into one of the cupboards to grab a cup. He felt uneasy acting like he didn’t just eavesdrop on them, but he had to keep up the act. “You’re acting weird.”

Mista and Narancia stared at each other before sputtering out different responses at the same time, earning an eyebrow raise from Fugo. Narancia then cleared his throat and leaned against the counter in an overly casual way. He then lazily smiled at Fugo and shrugged. “Oh, y’know. We were just making some plans for tonight, but uh… we can’t tell Bruno,” he replied, and Fugo hummed as he poured his drink to show that he was listening. “Bruno thinks we’re going down to the lake like we do sometimes, but in reality we’re gonna take the bus and go somewhere! Uh, don’t tell Bruno though! We’ll have to work overtime tomorrow if he finds out… and he’ll chew me out over it.”

Fugo couldn’t tell if Narancia had made all that up on the spot, but he knew from experience that Narancia was a decently good liar. At the same time, sneaking out on a weekday night just for fun sounded like some kind of dumb thing those two definitely would do. “Where are you going to go?” Fugo asked as he put the carton of juice he had grabbed back into the fridge.

Upon hearing the question, Narancia perked up considerably. “Well, we were just gonna go to the other side of town and get some, uh, stuff and then hang out. You can come if you want,” he explained, and Fugo furrowed his eyebrows. Stuff?

“… What stuff do you need to get?” the blond asked after a moment of silence, watching Narancia walk towards the door.

Narancia turned back around and impishly grinned, sending Fugo a lightning-quick wink. “Why don’tcha come with us and find out? Meet us outside on the front porch in like, ten minutes,” the black-haired boy offered, his voice light. The slightly teasing tone made Fugo annoyed all of a sudden, but he forced that feeling down and focused on Narancia’s voice. “No pressure though! Just whatever you do… don’t tell Bruno, ‘kay?”

Narancia then took his leave, Mista trailing behind him after waving goodbye. Fugo was left alone in the kitchen, mulling over their offer to him. It was clearly a bad idea to go out at night, especially when they had to get up at some ungodly hour again the very next morning. If his parents caught wind that he was hopping on buses and going to hang out with people in some random part of town without even knowing what they were planning on doing, they would be furious. He would probably be forced to stop being friends with them. It was a stupid idea.

“Fugo, your parents can’t see you right now! I’m the only one watching you!”

Right. What Narancia had said to him the other day came back to him easily, almost embarrassingly quickly actually. He may or may not have been thinking about that afternoon more often than he probably should have been, but he couldn’t deny that Narancia had a point. His parents weren’t anywhere nearby and they hadn’t even cared to text him for a checkup. If he wanted to go out late with Mista and Narancia then they would be blissfully unaware unless Bruno found out and told them. He just had to hope that if they got caught then Bruno would stay the same caring person he had made himself out to be so far. So, while he still believed the idea was bad and stupid and something he definitely should not do, Fugo still wound up standing on the front porch with Narancia and Mista ten minutes later.

“Hey, you actually showed up! Awesome!” Narancia cheered upon seeing him walk through the door, and Fugo glanced away so he didn’t accidentally make any weird faces at the shorter boy. He looked at Mista briefly, noting that he also seemed pleasantly surprised that he decided to come with. I guess they still don’t expect that I’ll want to spend a lot of time with them… I can’t really blame them, though.

Mista took a glance at his phone and then hopped down the porch steps, peeking around the corner of the house to most likely check and make sure no one else was watching them. “All clear, let’s head out now! Don’t wanna miss the bus again,” he told them as he waved at Fugo and Narancia to follow him to the street.

There wasn’t exactly a sidewalk on the road, so Fugo ended up having to walk half on the grass and half on the pavement. Thankfully there weren’t many cars on the road, but every time a vehicle passed by it made Fugo momentarily step a little more onto the grass. The blonde was walking behind Mista and Narancia, who were having an animated conversation about different kinds of soda. It was a bit awkward in all honesty. Mista and Narancia were clearly best friends, so of course they would rather talk to each other than with him. What do I do, though? Am I supposed to just stay back here? Do I go onto the road to walk next to Narancia?

Thankfully he never had to make that decision, because Narancia and Mista were suddenly staring back at him. “You good? Why’re you just standing back there?” Mista asked as he reached towards him. Fugo carefully watched the other boy and almost pulled his hand back when it was grabbed. However, Mista only seemed to want to tug him forward so he was standing in between the two of them. “There! Better?”

Fugo silently nodded, trying his best to fall in step with the other two. Narancia seemed to have no worries about being so close to the road now; in fact, he seemed to enjoy the wind flying by him every time a car zoomed past. Those cars were far too comfortable on the road though, they were clearly going well above the speed limit. Fugo worried that they would get hurt, so the third time a car drove by Fugo tugged Narancia away from the white line on the road. Narancia stumbled into his side and grumbled at him, but thankfully got the message and stuck close to avoid the cars.

Once they arrived at the bus stop, Mista checked his phone and then announced that the bus was set to arrive in about a minute. He looked weirdly proud about the fact that they had arrived on time, but Fugo didn’t have much time to think about that because the bus quickly arrived. The doors opened and, as Narancia and Mista stepped inside, Fugo realized this was his first time using public transportation.

“Getting on?” A voice from inside asked him, and Fugo focused his attention on the bus driver. He was probably the largest man Fugo had ever seen in his life, and he had an ugly beak-like nose and beady eyes as well as a smile that was far too sinister for a simple bus driver. Is this safe? It seriously felt like it wasn’t.

Narancia and Mista were still waiting for him, though, so Fugo stepped inside. The bus driver stared down at him, and after a few more seconds of staring back Fugo remembered that he was probably expected to pay. He patted his pockets but didn’t feel his wallet in either of them. He must have left it on his bed back at the house.

He gave Narancia and Mista a panicked look, and his two companions looked back in confusion from where they were standing before understanding his predicament. “Oh!” Narancia made his way back over to the front of the bus, leaning against one of the poles. “Polpo, he’s the guy I just paid for, he’s with us.”

The bus driver nodded at him, closing the door behind Fugo and shooing the two of them more inside. Fugo was surprised that Narancia had paid for him before even being asked to, but he appreciated being able to avert any crisis. “Uh, thanks,” the blond murmured, not sure how loud he was allowed to be here, and Narancia gave him a thumbs up in response.

So this is what a public bus is like… is this place even sanitary? How many people have touched the poles and the seats just today? Is it possible to stand without touching anything and also not fall? Fugo glanced around at all the seats, his facial expression pinched and uneasy. The other two must have noticed his hesitation because all of a sudden he was being tugged down onto one of the seats. Mista plopped down beside him, and Fugo was officially squeezed between the two of them.

“There are only two seats in this row, why are all three of us sitting here?” Fugo asked as he squirmed to get more room. There weren’t many people on the bus, and yet Mista had insisted that they all sit together. He even had put his arm over the back of the seats, resting his hand on the top of the seat’s back. An unwanted, nagging thought in the back of his mind whispered at him to push Mista out of the seat all together. Fugo grit his teeth and ignored it.

Narancia began to giggle at him and Fugo now knew from experience that the short boy was about to say something dumb directed at him. “You could always just sit on my lap if you want more room, Fugo.” Case in point.

Mista made a face out of the corner of Fugo’s eye, which meant he also was about to say something even dumber. “Or you could sit on mine, Fugo! If you did then I’d hug you, too! You look like you need it, buddy.” How he was even able to sound semi-serious while saying that was a real mystery. Dumb people truly had no shame.

Fugo’s face bloomed a bright red as he scowled at the both of them and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his anger rapidly rising. He knew they were (at least mostly) joking, and yet he had to do everything in his power to not snap at them. He didn’t know why something so small was making him so angry, he didn’t know why this was happening now out of all times.

All Fugo could think about suddenly was how he wanted to elbow them both in the gut and then demand that the creepy bus driver let him off immediately so he could head back to the farm and forget this mini trip ever happened, forget that this blossoming friendship between him and these two ever existed. But… Fugo didn’t want to be mad at them or actually do any of the things he just thought, though. He honestly wanted to joke back with them, maybe even make them laugh if he could. It wasn’t fair that he seemed to only know how to get angry. He had to try to keep his composure even though it was clear to him that he was losing control over it far too quickly.

“Or,” he began after taking a much-needed deep breath. “… You could just sit in a different row. Would solve a lot of problems right now.” Was that too harsh? That was too harsh. I should have just rolled my eyes and stayed quiet. Dammit! The thoughts swirled around in Fugo’s head as he slipped into his negative mindset faster than usual, and he stopped paying attention to if either of the others even responded. He felt like all he could do lately was mess up. Maybe the day off that he spent with Narancia was a fluke, a stroke of luck that he wouldn’t get again. The others would realize that soon enough and stop asking for him to tag along. I’m going to let them down. All I do is let everyone down. That’s why my parents haven’t bothered to check on me. Soon everyone will-

Suddenly a hand was tapping his wrist, the touch just a hair heavier than a feather. “Don’t do that,” Narancia quietly demanded, but he wasn’t looking him in the eye. He was looking at Fugo’s right hand, which had begun to scratch at his left. Fugo watched as Narancia grabbed his hands, pulling them apart, and the blonde was still trying to understand how the other boy had caught onto his habit so quickly. He noticed it before Fugo himself did. Either this guy had crazy high perception levels or other people noticed his habit but Narancia was the first one who cared enough to help him with it.

Mista had been checking something on his phone, but when he glanced over at Fugo and Narancia he put his phone down and frowned. “You know I was joking before, but… you really do look like you need a hug or something, dude. You sure you’re okay?” he asked, and Fugo just nodded his head. A hug would probably be disastrous… not that anyone had ever really tried; they all were always worried that trying something like that would get them hurt.

Fugo was staring down at his hands now, but he knew Mista and Narancia were looking at each other. He figured the two of them would try to interrogate him or something, but instead Mista began to get up, being careful since the bus was still moving. “Sorry Fugo, I’ll move if that’s making you uncomfortable.”

Without looking up or even thinking about what he was doing, Fugo’s hand shot out and grabbed Mista’s wrist, yanking him back down onto the seat. Having Mista get up and leave made Fugo feel like he was giving into his anger. Maybe next time he would ask for a little more room, but he didn’t want his anger to win right now. It would bother him for the rest of the evening and it’d put a damper on whatever fun they could have. He didn’t want mess things up anymore. I want to be their friend. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m just a bit overwhelmed… that’s all.”

Mista listened and stayed where he was, but scooted so Fugo could still have a bit more room. Narancia, meanwhile, was observing Fugo carefully. “Well…” he began, and the blond turned his attention to him. “If you’re overwhelmed by what’s happening in the bus, maybe try sitting at a window seat next time? I don’t mind switching with you!”

Fugo shrugged in response, feeling a little worn out from his near-breakdown. His skin felt like it was buzzing and he was too aware of all the little noises the bus and the people around him were making. His anger had thankfully hid away in his mind, but he knew he was still in a position where anything could raise his temper again. Hell, even the bus stopping too abruptly would probably set him off. He just tried to focus on his breathing so he could gain control over himself and not mess up their evening before it even began. He still didn’t even know what they were planning on doing. Shit. He wished he stayed back in his room so Mista and Narancia didn’t have to deal with this.

“Hey, why don’t you close your eyes for a bit?” Mista suggested as he glanced from his phone to Fugo’s face. “We’ll wake you up when we’re there. It’ll only be like ten minutes, but it might help you relax.”

As he considered that idea, Fugo accidentally caught a glimpse of Mista’s phone. He had an article up on the internet, the title reading “10 Ways to Relieve Stress”. That article was probably where the idea came from. Fugo decided to at least try it out and, as he closed his eyes, struggled between feeling weird about making the others feel like they had to come up with ways to calm him down and feeling a little happy that they were actively trying to help him. It was a new thing for him.

When he opened his eyes again, it was because someone was nudging him. He only realized after lifting his head up that he had slid down in the seat at some point and rested his head on Narancia’s shoulder. He went to apologize to him, but his companions were making him stand up before he could talk. “We’re here. Let’s go, Polpo doesn’t like when people take a long time getting off the bus,” the black-haired boy informed him as he gently shoved both Fugo and Mista off the bus.

It took ten seconds or so for Fugo to properly wake up, but when he did he first noticed that while he still felt drained, he wasn’t worked up anymore. Mista’s suggestion worked, I guess. I’ll have to thank him later, but I’m glad they seem to be ignoring what happened for now. He then glanced around and was confused by the area they were now at. The three of them were… standing on the side of an old road? That made no sense. There was a convenience store, but there were two store spaces beside it that were closed and boarded off. The side of the painted brick building had colorful graffiti covering it and there was garbage scattered on the ground.

Mista and Narancia didn’t seem concerned; they immediately began to walk towards the store. Fugo hesitated but hurried to catch up with them, deciding that just standing there would cause more problems and that the other two knew what they were doing. Probably.

“You again?” a voice called out from inside, and when Fugo looked to see who was talking he saw that it was the person running the cash register. He was wearing a bright red leather jacket and sported a buzz cut. The man looked decently young, maybe a senior in college or something, but what was really odd was how he was petting a fussy cat that was laying on the counter and batting at his hand.

Narancia recognized him immediately and rolled his eyes, flipping the cashier the middle finger. “Piss off, Formaggio. We’re giving you business, right? Doubt you want this store closing down like the other ones next to it,” he stated, eyeing Formaggio and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “We’re just here to pick up the stuff and then we’ll be out of your hair, ‘kay?”

Formaggio grumbled something at them, but his eyes were focused on Fugo. Mista and Narancia noticed and tugged him to one of the aisles. Fugo felt like he should find the tension between his friends and the cashier worrying, but he ignored that for now. “So, what exactly are we doing? You never told me,” he asked, looking at all the foods in the aisle. There were granola bars, chips, sauces and dips, candies, popcorn… almost all of these foods were forbidden back at home. Not to say he never had them before, but in general they were forbidden. He had a personal cook who would prepare meals and snacks were something his parents found generally unnecessary.

“Oh, right!” Narancia replied like he had forgotten all about that conversation, and then snatched a large bag of candy from one of the shelves. “Well we just like getting these huge bags of gummy candies and stuff then chilling in this old parking lot no one uses anymore, honestly. I kinda just made it sound like we were doing something cool and secretive because I wanted to make you interested enough to come. Sorry…”

Honestly, Fugo was relieved. He wasn’t sure if they had expected him to go on some complicated adventure with them or something, so to hear that they wanted to do something so simple made him breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s alright, really,” he replied, watching Narancia and Mista grab their snacks.

When the two paid over at the register, Fugo found himself staring intensely at the cat perched on the counter. It was small, gray, and looked half a second away from clawing his eyes out. Of course he didn’t try to touch it, but its fur definitely looked plush and soft. He wondered why on earth someone would allow an animal inside a convenience store, though.

“She’s not mine,” Formaggio said as he rang up a bag of candy, his words directed at Fugo despite not looking at him. “She’s one of the billion strays that come into this shop. I think the strays all tell each other to come harass me ‘cause I’ll feed them my leftover lunch… Ris tells me they’re gonna start following me home soon, but how can I say no to a face like this?” He then reached over and scratched the cat on the top of her head, and the cat made a low noise in the back of her throat and swatted at him. A cut formed on Formaggio’s hand, but he just laughed and wiped the blood on his pants.

Narancia seemed especially impatient during the exchange, tapping his foot as Formaggio bagged their items and handed him and Mista their respective change. Formaggio either didn’t notice or just didn’t care because he continued to talk. “Oh, Narancia. How’s Bruno doing? Pro’ wanted me to ask you since he hasn’t seen him around town lately.”

Narancia full-on began to glare and Mista tensed up beside him, the air in the room suddenly turning thick and tense. Fugo glanced back and forth between his friends and the cashier, unsure of what to do. The cat made an annoyed sound and hopped off of the counter, padding over to some other area in the store. Good move, smart cat.

“Bruno’s good, great actually!” Narancia replied with a huff, crossing his arms defensively. “But what Bruno is up to is none of your business, and it’s definitely not Prosciutto’s. We’re going now! Don’t ask about Bruno again.”

What on earth? Fugo had no idea what just happened, but Narancia had already grabbed his and Mista’s wrists and dragged them out of the store, grumbling all the way. Once they got outside and a little ways down the street, Narancia sighed and let go of them. “Sorry,” he apologized, taking his bag from Mista’s other hand and rummaging through it. “You probably have no idea what just happened, Fugo. I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say but uh, Bruno and this other dude Prosciutto are exes. They broke up like… a year ago? But now it’s awkward because a lot of Prosciutto’s friends know us and we see them around and they’re annoying as hell. And Prosciutto has a new boyfriend and the last time Bruno saw them together he was really angry because they started dating less than a month after him and Bruno broke up, and I swear the next time I see him I’m gonna fuckin’ kick him in his goddamn dick because he hurt Bruno and no one is allowed to hurt-“ he then stopped, staring at Fugo. “… I’m oversharing. Oops. Uh… yeah that’s basically it. But out of sight out of mind, right? As long as we don’t see him then I’m all good!”

Fugo tried to understand everything he was just told, still finding Narancia’s quick walls of information to be hard to process, but Narancia already launched himself into another conversation with Mista. That was most likely so he could forget about what he had just said. So Bruno has a bad ex? That’s… not good. At least he doesn’t seem to come around often… I wonder what he looks like. He broke away from his thoughts when Narancia grabbed his wrist again, tugging him along as they crossed the street. They were jaywalking, and that was technically illegal. The thought of that made Fugo’s pulse spike momentarily, but then they were on the opposite sidewalk and nothing bad happened, so Fugo supposed maybe something small like jaywalking wasn’t bad after all.

“Mm, Fugo, what did you want from the snacks?” Mista asked as he held his bag out to Fugo, who hesitantly took it. “We got the candies, some chips, a soda, and one of those muffin bite package things.”

Peering inside the plastic bag, Fugo stared at a bunch of snacks that he could barely remember the taste of. When was the last time he ever had barbeque chips? Or soda in general? He didn’t even know what he liked, so he went with the safest option and chose the muffin bites. They were blueberry muffins, so that was probably going to taste alright. “Thank you,” he replied and handed the bag back, but didn’t open his snack package just yet. He would wait until they got to their destination.

The walk to the parking lot only took about five minutes, but the sky was already beginning to change colors to signal the sun setting. The parking lot was big and beside what looked to be an old warehouse that was no longer in use. How many stores and buildings here are rundown? Fugo never saw this where he lived back at home. Seeing all of the “For Lease” signs and blocked off windows was kind of sad, in a way.

They made their way to the forest-like area at the far end of the lot so they could sit on the rocks. Fugo found their makeshift seats to be too uncomfortable, so he decided to sit on the ground and ignore that he’d end up getting sand on the back of his shorts. Narancia tossed him a soda from his bag, which Fugo was barely able to catch, and they all dug into their snacks.

-

“Okay, I got a question for you Nar’. Who’s hotter; young Monica Bellucci or Julia Roberts?”

The three of them had been talking for quite some time now about miscellaneous topics, with Mista taking the reins more recently and asking both Narancia and Fugo random questions. It was fun, Fugo supposed, but the sun had already set and Fugo wondered if it was such a great idea to be right next to a wooded area at night. The other two were unbothered, so Fugo made himself relax.

“Young who or who?” Narancia asked, his voice too loud given the time of night. He made a confused face at Mista, shaking his head slightly.

Mista groaned, clearly annoyed at Narancia’s lack of knowledge. “You don’t know Monica Bellucci or Julia Roberts? How!?” He then sighed, putting an elbow on his knee and resting his head on his hand. “You’re so uncultured.”

Fugo actually had heard the names of those women, so he decided to help Narancia out and maybe jog his memory. “They’re movie actresses, I believe.”

”Yes! Thank you Fugo, you at least know something!” Mista exclaimed, relieved that he wasn’t the only person who knew what he was talking about.

Narancia frowned, looking a little offended. He threw a piece of candy at Mista’s face, hitting him in the nose. ”Hey, that’s not fair! I don’t even watch a lot of movies so how would I know who some dumb actresses are?”

”Well maybe you should watch more movies!” Mista retorted, throwing a piece of his candy back at Narancia to get revenge, but the black-haired boy easily caught it in his mouth.

Narancia chewed and swallowed the candy before pointing an accusatory finger at Mista. ”Hell no, I’m not going to sit around and watch movies like Pretty Woman with you! I’ve told you that a million times!”

While he hadn’t seen the movie, Fugo had definitely heard the name of it before. ”Pretty Woman? Isn’t that a romance movie?” He asked, finding it interesting that Mista would enjoy a movie like that. It didn’t seem like something the older boy would enjoy, but then again he didn’t know him too well.

Narancia supplied an answer before Mista could begin to speak. ”Ha! Yeah, Mista’s super into chick flicks and shit like that,” he told Fugo, his tone of voice making it obvious that he thought that fact was the funniest thing in the world.

Mista hopped to his feet, his hands clenched in fists. ”Pretty Woman is NOT a chick flick! It’s a masterpiece!” He practically yelled. The dramatics of it all were both amusing and annoying to Fugo, but he just reached over to steal some more candy from Narancia’s bag.

Narancia rolled his eyes, holding his package of candy out for Fugo to stick his hand into. ”Yes it is a chick flick! Most rom-coms are chick flicks!”

”No it’s not! What do you know about movies anyway? All you do is read comics and watch your stupid-ass anime!”

”Hey! Don’t shit on Fist of the North Star like that! It is NOT stupid!”

Narancia seemed to be getting more genuinely upset, something Mista was clearly unaware of since he was on the other side of the debate, but Fugo caught onto it. He felt like he had to step in, not wanting anyone to say something bad about the show Narancia liked so much for some reason. So, he decided to give his two cents. ”I’m pretty sure any movie targeted towards women and girls is considered a ‘chick flick’.”

Mista gaped at him, not expecting the blond to turn against him at such a critical point in the conversation. ”But-!”

Narancia, on the other hand, beamed at Fugo and then rapidly turned towards Mista. ”HA HA! See, Mista? Fugo’s really smart so I know he’s right! And that means I was right too!” He decided, puffing out his chest and pressing his thumb onto the middle of it.

It was silent for half a minute, Mista and Narancia glaring at each other while Fugo popped another candy into his mouth. Finally, Mista sat back down and broke the silence. ”Whatever! But how do you know Fugo’s even that smart? Just because your family has money doesn’t mean you’re smart.”

Ouch, okay. Fugo hadn’t told them much about his family or his academic situation, but it made sense that they assumed his family was wealthy. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide it. He watched his companions carefully, feeling the mood of their conversation shifting.

”… Wait Fugo, you’re in school, right?” Narancia suddenly asked, tilting his head. “Don’t you go to college or something?”

Fugo felt his mouth go dry. He was hoping he would be able to keep his academics out of this friendship, but he supposed it was inevitable. He was college-aged, so it would make sense that the others would eventually get curious. ”Uh… yeah. I’m enrolled at Northside University,” he responded, worried about the reaction that would get. Most people knew his university, at least if they lived in their state.

As expected, Mista’s eyes went wide and he choked a little on his soda. ”Oh shit, that’s the fancy-ass school that’s on the other side of the state, right?” He asked despite knowing he was right, and didn’t wait for Fugo to answer before he kept talking. “Damn, your parents must be loaded! Or you just got the biggest brain ever to get all that scholarship. Or both!”

There was some kind of look in Mista’s eyes that Fugo didn’t understand, but he knew he didn’t like it. It felt like Mista was judging him even though he didn’t look mad. It could have been envy or awe or something like that, but Fugo had no idea and just wanted them to stop staring at him like that. ”… My parents… do have money. But I also qualify for scholarships too,” the blond explained, hoping he didn’t sound haughty. He had been called rude and arrogant in the past for talking about his family’s wealth and his intelligence.

His response finally made Narancia, who had been staring at them blankly, react. He sat up straighter and stared at Fugo intensely. Does he not know my school? That’s weird… ”So you ARE smart!” Narancia said, glad to have a proper confirmation.

Fugo shrugged, not liking that they were making this such a big deal. ”I guess so.”

His friends nodded back, and Fugo hoped the conversation would be over. Of course it wasn’t, though. It never was. ”What do you study?” Mista asked.

”Law,” Fugo sighed as he responded. He didn’t even want to think about it.

Instead of the usual positive response, Narancia scrunched up his face. ”Ew. Sounds boring,” he remarked, and Fugo couldn’t agree more.

”... Yeah. It’s really boring,” Fugo replied with a small chuckle that he couldn’t contain. He hated when people praised him over his major. It wasn’t like he chose it, after all.

Mista listened to them with a thoughtful look on his face. ”Then why not change your major? I changed mine up twice! No shame in that!” He grinned at Fugo, putting two fingers in the air as he talked.

Fugo paused, looking Mista up and down. ”… You’re in college?” he eventually asked. Honestly, he didn’t think any of them actually went to a university. He could see maybe a community college to get an associate’s degree, but usually people didn’t have majors at those kinds of colleges. He hoped it wasn’t bad that he made that assumption.

Well… he may have actually said the wrong thing because Mista looked taken aback all of a sudden. ”Uh, yeah? Why, do I not look the type?” He asked, his tone slightly accusatory. Narancia wasn’t looking at either of them now, playing around with the now empty candy bag in his hands. Yeah, I definitely said the wrong thing. Shit, okay, I’ll just explain myself.

”Oh, uh. I don’t know. I just figured with being on a farm all the time you wouldn’t have the grade…” Fugo trailed off after seeing Mista’s expression. He could tell that he was digging himself into an even deeper hole. “You know, just… never mind, I’m being rude.” Good going, Fugo. You just insulted them. Great job, idiot.

Mista stared him in the eyes, but Fugo was unable to stare back and looked down. The older boy then made a “hm” sound, adjusted the beanie on his head, and began to talk again. ”… I commute to school and I only work on the farm when I’m needed to during the school year. I actually have a part-time job over at Tonio’s restaurant on the other side of town, that’s usually where I am when I’m not in class. But over the summer I work on the farm more than I do there. … Oh, never mentioned that I major in culinary arts at the state school, the one in the next town over. I wanna be a chef, yknow? Maybe own my own restaurant and all that.”

As much as he wanted to just go into the woods and let whatever ravenous animals that lurked in there shred him to pieces right now, Fugo knew he had to continue the conversation and just hope that he didn’t mess up anymore and make them hate him. ”Oh. That’s… not exactly what I expected. But I guess it fits you now that I think about it. That’s… cool. What do you study, Narancia?” he asked, but his face went even paler when Narancia became visibly uncomfortable. What did I say now!?

”… I, uh, actually don’t go to school, haha. Guess I fit into the stereotype, yeah?” Narancia chuckled mirthlessly, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. The candy bag was squished in his hand, which had curled into a tight fist.

Fugo rushed to respond, not wanting to upset Narancia too. ”I didn’t mean to imply-“ he began, but Narancia cut off his apology with a wave of his hand, recovering easily.

”Nah, don’t worry about it; you wouldn’t be the first to say it. It’s alright though, I don’t mind not being in school!” Narancia replied, giving Fugo a toothy grin to show he was okay. Fugo wanted to reply that just because other people had said that, it doesn’t mean it was okay, but he couldn’t find the right words. Narancia stuffed the empty candy package into his plastic bag, tying the bag of trash up as he talked. ”Doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like I can just go apply to colleges.”

Mista frowned at Narancia’s words. ”Yeah but doesn’t Bruno want you to do that program-“

”ANYWAY!” Narancia was the one jumping up now, putting his hands on his hips and giving Mista a look. “What were we talking about before?”

Even though Mista seemed to want to continue the conversation, Fugo was more than a little glad for the change in topic. ”I don’t remember… actresses maybe?” He replied, unsure but wanting to be helpful. Thankfully, his memory hadn’t failed him.

”Oh, right!” Mista exclaimed, deciding to just roll with the topic shift now that both Fugo and Narancia were moving on. “Here, lemme pull up a picture… oh, shit.”

Both Fugo and Narancia turned towards him, and Mista had a look of horror on his face. “Uh, guys? It’s already almost 11.”

Fugo immediately stood up, as did Mista, and Narancia put his hands in his hair. ”What!? Shit! We gotta head out! If we miss the next bus then we’re gonna be screwed!” He sounded genuinely worried, scrambling around to collect any trash they accidentally let fall on the ground, and Mista was anxiously checking the bus schedule on his phone.

”Wait. what happens if we miss the bus?” Fugo asked, not sure if he actually wanted to hear the answer but not wanting to be left in the dark.

Mista sighed, opening his bag for Narancia to put the trash into. ”After a certain time the bus stops coming by regularly, so if we miss it then we’re gonna have to wait until like, midnight for the next bus,” he explained, and that definitely didn’t sound like a good situation.

Narancia jumped in front of Fugo, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth. ”And Bruno will get pissed if he finds out! We’d have to call Abbacchio to pick us up and it’ll be so bad, trust me! Well, it’ll be bad for me at least!” He whined, but got yanked back by Mista, who was already heading back to the street.

”C’mon, we don’t have time to talk! Let’s go!”

Fugo ran after them, his new worries over catching the bus overtaking his anxiety from messing up in their conversation. But because they seemed to be the unluckiest people ever (Mista’s words, not Fugo’s), as they caught sight of the bus stop, they also saw that the bus was already there and driving by. Mista and Narancia scrambled after the bus, waving their arms around and yelling for the driver to stop. Sadly, the bus continued driving away, and when Fugo caught up with his friends they were dejectedly sitting on the bench next to the stop.

“Dammit, of course the app was off with the time…” Mista groaned into his hands. “This was because the stupid app said the bus would be here in four minutes. I can’t believe it got here early! Ugh, this sucks.” He wallowed for about another minute before sitting up straight, sighing, and turning towards Narancia. “Well, you know what to do, man.”

Narancia gave him a pleading look, obviously not wanting to make the call to Abbacchio. “He’s gonna lecture me, Mista! Man I hate being the cute one sometimes, everyone always has me break the bad news to people or ask for favors and shit…” the short boy complained, getting out his own phone. Before he put in the number he scooted closer to Mista and locked eyes with Fugo, patting the spot next to him. Fugo hesitated but took the seat, glad he wasn’t in the middle this time.

After punching in the number, Narancia put the cell phone to his ear. Fugo could hear the phone ring once, twice, and on the third ring Abbacchio picked up. “Leone?” Narancia asked, his voice smaller than it had been when he was complaining a second ago. Mista covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing when he heard Narancia use what Fugo assumed was Abbacchio’s first name, so Fugo could tell that Narancia was playing up some kind of act.

“Yeah, uh… please don’t be mad,” Narancia began, pausing when Abbacchio grumbled something on the other end of the line. “No, no, I know. ……… No, we didn’t get arrested. C’mon, don’t joke about that! Me, Mista, and Fugo actually went out into town and lost track of time talking and stuff, and then the bus showed up early so we missed it by a few minutes. ……. I know! Abba, c’mon! I would ask Bruno but he’s probably asleep and I don’t wanna wake him up. We don’t have any other way of getting home and I don’t wanna stay here for a whole hour! ………. Yeah… I’m sorry, Leone. We were just talking and lost track of time. Can you just come pick us up? ………… Okay I know you don’t really have any good reason to, but here me out: what if I say please? …………..” Both Narancia and the phone were silent for a long while, and Mista and Fugo were watching intensely.

Suddenly, Narancia’s face brightened. “Really? Thank you Abba, thank you thank you thank you! I promise Mista will wash your truck or something as thanks! We’ll stay right at the bus stop, it’s the one near the convenience store and those old broken vending machines and shit, you know the place! ………. Okay, bye!” Narancia clicked the “end call” button and then let out a huge sigh of relief, ignoring Mista’s questions about why he said that line about washing the truck.

“Okay, so he said he’ll be here in twenty minutes, so really he’ll be here in fifteen minutes max,” Narancia told Fugo as he stretched his arms and legs, then kicking Mista in the shin to shut him up. The three of them then sat in silence, tiredness from the late hour finally creeping up on them.

Thankfully a blue, older-looking truck pulled up in front of them no more than ten minutes later. The window rolled down and Fugo could see a tired Abbacchio sitting in the driver’s seat. “C’mon, get in the back,” he demanded, pointing to the cargo bed. “Narancia, you sit next to me. I need to talk to you.”

Narancia’s face fell and Mista giggled at him, which got him shoved by the freckled boy. Narancia listened, though, and opened the passenger door after basically pushing Mista into the side of the truck. Mista then helped Fugo up into the cargo bed and sat down on the hard floor of it. Fugo sat beside him, gripping the side closest to him. “Is this safe?” The blond asked, giving Mista a concerned look.

Mista shot him an amused grin as he casually laid back. “Probably not,” he replied simply, barking in laughter when Fugo went stiff and stared at the truck in worry. “It’s better than sitting in this part of town in the middle of the night. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

Not even a minute later, Abbacchio put his car back into drive and they got on the road. At first Fugo tensed up at every bump they made, but eventually he found himself relaxing in the uncomfortable cargo bed. His eyes began to slip shut, but Mista began nudging him in the side of the arm.

“Okay, this one is Monica Bellucci,” Mista said as he shoved his phone in Fugo’s face. The taller boy then tapped his phone to switch it to a new tab, showing the picture of another woman. “And this one is Julia Roberts. Who’s hotter?”

Fugo stared at the screen as Mista flipped it back and forth, feeling like he was at one of those eye exams that he had to go to as a kid. It wasn’t that the women weren’t attractive, necessarily, but he just wasn’t… attracted to either of them. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh… they’re both, um, pretty. I guess.” It wasn’t the most eloquent sentence he had ever spoken, but he technically gave his opinion. Mista wasn’t exactly pleased, though.

“But like, Monica Bellucci is so stunning!” Mista switched the screen back to her. “She’s gorgeous! I mean I love Julia Roberts too, but look at Monica! She’s so beautiful!” He looked a bit lovestruck as he talked about her, but all Fugo could do was roll his eyes. The blond didn’t understand how some guys got so enamored over random women they had never met. Fugo never really ever felt attracted to anyone like that… well, maybe he had to a lesser extent once or twice. But he had to actually have met them and made some sort of connection.

Eventually Mista calmed down, mumbling something about how Fugo just didn’t understand, which technically was correct. But Fugo made the fatal mistake of thinking that Mista knew when to shut up, because when he finally started relaxing again he felt Mista wrap an arm around his shoulders. Fugo tensed up, but made himself relax again once he realized who it was.

“Hey, Fugo…” Mista murmured to him, his voice barely above a whisper. “… Are you gay?”

Fugo froze, his brain short-circuiting. Me? He thinks I’m gay? It wasn’t that he would be wrong for assuming that… Fugo knew that he probably was gay, but he also knew that his parents would not be happy to find out that information. Sometimes he wanted to confide in someone about it, but he had never met an openly gay person in his life as far as he was aware, so he felt uncomfortable telling anyone else about it. Plus, there was always the risk that the information would get back to his parents, and if they found out Fugo didn’t know what they would try to do.

So, Fugo just stayed silent. He didn’t know where Mista was going with this. He hoped it was nowhere bad.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be a problem of course! I’m just saying because I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable showing you pictures of hot women and asking your opinion, y’know?” Mista continued, which put Fugo more at ease. “And, well, I can totally show you hot guys if that’s what you’re into. Like Roberto Baggio honestly could have been kinda hot when he was younger if he shaved the mullet. Oh! I guess you might just not be into anyone, so I can cut that kind of talk with you completely if you want? Just lemme know and I’ll do it.”

That was kind of sweet, honestly. Fugo appreciated that Mista was still being kind to him and trying to keep him comfortable even after Fugo’s slip up earlier. “Uh, I…” Fugo stuttered as he tried to respond, glad it was dark enough that it would be harder to see his face without the light from the phone. “Um. With being gay… Maybe? Yeah... I mean-! I don’t- I don’t know,” he said, tacking on the last bit hurriedly. He felt cowardly sounding so unsure even when he knew the answer, but he feared his parents somehow being able to find out what he said. They would probably try to send him to one of those “therapy” camps or something equally as horrible.

Mista nodded, patting his far shoulder with the arm wrapped around him. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, if it makes you feel more comfortable I should tell you that I like girls and guys. So yeah.” Mista then paused, giving Fugo a smile. “Also, feel free to come to me if you ever need, uh, relationship advice. I would be more than willing to help you out, okay?”

Fugo choked on nothing, coughing into the crook of his arm. “Relationship advice?” he cried out. “W-why would I need relationship advice?”

Mista just raised his eyebrows, patting his shoulder one more time. “Oh. You know. I’m just sayin’, that’s all,” he said casually, but he had some kind of glint in his eyes that Fugo was able to see when the truck drove under a streetlight.

Fugo mulled over his words. What kind of fucking relationship advice would I ever need here? He frowned as he tried to decipher the unspoken words that were clearly in the look Mista gave him, but he had always been bad at picking up subtleties like that with most people. Mista was clearly leaving him to his own devices now, keeping the arm around his shoulder but scrolling on some social media app on his phone, and Fugo wanted to ask what he meant. But, when he turned his head towards Mista, he heard a sound from the front of the truck.

“Fugo, you okay back there?” Narancia called out from the window he opened. He then peeked back to look out the truck’s back window, smiling brightly and waving when he saw Fugo looking at him. Fugo waved back, giving him a thumbs up to show that he was alright, and Narancia gave him two thumbs up in return until Abbacchio yelled at him to “put the damn window up and actually listen to the conversation.” Cute…

Fugo stared into the truck for a few more seconds until his brain properly processed his thoughts, and when it did he immediately turned his head back and stared straight ahead. Mista couldn’t have caught on, right? I don’t even know what I’m actually feeling, I’m probably just getting ahead of myself and overthinking my own thoughts… there’s no way he could know anything, right?

Fugo glanced at Mista, and when he realized he was being stared at Mista looked back. He took one look at Fugo’s face as they drove under another streetlight and bit his lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah, Fugo. You know what I mean,” Mista repeated, and Fugo frowned at him.

Fugo spent the rest of the car ride in complete denial. He knew he couldn’t keep away whatever this was for forever, but he could at least keep it at bay for now. He just wasn’t ready to face whatever those thoughts meant. Maybe one day he would.

… Just not today.

Chapter Text

“Argh! This is so stupid!”

Fugo watched as Narancia moaned and groaned while carrying two heavy bags of grain. Mista was beside him, buckets in his hands. He was quiet, but made a tired noise of agreement every time Narancia yelled. The sun was still on the verge of rising and the three of them should have been getting their final hour of sleep in, but instead they were outside. Fugo couldn’t complain though, to him it was only fair that they ended up in this situation.

When they had walked through the door the night before, they were not greeted by an angry Bruno like they had feared. Instead, standing inside was a completely stoic Giorno, who had calmly asked how their trip into town was. Abbacchio had already driven away, so the tall man couldn’t save them from whatever was about to happen.

Mista had immediately tried to play dumb and pretend like they really had been at the lake the whole time, but that lie fell through when Giorno explained that Bruno had asked where they were about an hour before so he went down to their spot at the lake himself and didn’t see them.

Fugo, Narancia, and Mista were silent then, and Giorno had simply sighed and took a sip of his tea. “Well,” he had then spoke, staring at the three of them. “You really are lucky that I covered for you. Again. I don’t know if Bruno believed what I told him, but either way he’s asleep now so you’re off the hook with him.”

Narancia perked up and immediately had gone to hug Giorno, but the younger boy stopped him in his tracks by putting a hand flat up. “But,” he then continued, his neutral gaze turning into a glare. “You know I hate lying to Bruno. And this is not the first time I’ve had to do this for you. So… you three should do something in return for me.”

A small smirk played on the boy’s face as he held the mug to his lips again, and his eyes scanned the three of them slowly. “I mean… that’s only fair, right? I think you can guess what I want you to do…”

So now here they were, doing some of Giorno’s morning work way before everyone else woke up. It was clear that Giorno definitely liked his sleep, so Fugo wasn’t surprised when they had been tasked with his early morning chores. In the blond’s mind, they could have had worse things to do – they could have had to work with the cows or something gross like that. However, it seemed as though he was the only one who agreed.

“Like, did we really have to do work now?” Narancia asked, his question not aimed at anyone in particular. “It’s 4:30 in the fucking morning! There’s barely enough light for us to see! And he knew we were getting less sleep than usual because we had been out!”

Mista sighed for probably the twentieth time that morning, adjusting his hold on the buckets. “Yeah, Gio’s brutal… he probably chose this because he knew we were gonna get less sleep than usual,” he agreed, staring up at the quickly fading stars. He sighed again, the repetitive sound grating on Fugo’s nerves, and then glanced back at the house behind them. “I almost wish Bruno was the one who caught us instead. We woulda gotten chewed out, but at least we’d still be asleep now… but this is just our luck.”

Fugo worked with them in silence, too tired to try and find something to add to their conversation. Unlike them, it still took Fugo a while to fully wake up and feel awake enough to talk. He hoped that maybe he’d be able to take a short nap after getting this work done, but he knew better than to assume that he would.

Narancia placed his bags down, opening one of them so he could fill some containers with grain. From what Fugo remembered, the big container Narancia was filling up was outside near the pen so whoever took care of the goats would be able to have easy access to their food. Though, that was a little confusing to Fugo since he always thought farm animals like goats and sheep just ate hay or grass. Maybe they eat both? Honestly, he really didn’t care too much to ask.

While Narancia was filling up the containers, Mista opened the door to the old shed, disappearing inside to put the buckets away. Fugo didn’t have anything to do here since his next job was to water the plants in front of the store, so he decided to stick by Narancia and wait for him to finish up. He felt awkward just watching the other two do work, but thankfully Narancia was done quickly.

“I’m so tired…” Narancia mumbled more to himself than to Fugo as he closed the bag of grain. He lifted the bag up, ready to put it away in the shed, but then all of a sudden just tossed it through the air. Fugo was confused for all of two seconds before he realized that the bag was being thrown at Mista, who had just exited the shed.

“Jeez, man! You could just ask for me to put it away for you, you don’t need to chuck it at me!” Mista complained without any real anger in his voice. Still, he glared at his friend and kicked the shed door open, going inside once more.

Narancia loudly yawned once the shed door closed, and Fugo found himself yawning right after him. The blond then heard a chuckle from beside him, but when Fugo turned to tell Narancia to stop laughing at him, he felt the shorter boy press up against his front. Narancia’s tanned arms went to wrap around him, but they hesitated and instead clutched the sides of Fugo’s shirt. “Fugoooo… ’m tired… I wann’ sleep.”

Fugo’s eyes widened as he stared down at his friend, unsure of what to do. “Uh- I… What are you doing?” he asked, his hands hovering over Narancia’s back. He didn’t know if he was allowed to touch him. When was the last time I even hugged someone? Probably against my will at some dumb family event… But does this even count as a hug?

Narancia grumbled some more, his face pressed into the front of Fugo’s shoulder. “I said ‘m tired. You’re comfier than leaning against the shed,” he said, like that was supposed to be obvious.

Fugo glanced back at the shed, and when he saw that Mista was still rummaging around inside he let his hands loosely wrap around Narancia. It was probably a bad hug, but the black-haired boy made a pleased sound anyway.

“Y’know, Fugo,” Narancia mumbled, sounding like he was only a few seconds away from falling asleep. For a bit it seemed like he actually had drifted off since he was silent for a good ten seconds, but then he eventually continued his sentence. “I’m real glad you’re relaxing around us. You’re fun.”

As embarrassed as he was, that statement made Fugo smile. He had been worried that he messed up with how he acted the day before, so to hear that made him feel relieved. Fugo thought that was all he had to say, but Narancia didn’t seem like he was done talking.

“But…” The tired boy continued. “You shouldn’t let your guard down, you know.”

What… what does that mean? Fugo furrowed his eyebrows, completely confused now. “I… have no idea what you mean. What are you talking about?” His brain rapidly flew through all the possible meanings that he could come up with. Was there some kind of problem that he needed to address?

Fugo stared down at Narancia in worry, but his anxiety turned into a deeper confusion the second he heard Narancia speak again. “You’re too relaxed for someone whose sides aren’t protected. I think you gotta wake up more,” the boy explained, and before Fugo could properly process what that meant he felt fingers painfully jabbing into his sides. It was a childish move, but it was also effective.

Fugo yelped and jumped away from Narancia, clutching his side. “OW! What the hell, Narancia!? That hurt! ” he shouted at the laughing boy. He opened his mouth to yell louder so he could avoid the nasty thought in his mind that suddenly screamed at him to roughly shove Narancia for what he did, but he froze when he locked eyes with the other boy. Narancia stopped laughing, staring at the blond with what seemed to be caution. The shorter boy went to take a step back, but thought about it for a second and stood his ground. Still, the idea that Narancia was worried about his reaction made Fugo’s anger thankfully disappear.

He took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders, and was relieved when Narancia’s stance relaxed as well. They just stood there staring at each other, but then Fugo got an idea. He took a step forward, which Narancia’s eyes followed carefully, and then he lunged. Narancia hadn’t seen that coming and his eyes widened in fear for about a fraction of a second, and then Fugo jabbed at his sides in revenge.

“ACK!” Narancia squeaked, flailing and smacking at Fugo’s hands. When the blond began to laugh, Narancia started laughing as well despite the pain. He clearly was used to roughhousing with others because he was quickly able to get himself out of Fugo’s hold and hop up on his back, wrapping his arms around the blond’s neck and his legs around his torso. That caused Fugo to stumble and almost fall to the ground, but he kept his balance and just turned his head to try and glare at the boy.

“Okay, Narancia get off now! I can’t carry you and I don’t want to drop you!” he warned as he tried to shake him off, but Narancia suddenly leaned in close to his ear.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get off. But Mista’s coming over to us from the shed now, so just distract him for a second,” Narancia whispered. He then let go, landing back on the ground safely. The (literal) weight off of Fugo’s shoulders was relieving, but he still gave Narancia a light shove for good measure as he walked over towards Mista.

Mista raised an eyebrow at the two of them as he shook out his purple beanie – it must have fallen off his head and gotten dirty when he was in the shed. “You two seem to be getting along,” he said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. He then placed the beanie back on his head where it belonged, adjusting it until it was on comfortably. “Guess you two are both awake now, at least. C’mon, lets go over to the store now so we can get this over with. I’m so fucking hungry… should have made breakfast before we came out here.”

Fugo nodded and walked with him, letting Narancia follow behind them to do… whatever it was he was planning on doing. He knew he needed to keep Mista distracted, so he just started talking about whatever came to mind first. “You know, Mista,” he started, gaining the other boy’s attention. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I honestly didn’t mean to insult you with what I said… I guess I was just being ignorant.”

Mista quirked an eyebrow at him, making a quiet humming sound. “It’s fine, man, don’t sweat it. Who knows how much shit was fed to you growing up, I’m not surprised that you think like that sometimes. I was annoyed about it for probably two whole minutes, but I’m honestly over it,” he replied, putting his hands behind his head in a relaxed way and closing his eyes.

Fugo glanced behind him, and Narancia signaled for him to keep going. “Uh, I’m glad,” Fugo continued, turning his head back towards Mista. “You know, I find it interesting how you’re able to be such a go-with-the-flow kind of person about everything. It’s a lot different than how the people around me have always acted.” He glanced back again and Narancia gave him a thumbs-up.

“Yeah,” Mista nodded, obviously very happy with the compliment. “What can I say? I’m just a super chill guy. I’ve mastered the fine, fine art of staying cool and collected no matter wh-“ his voice caught in his throat when, all of a sudden, there were hands jabbing into his sides. He let out a high-pitched yelp and jumped up, whipping around to glare at Narancia. “You little shit! Fuck you! ”

He charged at Narancia, who anticipated the counterattack and swiftly dodged, causing Mista to almost trip on his own feet. Fugo watched in amusement, finding it funny now that he wasn’t the one getting poked in the side. “Mista, what was that about mastering the fine art of staying cool and collected?” the blond called out, and Mista paused his chase just to to flip him off.

“Oh fuck off, man!” Mista yelled back, flipping him off with both hands when he saw Fugo snicker in response. “Like you’re one to talk!”

Maybe a month ago that would have made Fugo angry, but now he decided that it was nice to joke around like this. It came surprisingly easy, too. Fugo found that he fit in with Narancia and Mista quite naturally once he peeked out of his shell. It was familiar in the same way that Fugo imagined meeting up with an old childhood friend would be like, but he knew for a fact that they had never met before. As confused as that made him feel, he was still glad that he didn’t struggle around them as much as he thought he would. Obviously there were some difficulties, but things were rapidly getting easier. As long as he didn’t think about it too much, he would be fine.

Mista eventually returned, carrying Narancia over his shoulder like one of the mulch bags, and was very careful to not get kicked in the face by Narancia’s flailing legs.

“Lemme go! Only ‘bbaccio is allowed to carry me like this! Mista, c’mon!” Narancia cried out, smacking him in the back with his fists. His wish was then granted when he was completely let go of and he tumbled to the ground, letting out an “oof” as the wind got knocked out of him. “Ow, shit! You’re a dick!”

Mista cheekily grinned down at him but put a hand out to help him up at the same time, and then the three of them continued onwards towards the storefront. As they neared the store, however, Narancia began squinting his eyes to try and look at something in the distance. Fugo followed his gaze, noticing a person walking down the street in the direction of the store. They weren’t familiar-looking, but Narancia and Mista seemed to recognize them almost immediately.

“Trish! ” Narancia exclaimed, jumping up and down and waving his arms to get the person’s attention. He took a few steps forward as if he was about to start running, but turned towards Fugo and grabbed his wrist to tug him along. “I dunno why she’s out so early but c’mon, I’ll introduce you! You’ll either love her or you’ll hate her, so let’s find out which one it is!”

The three of them made their way over to the girl, who was now waiting for them on the side of the road. She had short, pink hair that was in some fancy-looking hairstyle and covered by a sunhat, and she wore a white sundress with a flower pattern as well as heeled sandals. She looked more ready to go out to the beach than walk out in the neighborhood before sunrise. She was an objectively pretty person, and she smiled when Narancia waved to her. She didn’t move from her spot, though, even when she was asked to come over to them.

“I would come to you, but the ground has all that dew on it still!” Trish pointed at the wet grass in front of her, a frown briefly appearing on her face. “I just got a pedicure; I don’t want my feet to get dirty and gross.” It was obvious why Narancia warned that Fugo might hate her. There was an air about her that screamed ‘expensive’, even moreso than Fugo himself. Her clothes were clearly all high quality and most likely designer, so she almost certainly came from a rich family.

Narancia rolled his eyes, letting go of Fugo’s wrist and going the extra distance until he was on the side of the road too. Trish immediately smiled at him, giving him a once-over to make sure he didn’t look sweaty or anything before wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. Narancia gave her a tight squeeze in return, lifting her up and spinning her around once before placing her back on her feet. It was then that Fugo realized that Trish was about an inch taller than Narancia; he was almost certain that the black-haired boy was frustrated by that.

“I missed you so much, Nara!” Trish squealed, grabbing Narancia’s face to pull him in and give him a kiss on each cheek. That made Narancia laugh, giving her another hug before letting go.

“I missed you too, Trish!” Narancia replied with a smile, but raised an eyebrow when Trish just cleared her throat and tapped at her own cheek. Narancia sighed and refrained from rolling his eyes again. “Jeez, okay,” he mumbled and gently pulled her face forward, kissing her on both cheeks as well. “Happy now?”

As Fugo watched, feeling oddly uneasy. Narancia and Trish seemed really close. Are they dating? The idea of that made an uncomfortable feeling well up inside him, but thankfully Mista distracted his thoughts.

“I missed you too, Trish!” Mista called out as he made his way towards her. He opened his arms wide for a hug but the pink-haired girl scrunched up her nose and hid behind Narancia. Mista tried to go around Narancia to get to her, but she kept moving Narancia around like he was her own personal shield.

“Ew!” she exclaimed and then swatted Narancia on the shoulder when he laughed at her attitude. “You look all gross and sweaty, Mista! That’s disgusting!”

Mista frowned at her, crossing his arms and nodding over to Narancia. “Him and I did the same amount of work just now and you hugged him! Listen, I just sweat a lot, okay? It’s not disgusting; it’s manly! Don’t tear a guy down!”

Trish made an audible “ugh,” sound and finally released Narancia from her grasp. When a grin appeared on Mista’s face, she gave him a sharp glare. “Don’t even try it, Mista. You know I don’t like getting sweaty or dirty!”

While Mista was huffing and puffing over his “unfair treatment by his closest friends in the world”, Narancia had turned his attention completely over to Trish. “Oh, why are you up so early anyway? Usually you’re still sleeping right now, it’s not even 5am,” he asked her, tilting his head in confusion.

At that question, a smile appeared on Trish’s face and she held out a bag that she had been holding. “My sense of time is still all weird from my trip, since in Europe the time is five or more hours ahead than it is here. But I just wanted to deliver the souvenirs I got for you guys before it got too hot out! Don’t open them yet though, wait until you’re done with work and can properly appreciate them,” she explained, sounding very stern as she gave her gift-opening instructions.

Despite most likely being extremely curious as to what he was gifted, Narancia nodded his head in understanding and gave her a little salute. “Aye aye!” he replied with a silly grin, and Trish giggled at him. Fugo’s stomach crawled. Why, though?

As if she could feel the intense stare on her, Trish turned and her eyes met Fugo’s. “Oh, who’s this?” she asked, rudely pointing at him and looking at Narancia and Mista. Fugo would have appreciated if she asked him his name herself instead of making them introduce him, but Fugo also knew he fucked up three of his introductions already. Maybe four if he counted Giorno probably watching the argument he and Narancia had gotten into the second they first met. So, he kept quiet.

“Oh!” Narancia perked up, rushing to Fugo and tugging him over to the other two. He seemed excited to do the introductions and his eagerness made Fugo suddenly feel better. He liked when Narancia paid attention to him and wanted him to be involved. But that was a given, of course; he was sure he would have felt the same if Mista had gotten to him first.

Once Narancia had brought Fugo over in front of Trish, he let go of his wrist. “Okay so Trish, this is Fugo!” he introduced, gesturing at Fugo after handing the souvenir bag to Mista. “He’s staying on the farm and working here for the summer.”

Then, Narancia gestured to Trish. “This is Trish! She and her mom live in the big white house down the road, the one near the bus stop. She’s a senior at the high school Giorno graduated from!” he told him, not noticing that Trish was giving Fugo a peculiar look.

“… Fugo?” she repeated almost thoughtfully, her eyebrows furrowed. Fugo nodded silently, not sure where this was going. He and Trish stared at each other, but then her eyes lit up like she remembered something. “Oh! Is Fugo your last name by any chance?” she then asked.

Fugo’s eyes widened. How would she know that? Does she know my parents? “Um. Yes,” he replied, more than a little uncomfortable. “My first name is… Pannacotta.” He ignored the stares Mista and Narancia were giving him. Neither of them knew any better, they probably thought Fugo was his first name the whole time. The only people here who knew his full name were Bruno and possibly Mr. Bucciarati, but neither of them had ever used it.

“Okay, I thought so. Your family runs a big business, right?” Trish then asked.

Fugo glanced away, staring at the place where the street met the grass. “Yes, they do.” It was far too early in the morning to be talking about his family.

“My father probably has met your parents then. He works with a lot of businesspeople, hosts events and stuff like that. If you ever were brought to an event, we honestly probably have met before,” Trish informed him, her expression thoughtful. She was probably trying to remember if they actually had met as kids. Fugo hoped her memory wasn’t that great because, now that she mentioned it, she looked really similar to the girl his parents always said they wanted him to date when he was little. That was the same girl they made him kiss at a party one time because they thought it was cute. God, I hope she doesn’t remember.

“Your dad brought you to events when you were a kid?” Narancia asked, staring at her with wide eyes.

Trish nodded at him before rolling her eyes, though that wasn’t directed at him. “Yeah… I liked being able to dress up but I hated having to be escorted around by Doppio everywhere,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she recalled a memory. “And it’s not like I even got to spend time with my dad anyway, never even saw him while I was there. Not that I would want to spend time with him though. Ugh.”

Since it was clear that Fugo didn’t know what she was exactly talking about, Narancia decided to get him up to speed. “Oh, Fugo. Just know that we all hate Trish’s dad. We call him the big bad Diavolo because not even Trish knows his first name!”

“… Diavolo?” Fugo repeated the title, a frown on his face. “Doesn’t that mean ‘devil’? Is he really that bad?”

Trish gave him a look, nodding her head. “Yeah, he’s the worst. The only good thing about him is that I get to use one of his credit cards and buy whatever I want with it. Still hope he dies so I can get all his will money though, then my mom and I can move back to Sardinia and get a beach house.”

Narancia scoffed at that. “Jeez… rich people,” he muttered, but then got an idea and turned to Fugo. “Wait, Fugo! Your parents are super crazy rich too, right? Does that mean you get to use their credit card, too? If I ask real nicely can you buy me stuff?”

Fugo forced himself to keep from cringing at the mention of his parents again. He didn’t know why they kept getting brought up; he had been lucky enough to almost entirely avoid his parents even getting mentioned here until now. Since they never called or texted, it was almost like they didn’t exist. He honestly wished they didn’t.

“Hey, uh, are we going to just ignore the fact that Fugo’s first name isn’t Fugo?” Mista suddenly asked, and while that was also not a topic he wanted to talk about, it still saved him from having to talk about his family again.

“Sorry,” Fugo replied, trying to get this over with quickly so the conversation wouldn’t stay on him. “I’m not a fan of my first name. Please keep calling me Fugo.”

Narancia stared at Fugo with squinted eyes, obviously thinking heavily about something, but then he smiled at the blond. “I think it’s cute, though!” he said, but frowned when Fugo just glared at him. “I mean I’m not gonna stop calling you Fugo, though. That’d be like if I suddenly started calling Mista by his first name too.”

With raised eyebrows, Fugo took a look at a now-annoyed Mista. He was going to ask Mista what his name was directly, but Narancia seemed to want to do the honors. “His name is Guido, hehe,” he announced with a giggle, finding the name pronunciation to be the funniest thing. It was always so interesting how Narancia could get amused over the simplest things.

“Shaddup!” Mista crossed his arms over his chest. “Guido is a perfectly normal name; it literally just means ‘guy’!” he insisted.

“It sounds funny though!” Narancia retorted, turning back towards the taller boy. “Anyway, you don’t look like a Guido; you look more like a Mista. You should legally just change your name to Mista or something!” he suggested even though that made absolutely no sense.

Fugo shook his head, trying to not let out a laugh. “Would his name just be Mista Mista, then?” he questioned, and was surprised when Trish out of all people laughed at that.

“One time I met a lady named Lisa Lisa,” Trish said, laughing again when everyone turned their heads towards her. “I’m not joking. It was a few years ago and I only met her briefly while on a trip to Venice, but I’m serious when I say her name was Lisa Lisa.”

Turning to Fugo, Narancia put his hands on his hips. “See? So it works!” he told him, and Fugo wanted to tell him that he never technically disagreed with him, but then Trish let out a gasp that got everyone’s attention again.

“Oh, I have to go,” Trish informed them, her eyes now glued to her phone. “I just got a text from my mom; she got my hair appointment scheduled for early this morning so I need to go get ready. I’ll come by either this evening or later this week to talk more.”

Narancia and Mista frowned, but Fugo was more relieved than anything. Trish honestly wasn’t that bad, though he wasn’t sure if he could imagine himself actually being close with her. Maybe he wasn’t one to talk, but she seemed bit stuck up and materialistic. But there had to be a reason why Mista and Narancia liked her so much…

“Is Trish your girlfriend?” Fugo couldn’t help but ask once Trish left and they were heading towards the store, his question directed towards Narancia. He had to know for some reason or else he would think about it all day. But when Mista and Narancia both burst out laughing, Fugo felt a bit silly for worrying.

“Oh my god, Fugo, no! ” Narancia wheezed, leaning on Mista for support. “Of course she’s not my girlfriend! That’d be so weird!”

Mista almost choked from how hard he was laughing, but cleared his throat and looked over at a thoroughly embarrassed Fugo. “Did you not see the colors of the bracelet she was wearing? Trish is like, the most out lesbian I’ve ever met! And I’ve met a lot of lesbians! She would be so appalled if she heard that you thought she was a straight girl or something.”

Narancia let out a snort, lightly elbowing Mista in the side. “Lesbian?” he asked, grinning up at his friend. “I thought she was American!”

What? That made no sense, Fugo thought Trish had just implied that she was from Italy during their conversation. Did Narancia not know? “Wouldn’t Trish be Italian if she said she was from Sardinia?”

“… Fugo, no- it was just a joke from-“ Narancia tried to explain, but gave up and just shook his head. “Nevermind. I doubt you’d know what it is.” He then looked around to find something to change the subject to. “Uh, anyway! We’re here, let’s just finish up Giorno’s chores so we don’t owe him anything anymore!”

-

Surprisingly, that evening Fugo’s phone rang. He kept it in his pockets at all times in case his parents tried to contact him, but he had almost forgotten that they eventually were actually going to check in with him. Seeing his mother’s contact name was strange now, considering he had gone about a whole month without speaking a word to her. Having her call today must have been karma from him wishing earlier in the day that his parents didn’t exist.

Now of course he didn’t actually want to pick up the phone. He was having a good time in the living room discussing The Outsiders with Giorno while Narancia and Mista faced off in some sports video game, and he didn’t want to be interrupted by them. He could let the phone ring and later in the night text them some excuse about still working; it wasn’t like they would know any better. But if they found out he lied…

Fugo stood up, frowning down at Giorno. “I apologize, I need to take this,” he said, his words coming out quick and sounding hurried. He exited the room swiftly, already having pressed the answer button and put the phone to his ear, and ignored the stares he got from his friends. Bruno had only finished work a few minutes before, so he was in the hallway taking his boots off – Fugo could feel his stare, too, as he rushed to his room and shut the door.

Once the door was shut behind him, he put his phone on speaker and sat on the edge of his bed. He was already on edge, so having to hold the phone up the whole time was going to get annoying fast. “Hello. Sorry, I apologize. I had to exit one of the rooms so I could speak more privately in my own bedroom,” he explained to his mother, though she hadn’t asked for any explanation. He just didn’t want her to be angry from the get-go.

“Good evening, Pannacotta,” his mother greeted politely, and Fugo could imagine her sitting in the expensive chair in her office room back at home, swishing around a glass of wine and her glasses placed on the desk next to her. There were many times he sat in that room with her while she lectured him over “failed” test scores or how he interacted with his brothers; he didn’t know if he had a single non-negative memory of that room.

“How have you been?” She asked, sounding as casual as she knew how to be. It was still awfully polite sounding, and Fugo just sat and waited for her to continue. He knew she wasn’t actually asking for him to recount his time on the farm, and he wasn’t going to fall for that trap this time and get scolded for talking over her and interrupting her. “Are you ready to come back yet?” That was the real question. Fugo honestly was surprised she cut to the chase so quickly. Usually she would force him to sit and listen to her talk about her own day and how her work was going and whatever annoyances she was dealing with, but it seemed that she wasn’t in the mood for that this time. Fugo wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

Fugo waited a few extra seconds after she asked the question, just wanting to make sure that she didn’t have anything else to say. “What do you mean?” He asked, playing it safe. He didn’t know if she had expected him to beg to be picked up the second they said hello to each other, but Fugo wanted to find out what exactly she was looking for from him.

There was a clinking sound, which told Fugo that she in fact did have that glass of wine with her. “Well,” his mother began. “I hope you understand how much money it had cost us to get you into that program and do the internship in California with Mr. Brando. He is one of the top lawyers in the country, you know. Not only did we have to cancel that for you, now we are going to have to pay the same price in full next summer for you to go. You are almost certainly behind on the summer work your tutors assigned for you because I am sure you don’t have enough time with your, erm, job to work on it. I don’t even know how rusty you are going to be when you start back up with your piano lessons again, too. Your violin skills will be even worse off, I can only imagine. We didn’t spend all that money on lessons throughout the years for you to lose these skills.” She spoke as if she was reading off a list, and each sentence caused another pang of guilt to stab Fugo. His mother was talking like he had chosen to come work here instead of being shoved in a car and driven here against his will, and even though it was obvious that she was being unfair, Fugo still felt horrible. He didn’t want to be a burden on them.

“So, if you finally are over your little temper tantrum from before and actually understand that we are only doing what we do for your own benefit, we will gladly send someone to pick you up as soon as tomorrow morning,” his mother explained, and Fugo hated that he had guessed their exact plan the first day he had left. He knew they didn’t actually want him gone the whole time, he knew they were going to give it about a month before they would let him come back, and he knew that they were going to make him submit and give into them if he wanted to go home.

But. Still. He was presented with a choice. He could say yes and apologize and go home. That was what he wanted. He had only gotten through much of his time on the farm because he knew he would get to go home in a month. So why am I hesitating? Well, he did make friends. Narancia, Mista, and Giorno were people he could consider friends of his and he enjoyed their company. Plus, Bruno was especially kind to him and even Abbacchio wasn’t that bad. But still… it wasn’t that he actually enjoyed farm work. He didn’t want to do it almost every day for the rest of the summer. He was more suited to academics than physical labor, so the idea of having to burn out in the hot sun for hours until the end of August was not exactly a pleasant thought. He could get over losing his friendships too, it wasn’t like they had actually known each other for that long anyway. It would be weird to suddenly be friendless again, but Fugo knew he was adaptable. Things would go back to normal eventually and everyone on the farm world probably forget about him ever staying here after a few months.

But… I don’t want things to go back to normal.

While Fugo didn’t exactly like the idea of working on the farm for the rest of the summer, there was one thing he knew he wanted to do even less. He didn’t want to go home. He had come to understand that the place he always called home wasn’t really a home. It was just a house that had his permanent address. The realization of that was jarring. He had a house, but he didn’t have a home. The farmhouse was a home, but it wasn’t his home. He was just a guest; in his mind he didn’t deserve to call this place home. Still, he knew he didn’t want to go back to his house, at least not yet.

But if I say I don’t want to go, my mother is going to think that I might actually like it here and she may have me be picked up just for that reason. So if I say I want to go back, I’ll be sent back to my house. If I say I don’t want to go back, I’ll be sent to my house. It was like a trick question, but if Fugo just thought of it like an academic problem to be solved then he was sure he could figure out some safe way to answer it.

“I…” he started, more to fill the silence than anything. He desperately tried to come up with some kind of answer, eventually settling on one that was neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ but still got his point across. “I still don’t want to study law.”

There was a heavy silence that weighed down on Fugo, broken by a sigh from the other end of the line. “That’s very disappointing, Pannacotta. I expected more maturity from you.”

Those two lines hurt like knife wounds to the chest, causing the blond to suddenly feel choked up. The absolute worst thing he could hear from his parents was that he was a disappointment, and it was even worse that she was able to say it in such a flippant manner. She might have said she expected more from him, but she sounded as if she had known that he would still try to defy her. That made it hurt even worse.

His mother stayed silent, most likely taking another sip of her wine, and even though she wasn’t physically there he could practically feel her eyes staring down at him. Fugo thought that she was waiting for him to speak, but apparently she had let the silence drag on just to make him more uncomfortable.

“Pannacotta. I am absolutely baffled at this point; how on earth can you still act like that after everything? Are you really that selfish to want to go against everything we’ve done for you? We’ve helped you for so long and even now you still want to act like this?”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. He remembered Bruno had mentioned one evening the week before that breathing was one of the most important factors in staying calm, and of course he had heard that before as well but he hadn’t actually remembered it until now. “I told you that I believe that I have a legitimate problem with my-“ he started to say, but unsurprisingly got cut off.

“Are you honestly still hung up on that, Pannacotta? There is no way any son of mine has problems like that. What are you, one of those attention-seeking adolescent girls people talk about on television?” his mother asked, most likely leering at her phone. “Like your father and I have told you before, you are just too stubborn and don’t want to admit that you’re wrong. If you got out of your own head and actually listened to me, you would be just fine.”

Fugo could feel his legs begin to tremble and he was even more thankful that he had sat down to have this conversation. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. This was what always happened. He would try to have a proper discussion but they always talked over him and dismissed him, and then he wouldn’t find the courage to disagree with them until he lost control of his temper. He didn’t want to repeat that because he knew it didn’t work, but he felt too lost to change the course of the conversation. He just didn’t know what to do. For a brief moment he wondered what Bruno would tell him to do, but he shook his head to get rid of the thought. Bruno couldn’t help him right now.

His mother’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Pannacotta. Who am I?” she asked, and Fugo frowned at the odd question.

“… You’re my mother,” he responded after a second of confusion. It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized what was about to happen. He bit his tongue to keep himself grounded as his mother began to speak.

“Yes, that is right. I am your mother. There is nobody in this world who will care for your wellbeing like I will. I work long hours at a highly-demanding job, your father and I pay for your education, your extra-curricular activities, everything you could ask for is paid for you. I have dealt with you and your attitude for years! I have dealt with it even when you yell at your father and I, even when your brothers come to me talking about how badly you’ve treated them, even when your father and I have legitimately feared for our safety,” she was downright berating Fugo at this point, and Fugo wanted desperately to disagree or tell her to just stop, but he still couldn’t speak. He felt horrible even though the little voice in the back of his mind was screaming that what she was saying wasn’t true and how his brothers were the ones tormenting him. He tried his best to cling to that thought and believe in it even as his mother continued talking. “We have dealt with so much from you and yet we keep giving to you. Do you know why?”

Because I’m valuable. I’m your trophy. I’m good for your business and for your story. He knew he couldn’t say that. “Why?” he asked, more out of obligation than genuine curiosity. He put his phone down beside him.

“Because I love you, Pannacotta.”

Wrong. He covered one of his hands with the other to get it to stop shaking.

“We love you.”

You love what I can do for you. He didn’t even register that his eyesight was growing blurry.

“Nobody will ever love you like your family will.”

That’s a lie. You’re lying.

“You know it hurts me too, seeing you act like this towards the people who have given you so much.”

Shut up. You were only investing in me. The room felt like it was spinning.

“We have done everything for you! Don’t you understand?”

Stop talking to me. Shut up. Shut up, fuck you.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this to us.”

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP-

“Don’t you love us, Pannacotta?”

“SHUT UP! ” The dam broke and Fugo snapped. He snatched his phone and quickly stood up, just barely able to stop himself from chucking the device at the wall. Instead, he grabbed the next thing closest to him with his other hand and chucked it, not caring where it landed. His brain registered some kind of loud noise, but he didn’t look. He also knew his mother was talking, but he could only focus on the ringing in his ears.

“Leave me alone! Stop it! STOP TALKING!” he yelled, pacing back and forth now. His hand accidentally hit his desk chair and he smacked it away out of frustration, causing it to tip over.

“This is exactly what I mean, Pannacotta! We wouldn’t be having this argument if you learned more discipline and listened to us!” Fugo heard his mother say.

Fugo grit his teeth, feeling seconds away from pulling his hair out. “YOU DON’T LISTEN TO ME! You’ve never listened to me my whole life! How can you say that you care about me!?” He went to say more, but once again got cut off.

“How dare you accuse me of that! You are such a selfish and conceited person if that is what you think! If he was back from work I would have your father come on the phone instead right now to properly teach you a lesson. I cannot believe you would dare speak to your mother that way!” his mother shot back, sounding absolutely disgusted. “You become an honest-to-God monster when you don’t get your way! And to think I was about to let you come back home; you can kiss that goodbye now. I hope living on that pig-sty of a farm for the rest of the summer will teach you a bit more about respect. Don’t expect me to pick up the phone if you try to call again.”

And then she was gone, the phone making a harsh beeping sound to single the end of the call. This time Fugo actually did throw the device, thankfully aiming it towards his bed. It bounced off and landed on the floor, but it most likely wouldn’t break.

As he turned around, Fugo caught sight of himself in the mirror. His face was a blotchy red and his eyes were disgustingly watery. Sweat had formed on his forehead, making him look like he just ran a marathon. Why does my room look so different?

Taking a shaky look around, he came to the horrible realization that he wasn’t in his room back at his house anymore. That was why he was talking on the phone in the first place. He was on the farm. He just yelled and knocked things over and caused a commotion where the others could hear him. They all heard that. It was different than when he and Narancia had argued during the first few weeks; this was him fully losing control of himself. They probably got freaked out. This is going to ruin everything. I didn’t mean to do this.

He kept hearing his mother’s voice in his head. She insulted him. She called him a monster. She said he was something people had to deal with. She said that she loved him.

Fugo didn’t want to believe her. He didn’t think he was a monster, and he knew there were things that she said that were clear lies. It was a clear manipulation tactic. But, still. She hadn’t told him that she loved him in the longest time. No one ever had said that they loved him since he was a child, except for his grandmother. Of course the one person he had cared about in his family passed away last year, though. He had been lucky enough to be home on a school break when it happened; he didn’t know what he would have done if he was forced to stay at his university during her funeral.

So, his mother saying that she loved him… as much as he hated it and knew it was a lie, the words somehow sated and burned the part of him that still craved his parents’ approval. He wanted to hear her say it one more time, but he also never wanted her or anybody else to utter those words to him ever again.

Everything felt like it was spinning, and he wasn’t claustrophobic but it all of a sudden felt like the walls of the room were going to close in on him. He looked over at an object on the ground, and upon further inspection realized that it was the object he threw earlier. It was a book. It was The Outsiders, the book Giorno had lent him. He brought it back with him when he left their conversation and took the call. The front cover of the paperback, along with some of the pages, were now bent. In his mind, the book was ruined. I ruined Giorno’s book. The book he lent me as a sign of friendship. I ruined it.

He began to tremble again and he dropped to his knees. The blond reached out and gingerly picked the book up, and as he examined it there was a gentle knock at the door. It was two evenly spaced apart knocks, and then Bruno’s voice called out to him from the hallway. “Fugo? Can I come in?”

“… Yeah,” Fugo eventually choked out, unable to take his eyes off of the book. He heard the door open and then shut again, and then Bruno was crouching beside him.

The taller man’s hand hovered over Fugo’s huddled form, but when Fugo made no move to pull away he began rubbing his back gently. “Deep breaths,” he murmured, frowning when the blond continued to shake and gasp for breath. “Do you want to tell me what happened? I heard a crash, so I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Fugo shook his head, but then nodded. He then paused and shook his head again a bit harsher. “I-I… I didn’t mean to do it. I messed up Giorno’s book. I ruined it. I didn’t- I didn’t want to ruin it. But I ruined it,” he babbled and made a small noise of discomfort when Bruno took the book from his shaking hands.

“The book isn’t ruined, it’s just bent,” Bruno said after doing a quick examination of it. “We can fix it. It’s still readable, so it’s fine. Giorno won’t be mad, I promise.”

That was meant to be a reassurance, but in Fugo’s fragile state all he could understand was that yet another person wasn’t listening to him. He curled up more, his head almost touching his knees now, and his now free hands came over the back of his head to grab fistfuls of his hair. Bruno continued to rub his back and Fugo heard the book being placed somewhere else. “I ruined it,” Fugo repeated, not sure if he was talking about the book or just everything in general now.

“Follow my breathing, Fugo,” Bruno instructed, and Fugo tried to follow along but kept getting choked up. Each time he fell out of rhythm, Bruno would just restart, counting the numbers of breaths they took from 10 to 1. Once they did ten deep breaths in a row, Bruno gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Good job. Do you know where you are right now?”

Fugo finally looked up, glancing around the room with blurry vision. “Bedroom,” he muttered, trying to keep his breathing steady. Bruno hummed encouragingly but clearly wanted him to continue. “Uh… at the farm. I’m in my bedroom at the farm.”

Bruno nodded his head, continuing to rub the younger boy’s back. “Yes, good,” he praised. “Is there anything I can do to help you? Or do you want me to go?”

After thinking about it for a second, Fugo shook his head. “No… I think I’m okay. I’m tired, I might go to sleep,” he replied, looking over towards his bed. He remembered throwing his phone over there and hoped it wasn’t broken. It wasn’t like he used it for much anyway, though. Maybe he was just too tired to really care too much about that.

With a nod of his head, Bruno stood back up and righted the fallen chair. He then helped Fugo to his feet, keeping him steady when the boy began to sway. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, Fugo, but I just need to know if it was your parents who called you. Is there anything from the call that I need to know about?”

Fugo nodded, not able to meet Bruno’s gaze. “Yes. My mother called me. But I’m not being sent back to my house, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied, rubbing his right hand over his left. It hurt in a weird way, almost like they felt raw, so he looked down at his hands and saw they were a bright red. Oh, did I do that? … Narancia would be sad if he saw, wouldn’t he?

“Okay, that’s good,” Bruno murmured, grabbing something off of the bedside table. It was a mug with some beverage inside. When did that get here? “Here, Giorno told me to give this to you. He said drinking tea helps you relax,” he explained, and Fugo felt guilty all over again. Giorno had been so nice to him lately, but Fugo had to go and ruin his book.

“Fugo, it’s alright,” Bruno told him, making sure Fugo had a secure hold on the warm drink before letting go. “Just relax for the rest of the night. No one is mad at you. You aren’t going to be in trouble. I’ll talk more about this with you once you’re ready, but nothing bad will happen to you.” The words sounded natural and came easily to Bruno. It was like he was used to being in this position. He looked tired; it made Fugo feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo said suddenly, unable to keep his guilt in. “I was having a good evening; I didn’t mean to get like this and worry everybody.” He finally allowed himself to look Bruno in the eye and was taken aback by the soft look on his face. Like that other night, it didn’t feel like he was being pitied, but he still could tell that Bruno felt bad for him.

Bruno slowly reached out and put his hand on Fugo’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he replied, keeping his gaze steady. “Your parents – your mother especially – should be ashamed. Not you.”

Fugo gulped, not sure how to feel about the intense look on Bruno’s face. He didn’t know if he could believe Bruno, either. “But I lost control of myself,” he disagreed, frowning. “… I yelled and I threw things and I almost hurt myself accidentally. I don’t want to hurt anyone here.” He thought back to his arguments with Narancia. He still didn’t think it made sense for the other boy to brush off what happened so easily, even if he was thankful that he didn’t hold a grudge on him.

“I’ve seen you these past few weeks, Fugo. You’re trying to get better. You’ve gotten better, actually. You’re making changes, but the major improvements like that don’t happen overnight. You’ll have setbacks, but you’re doing well, especially without access to the care you need,” Bruno told him truthfully. “Again, we can talk more about it later in the week or whenever you’re ready.”

Again, Fugo wanted to trust Bruno. He didn’t think the other man was lying, but at the same time he couldn’t believe him. Maybe in time he would be able to believe that, but what his mother had said was still weighing heavily on him. Still, he nodded his head and thanked Bruno for helping him. He didn’t want to make Bruno have to keep repeating himself.

Sensing that Fugo was ready to be left alone, Bruno gave his shoulder a light pat and then made his way to the door. He paused before he left, turning back towards Fugo. “You know where I’ll be if you need me. Don’t worry if you have to wake me up or anything. And… the others are here too; you can talk to them instead of me if you’d prefer. Whatever you want. Goodnight, Fugo.”

“Goodnight, Bruno. Thank you,” Fugo responded quietly, his back already turned to the door. As soon as he heard the door shut, he sighed and finally sat down on his bed again. He took a sip of the tea, glad that it hadn’t gone cold yet, and wondered how exactly Giorno knew the way he liked his tea. That guy is too perceptive sometimes, it’s scary.

After finishing his drink, he placed it down on the bedside table again and flopped down on the bed, letting out a long sigh after his head hit the pillows. His whole body felt weird, it always did after he lost control like he just did. He felt absolutely exhausted as well, and it didn’t help that he had an extremely long day of work.

At one point he must have drifted off, because all of a sudden someone was shaking him and he was opening his eyes again. His lights were still on, meaning he must have fallen asleep without turning the lamp off, and Narancia was leaning over again like he usually did in the morning. For a brief moment Fugo thought it was somehow already morning again, but a quick glance out the window showed that it was still the middle of the night.

“Fugo!” Narancia half-whispered, his hands still on Fugo’s shoulders. Their faces were close, something that got far too much of Fugo’s attention, but the blonde forced himself to think about other things. Like why Narancia was waking him up in the middle of the night in the first place.

“What?” Fugo asked, tapping at Narancia’s arm so he could be allowed to sit up. Narancia let go immediately, standing up next to the bed.

“Oh, uh, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come outside with me,” the black-haired boy asked him, now looking a little nervous. “I… had an idea. But if you just wanna sleep that’s fine, too.”

An idea? In the middle of the night? As tired as Fugo was, he was also a bit curious. Plus, maybe a walk or something outside would do him good since he still felt pent up over the argument with his mother. It might help him clear his head. “Sure,” he replied, and Narancia looked surprised that it was so easy for him to agree.

“Oh! Awesome! C’mon, just put whatever on, we can hop out the window instead of using the front door to leave. I don’t wanna wake Bruno or Giorno up,” Narancia instructed, already making his way towards the window on the opposite side of the bedroom. As Fugo found something to put on his feet, Narancia carefully opened the window and checked outside to make sure there was nothing that could hurt them when they crawled out the window. “Alright, it looks fine. I’ll get out first so I can help you if you need it.”

When Fugo turned back around after putting a pair of sandals on, he saw that Narancia had effortlessly slipped outside and was waiting for him. So, Fugo hurried over and, after a brief hesitation, began to crawl out of the window as well. It hurt a bit, which was surprising, but Narancia was able to help pull him out and then they were on their way.

“We’ll leave the window open so we can get back in,” Narancia explained as they walked. “We’re gonna go to the lake. You’ve never been there before, but it’s the place I usually go a lot when I’m feeling frustrated about stuff. Thought you might like it. But y’know Trish was right, the dew really does feel nasty on my feet so lets hurry. C’mon!”

-

Once they got to the lake, Narancia immediately began picking up some rocks. “Okay, there was something I wanted to do with you. So you’re gonna take one of these rocks and then you’re gonna chuck it into the lake and yell about whatever’s making you mad! It’s what I do and it sounds weird but I swear it’s a good way to let out your anger,” Narancia explained and handed Fugo one of the rocks he found. “Don’t worry about anyone hearing, like you could get murdered here and no one would be able to hear you, so we definitely won’t wake up Bruno or any possible neighbors on the other side of the lake.”

Shouldn’t that be concerning, though? Narancia looked completely relaxed, but Fugo couldn’t understand how anyone could be calm after being given that information. He tried his best to ignore the thought that someone could come up and murder them without anyone knowing, and took a step towards the water. He gripped the stone in his hand a little tighter. “I… I don’t know if I can do that.”

Narancia frowned for a second, but then examined the other rock in his hand and nodded to himself. “Okay, I’ll show you first! It’s real simple once you just let yourself do it. You don’t even gotta say anything, you can just yell. Watch!”

He then cleared his throat, got in a throwing stance, and then yelled while chucking the rock as far as he could. It landed a good distance away in the lake, making a loud “plop!” and then disappearing under the water. Satisfied, Narancia turned back to Fugo and gestured for him to try. “Your turn!”

Fugo made an uneasy sound, but decided to try his best. He threw the rock, but chickened out when it came to the yelling. It dropped in the water, but there clearly wasn’t much force behind the throw. When Fugo looked over, Narancia was clearly unimpressed.

“No, no! You forgot the yelling, that’s the important part!” Narancia complained as he looked around for more rocks. When he found a few, he made his way back over to Fugo and looked him in the eye. “You were angry earlier in the evening, right? I heard you yelling and then Bruno went into your room for a while. I’m not dumb, I know something happened.” His tone of voice had shifted drastically, no longer sounding light and teasing. It was completely serious, something seemingly uncharacteristic of the guy Fugo had gotten to know.

Narancia didn’t let Fugo continue and used his free hand to shove a little at the blond’s shoulder. “What happened? Your parents finally call you?”

Fugo stumbled a step or two backwards, furrowing his eyebrows at Narancia. What is he doing? Why did he push me? “Yeah, my mother called me. It wasn’t a good conversation.”

“Okay, yeah that’s obvious. Why’d it piss you off so much though? Talking to your parents shouldn’t make you yell and knock things over or whatever it was you did,” Narancia pressed, stepping even closer.

“It pissed me off because she never listens to me,” Fugo replied, stepping back again and finding that he was now pressed against a tree. He inhaled sharply when Narancia stepped closer once again, pressed up against him.

“Does she make you feel like you don’t matter?” he asked, his voice hard.

“Y-yeah,” Fugo replied, his eyes wide. He didn’t know what was going on but he didn’t want Narancia to step back.

“Do you feel trapped? Like no matter what you do you can’t get through to her?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you feel abandoned when they treat you like trash?”

“Yeah, makes me feel like shit.”

“It should. They must be so shitty to you, Fugo. Surprised you aren’t meaner.”

Fugo had kept his voice pretty neutral until then, but that made him accidentally raise his voice. “I’m not mean!”

Narancia easily matched his energy, raising his voice as well. “I know you aren’t! And yet your family treats you like you’re a burden? They make you doubt yourself?”

“Yeah, exactly! My mother called me a monster! I’m not a monster but she makes me feel like I am and it makes me act even worse!” Fugo hadn’t meant to say that, but he had been keeping everything bottled up inside of him for so long that it was starting to pour over the edge.

“Does it make you wish you weren’t here sometimes?”

A shiver ran down Fugo’s spine. “Yeah. It does. It makes me fucking hate myself!”

“And it makes you wish you could just run away and never look back?”

“All the time! All I want to do is get out of there!”

Fugo had gotten so engrossed in this back-and-forth with Narancia that he didn’t even realize how close their faces were. They were inches apart, their noses almost touching. The moonlight that shone through the branches reflected in Narancia’s eyes and there was a strange look in them. It was intense and angry, but also sympathetic at the same time.

Narancia smiled at him, a little sadly. “Then you and me are the same.”

A rock was placed in Fugo’s hands, and Narancia backed up. “Throw it, Fugo.”

Fugo stared at the rock, clenching it as tight as he could without it hurting. He stepped away from the tree, walking towards the lakeshore once more. He still felt hyped up from what just happened, so this time he had no problem letting out a loud yell and throwing the rock as far as he could.

The loud sound the rock made as it crashed into the water was satisfying, and there was some kind of feeling of freedom that he felt. No one came flying out of the woods to check why someone was yelling. The only one who could hear him was Narancia, and the older boy threw his own rock right after him and yelled just as loud. They locked eyes and burst out laughing, and then raced to grab the next closest rock first. For a few minutes they went back and forth, throwing whatever rocks they could find into the water and yelling about whatever was bothering them. The moon glowed above them, the only other witness to their confessions.

“Y’know, it pisses me off when everyone treats me like I’m a little kid!” Narancia yelled as he threw a rock.

Fugo looked over at him, breathing heavily due to the amount of energy he had been exerting. “What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

With a shrug, Narancia chucked another rock at the water. “I dunno if you’ve noticed but sometimes people, even Bruno and the others, talk to me like I’m not a twenty year old. I know I can be childish but I’m not literally a kid,” the black-haired boy explained. “Ah, anyway. I’m kinda tired. How d’you feel?”

It was obvious that Narancia didn’t want him to press, so as curious as he was to know more Fugo moved on. “I feel… good. You were right, this is a good way to get your anger out.” He’d have to keep this in mind, he was sure he would need to do this again at some point. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to do this at college or back at his house.

Narancia gave Fugo one of his signature grins and went to respond, but then he gasped and his eyes widened. “Oh, oh! C’mere, I forgot about this thing!” he exclaimed and rushed forward, grabbing Fugo’s hand and dragging him along the shoreline.

They passed by a few trees until they came across some that had a hammock connected to them. Fugo had never sat in a hammock before, and he worried if he tried then he would just fall off it and tumble into the water. Narancia seemed to want to go in it though, and he brushed some leaves off it, and then gestured for Fugo to climb in.

“I’m going to fall,” Fugo said, but Narancia shook his head.

“Nah, don’t worry! I’ll hold it for you, just get in!” Narancia insisted, smiling wider when Fugo sighed and hesitantly climbed in. Just like he promised, Narancia kept a firm grip and the hammock didn’t flip over and send Fugo to a sandy and watery grave. Fugo got worried when Narancia let go and climbed in as well, but he knew how to keep his balance so everything was fine.

Once they were both situated in the hammock, Fugo could feel just how close they were. Narancia was laying half on his side, one of his hands resting on Fugo’s shoulder. His touch made Fugo’s skin buzz, and the puffs of breaths he felt on his neck made him shiver. The blonde shifted so he was leaning slightly in Narancia’s direction. Crickets chirped as they laid in silence, and they stared in each other’s eyes.

“So, you know a lot of my… issues now,” Fugo said after a minute. While he threw his rocks, he had been very loud about things his parents had said or did at his house. Narancia, on the other hand, had been mostly just hyping up Fugo. “Can I ask you something personal? You’re always so vague when you talk about your past.”

Narancia’s eyes widened but he still nodded, which was a signal for Fugo to continue talking. “What happened to your eye? Were you born like that?”

His friend was quiet, mulling over what to say, but eventually responded. “Oh,” Narancia gave Fugo a small smile. “My eye got an infection like five years ago and I got real sick. Bruno took care of me and I recovered, but I lost most of the sight in my left eye because I let it get so bad. Probably should get glasses to help with my sight, but I’d break them too easily so I just deal. It’s fine though, I’m used to it so it doesn’t bother me.”

Fugo raised his eyebrows at the brief story, and Narancia laughed at his reaction. “Yeah, I know. It’s ugly, but it doesn’t hurt!” he said with a small laugh. “Everyone thinks it hurts, but it just looks weird.”

Without thinking, Fugo shook his head and put a hand on Narancia’ face, swiping his thumb on the black-haired boy’s cheek so he could open his eye more. “No, it’s not ugly,” he replied honestly, staring directly at his eye. “It’s just different. Is it weird that I like it? It looks cool.”

Narancia laughed more, averting his eyes. “You’re weird,” he mumbled, but couldn’t keep a goofy grin off his face. It was clearly an insecurity of his, and while Fugo understood why Narancia would feel this way, he couldn’t stop staring at it. Both of Narancia’s eyes were extremely pretty, even if one of them was all cloudy from a previous injury.

“Guess you and me are the same, then,” Fugo replied, subconsciously moving his hand back to thread into Narancia’s hair. When he realized what he did, he went to move his hand away but Narancia put a hand on his wrist to keep him from moving. His hair is strangely soft…

“What did you mean earlier about us being the same?” Fugo then asked. They were even closer now, somehow, and the blond could feel his heart racing. He had no idea how to navigate whatever it was that was happening, he didn’t want to ruin this.

Narancia hummed, scooting closer and pressing his head under Fugo’s chin. His hand grabbed a fistful of Fugo’s silky red pajama shirt, reminiscent of their hug from early in the morning. “It doesn’t seem like we should have anything in common, but… I’ve felt the same way as you before. We’re similar in that way. Family can suck, that’s why you gotta make your own.”

Not wanting to press too far, Fugo made the decision to not ask any more questions about that. He ran his fingers through Narancia’s hair, feeling the shorter boy slowly melt against him. Narancia squirmed his other hand under Fugo’s other side and loosely hugged him as Fugo maneuvered his other arm so it wouldn’t be trapped between the two of them. “It’s late,” Fugo murmured into Narancia’s hair, glad the other couldn’t tell how flushed his face probably was.

“Yeah, you’re right. G’night,” Narancia replied contentedly, letting out a little pleased sigh. If he was a cat he would most likely be purring, and Fugo thought about how cute that was before he processed what Narancia just said. Wait, we’re going to sleep here?

“Actually, Fugo?” Narancia suddenly asked, but was too comfortable to pull away at all. “I do really like your first name. I know you don’t like it, but I was thinking and what if I called you Panni? Or Panna? Would that be okay? Just when it’s the two of us? Mm, maybe I’m too tired but I just think it fits you. It’s cute.”

Panni or Panna… The only person who ever dared even ask to call him by a nickname was his grandmother. Well, sometimes when he was younger some kids would call him a nickname, but that was only when they were mocking his grandmother and trying to get under Fugo’s skin. But, somehow, hearing Narancia say it didn’t make him angry; it made him feel warm. Maybe it was because of the delicate mood and atmosphere, but he decided to go along with it. “Sure,” he agreed. “Only you can though. And only when we’re alone.”

He could feel Narancia nod his head and hum in agreement. “Okay!” he replied, but then stopped and let out a tired yawn. Fugo yawned right after him, and just like the last time Narancia giggled at him. “Okay, g'night.”

I guess we really are sleeping here, then, Fugo thought as he felt his eyes droop. He could feel the exhaustion from earlier creeping back up, so he decided to stop fighting it and close his eyes. He thought he would be more anxious sleeping outside in a hammock, but it was more comfortable than he expected. The sounds were comforting and it wasn’t too warm even with Narancia pressed up against him, so he was easily able to let the lullabies of frogs, crickets, and the occasional owl sing him to sleep.

Chapter Text

It was warm. One of Fugo’s arms was buzzing for some reason, but everything else was so comfortable that he couldn’t be bothered to move. It felt like the whole world was swaying, rocking him back and forth through the air. The noises around him were distant-sounding, but the muffled sounds of chirping birds and gently moving water was almost soothing enough to put him right back to sleep. He still clung onto his half-consciousness, simply wanting to enjoy this blissful moment for a little longer. The blond hadn’t yet remembered where exactly he was, but it was warm and there was a comfortable weight wrapped around him and that was the important part. His face was pressed against something solid, and when he felt it make a noise and lightly vibrate he just buried his face into it more. Fugo felt good, which was something he wasn’t usually able to say when he first woke up.

Something then began petting his hair, which actually made him drift off for a few minutes, and when he gained consciousness again all Fugo could think of was that he now understood why Narancia seemed to like people touching his hair so often. It was comforting in a way he hadn’t understood until that moment. He remembered how last night Narancia had seemed like he was ready to metaphorically melt when Fugo ran his fingers through his hair, and he wondered if he himself was acting the same now. Narancia… Of course his sleep-addled brain drifted to thoughts of the boy. Narancia had just been so nice to him lately… when he wasn’t getting on Fugo’s nerves, of course. He was especially nice last night. Fugo smiled at the thought without meaning to, pressing closer to the warmth he was practically clinging to.

Wait. Last night… He and Narancia went out to the lake last night. Narancia got him to open up about his issues. They threw rocks in the lake. They slept in the hammock. Judging by the noises that were becoming clearer to his ears, it was probably morning now. There were other noises too, like the sounds of someone talking. He was still feeling groggy so it was hard to register what the words were, but it sounded like Narancia’s voice. That must have been what those vibrations were. He could now feel that was still in the hammock, and the warm object he was entangled with was… Narancia.

Fugo felt his face burn and he opened his eyes, realizing that he had unknowingly buried his face under Narancia’s chin. When did he move? When they had fallen asleep, Narancia was the one holding onto him, but now it seemed that they flipped roles. It was weird, being in this position made Fugo feel small even though he logically knew their heights hadn’t changed. But he couldn’t deny to himself that, despite the embarrassment he now had, it surprisingly felt nice to lay like this. At the same time… it was weird to think that they had only known each other for a month but were acting close enough to do things like this. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be too surprised given how affectionate Narancia seems to be…

When Fugo convinced himself to move his head and look up, Narancia pulled back slightly and looked down at him, smiling gently. “Mornin’!” the black-haired boy greeted with a sweet voice, scratching the back of Fugo’s head fondly. “Didja sleep okay? You look exhausted.”

Do I really look that tired? He definitely felt tired, but he also felt a million times better than he had when he had first gone to sleep in his room early last night. “Good morning. I slept fine, thanks.” He was about to ask how Narancia’s sleep was when he realized the hammock was still swaying, though it was much more subtle now. He would have brushed it off as the wind rocking them, but it just felt off.

To investigate, the blonde shifted the best he could and turned his head. As he was moving, he did not expect someone to lean over the hammock and yell, “Good morning, Fugo!” at him. If he wasn’t only half awake he would have been able to register that it was just Mista and he could connect the dots to say that Mista was the person Narancia had been talking to while he was still waking up. But, since he had only opened his eyes about a minute and a half ago, the sudden loudness and closeness of this other person sent a shock through his system.

Fugo instinctively yelled and flailed, which caused Mista to jump back and for Narancia to try and stop his frantic movements. Unfortunately, Narancia was not able to calm him down before the whole hammock spun around, flipping them over onto the ground. Narancia was able to land safely in the dirt, only having some of the wind knocked out of him, but Fugo was unlucky enough to have fallen in such a way that he winded up tumbling down the slight dip in the ground and right into the lake that was next to them.

Fear coursed through the blond for a brief moment as his face became submerged in water, but thankfully the area he fell in wasn’t deep enough for him to seriously worry about drowning. He didn’t exactly want Mista or Narancia to have to jump in to rescue him – Fugo never was a great swimmer since his parents forwent getting him proper swimming lessons so he could spend more time studying. It was quite embarrassing to be almost twenty years old and barely able to swim, and it was not a fact about himself that he wanted to share.

Fugo immediately sat up, hacking up lake water and violently rubbing his eyes. Gross… who knows what’s in this water!? As he stood up, he could hear Mista and Narancia laughing at him and he saw that Mista had his cell phone out. “If you take a photo of me I swear I will kill you,” he warned, but then began coughing again and just made his friends laugh more.

“Well good morning, sunshine!” Mista grinned at him from a safe distance away, half hiding behind a snickering Narancia. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you knew I was there! Guess that’s a good way to wake yourself up, though.”

Fugo shook out his hair and glowered at the two of them, but then something brushed against his bare ankle and he shrieked, scrambling out of the water. When his feet touched the shore, his face scrunched up in disgust over the feeling of dirt sticking to the bottoms of his feet. “Something touched my ankle… Don’t laugh!”

As he grabbed his sandals and made his way back to the water to clean the dirt off his feet, someone else called out to them from the path leading away from the lake. “Mista, did you find them? We need to hurry if we want to actually go out today!” It sounded like Giorno, and he got his confirmation a few seconds later when the other blond stepped into view. Going out? Is it just them or are we all going? Fugo had barely even remembered that they had their day off today, so he definitely couldn’t remember if they had plans.

“Oh, where are we going?” Narancia asked, glancing at Fugo to see if he looked like he had any idea what they were talking about. When Fugo just shrugged and continued to put his sandals on, Narancia furrowed his eyebrows and walked closer to Giorno. “Are we driving somewhere?”

Giorno nodded, leaning against the tree closest to him. “Mista convinced Abbacchio to drive us to the park so we can play some soccer, but Bruno still isn’t budging. He says he’s too busy to take the day off with us,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “We were hoping you might be able to convince him, Narancia.”

“Huh? Me?” Narancia seemed surprised by that. “If anyone should be trying to convince him to do anything, it should be Abbacchio or, y’know, you. I’m the last person who could do that, haha.” The black-haired boy lightly laughed after he spoke, scratching the back of his neck.

“I mean yeah, he kinda has a point, Gio,” Mista agreed as he walked up to his friend. “You do have a certain charm to you! You know-”

“Is this another one of those things where you rant about how lucky you think I am?” Giorno cut him off with a sigh, tilting his head towards the other boy. “Because I still don’t buy it. I really don’t know why you’re so insistent on this theory.”

Mista frowned, copying Giorno’s stance and crossing his own arms. “Maybe it’s because ever since you showed up here, good things have happened! You’re the common denominator, why can’t you see that? Narancia, you agree with me right?” He then looked expectantly at his shorter friend, who was now in the process of putting on his flip flops.

“Uh, sure,” he waved his hand dismissively at him and then stood up straight again. He pressed his feet into the footwear more so they stayed on better, and then gestured for Fugo to follow behind him as he began to walk. “Giorno’s our little lucky star, I can get behind that. Let’s get outta here already though! I don’t wanna have to hear Abbacchio nag at us because he’s sad Bruno didn’t come along to hang out with him.”

Giorno shook his head at his friends, pushing away from the tree he was leaning on. “Correlation doesn’t imply causation…” he disagreed quietly, but ultimately decided to just drop it. “You do have a point though, I’m not too keen on being blamed for anything today so we shouldn’t make Abbacchio wait.”

With each step Fugo took to catch up with the other three, he could hear the squeak of his wet sandals. It felt gross, it sounded gross, and all the blond wanted to do was hop in the shower and change out of his soaked clothes. Hopefully he would get the chance to since going out in public like this was something he was definitely not a fan of doing.

“Mista, bet I can beat you in a race back to the house!” Narancia called out, gaining Fugo’s attention again. He then watched as the black-haired boy shoved Mista to the side and made a mad dash down the path. Mista yelled out to him and immediately took chase, but it was clear that Narancia was faster. Fugo would bet money on Narancia easily beating Mista to the house.

As Fugo watched the two of them get farther away, he didn’t notice Giorno falling into step with him. “So,” Giorno said, making Fugo turn his gaze away from their friends. “How are you feeling?”

The question surprised Fugo, who had somehow momentarily forgotten most of the events from the previous night. The blonde looked away again and instead focused his eyes on the scenery around them. “I’m fine,” he replied politely with a shrug, but then paused and backtracked. “I mean, I guess I’m not. But Bruno helped me through it. Narancia too. That’s… that’s why we were out here, in case you were wondering. You didn’t, uh, see anything, right?” Fugo suddenly felt himself getting embarrassed at the idea of Giorno having seen him and Narancia in the hammock. I really hope that Mista was the sole witness to that.

When he looked back over, Giorno had a small smile on his face. He was staring straight forward and his hands were loosely clasped together behind his back. The other blond made a humming sound as a faint gust of wind blew past them, and then they stepped onto a sunny patch. Giorno turned his gaze back towards Fugo, and the sun shone against his face. His hair looked golden in the sun, but when he smiled at Fugo his blue-green eyes had a shine to them that had nothing to do with the light. He looked picturesque; it was simultaneously captivating and intimidating.

“I’m relieved that you two are friends,” Giorno confessed, completely avoiding his question. That was most likely on purpose. “Narancia’s been happier lately; I think it’s thanks to you.” There was an unspoken message after that saying, “keep it that way”. Despite Fugo’s struggles with being able to read Giorno, he could tell that what was just said was as much of a threat as it was a compliment.

Then, Giorno gently patted Fugo’s shoulder and began to walk ahead of him, silently saying that the conversation was over and that he wasn’t allowing for disagreements or questions. With Giorno’s intense gaze now off of him, Fugo let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding and followed behind the other boy so they could catch up with their friends.

Once they arrived back at the house, Fugo thankfully learned that he actually was allowed to shower before they left. He had to fight past the others to get to the bathroom before them, but he was proud to say that for the first time since he arrived on the farm, he won first dibs on showering. It was nice to not have to wait for everyone else before he got a turn to clean up.

His short trip from the bathroom to his bedroom after his shower consisted of him having to literally kick Mista in the ass so he would stop purposely blocking the whole hallway in an attempt to play some kind of practical joke, as well as awkwardly bumping into Abbacchio, who had showed up before they got back to the house. The tall man just took one glance at Fugo, who had a towel wrapped around his head and the other around his torso, rolled his eyes, and told him to “hurry the hell up.” Fugo then brushed past Narancia, who darted into the bathroom with a small pile of clothes in his hands. Does he change in the bathroom? That was weird.

After closing the door to his bedroom, Fugo searched through his clothes for something to change into, preferably something comfortable and easy to walk around in. The clothes he chose were simple; a plain red t-shirt, black cargo shorts, and a pair of black and red sneakers. He considered just throwing on his old purple sneakers since he preferred the color, but decided that he would keep those as his “work shoes”. Once he changed, he decided to spend a little extra alone time in his room while the others showered and got cleaned up. Hanging out with everyone was nice, but he definitely needed a little recharge. He probably would need another one once they got back, too.

“Okay, I’m all set,” Fugo announced as he made his way into the living room ten minute later. His sneakers were still held in his hand because Bruno didn’t allow anyone to wear shoes in the house unless they wanted the job of sweeping and mopping the floor.

Mista was relaxing on the couch in between Giorno and Abbacchio, his back leaning against Giorno’s side while his legs and feet were on Abbacchio’s lap. He was typing something on his phone, but waved at Fugo when he stepped into the room. Abbacchio pushed Mista’s legs off of him and grumbled something at him, but Mista just flashed the other man a grin and moved his legs back to their previous position. It didn’t seem like it was the first time that exact scene happened. While Mista was pushing his luck with Abbacchio, Giorno was quietly playing some game on his own phone, his expression tense and concentrated. Must be on a hard level.

“Bruno, c’mon!” Fugo heard Narancia’s voice from another room, and as he sat down in the living room’s loveseat he focused on the conversation his friend was having with Bruno.

“No, Narancia,” Bruno said sternly. “I told you I’m too busy. I’m glad you all are going out but I still need to make sure things stay running around here.”

“Just ask your dad to cover for you! He’s the one who runs the place, after all!”

“I already said no. I don’t want to burden him with my work, he struggles enough as it is. You know that. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“But it’s only one day! You can take one day off!”

“I already gave you my answer.“

“Please, Bruno! We just want to spend time with you! I just want to-“

“Narancia, what part of no don’t you understand? Are you a child who can’t listen or are you an adult like the rest of us?”

“I… okay.”

There was a deafening silence after that. Fugo could tell that everyone was listening even if they were pretending to be minding their own business. Abbacchio sighed after a few seconds, glaring at Mista and Giorno (but mainly Giorno). “And this is why you should have listened to the kid when he told you to let me handle this,” he reprimanded, but made sure to keep his voice down. “Now he’s going to be upset unless Bruno somehow changes his mind. I don’t want to have to deal with that.”

Giorno frowned at Abbacchio’s words but continued to stare at his phone. “No one forced him to do anything, I just suggested that it might work,” he explained, keeping his voice calm. “Apparently I was wrong. It just always seemed like Bruno was more… soft, if that’s the right word, with Narancia. I didn’t realize how adamant Bruno would be today, but sometimes we can get him to agree if we push him enough. It wasn’t my intention to ruin anything.”

Fugo once again felt like he was intruding on something that he wasn’t meant to witness. There was most likely a deeper meaning to what Giorno said, going off of how Abbacchio suddenly looked like he was mentally kicking himself in the ass while also looking seconds away from strangling Giorno right then and there. Mista slowly took his legs off of Abbacchio and sat up straighter, most likely not wanting to be the barrier between the two. Fugo locked eyes with him and Mista tried to signal for Fugo to help, but the blond could only sit there until Narancia broke the awkward silence by walking into the room.

“Sorry about that, let’s go,” the boy said, trying to hide the fact that he was clearly upset by smiling at them. He met Abbacchio’s gaze for only a second before he stared down at the boombox he held in one of his hands, and, without waiting for anyone to respond, he put his headphones over his ears. “I’ll be in the car.”

They all heard the front door shut behind Narancia as he left the house, and Fugo was reminded of one of the few things his friend had confided in him about last night. Narancia felt like the others treated him like a child sometimes, and Fugo was starting to see what he meant. Yes, he could have just dropped the subject the first time Bruno refused to come along, but for some reason Fugo felt like someone like Giorno wouldn’t have gotten the same response if he tried asking.

With that in mind, Fugo decided to be the first to stand up and follow after Narancia. Once he got out of his seat, everyone else was spurred into motion as well. Abbacchio sighed as he stretched out his arms, staring in the direction that the kitchen and dining room were in. “I’ll talk to him, see if I can convince him to just come along for a little bit,” he decided, leaving the room to go find Bruno.

Fugo meanwhile was already halfway out of the house. He put his sneakers on right before he left out the front door, and once he was outside he easily was able to locate Abbacchio’s truck. Narancia was curled up in the cargo bed and was listening to his music, so Fugo clumsily climbed in beside him. He didn’t say anything, but it didn’t take long for Narancia to pause his music to look at him.

“I think I ruined the good mood,” Narancia told him, his eyes darting from Fugo’s face to the front door of the house. “I was just trying to do what Giorno told me to do, even though I knew it wouldn’t work. I just… I dunno.” Narancia then uncurled slightly so he could slump against Fugo, his headphones falling around his neck.

I don’t know what to do… Fugo wasn’t good at comfort and Narancia almost never opened up to him like this, so he felt lost. Am I supposed to hug him right now? Do I just sit here and let him talk? What if he wants me to say something? I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to say something generic and sound like I don’t care.

Narancia didn’t seem to care much about his lack of response, more focused on fiddling with the straps of his orange tank top. “I mean, I know I was being annoying and Bruno gets stressed about work, but it’s not fair that he has to work so much. And, y’know, I feel like I never really see him most of the time,” he continued, his voice much more quiet and mumbled than usual. He then paused and looked back up at Fugo, looking a bit lost himself. “I love Bruno, he’s like a big brother to me… is it really childish to want to spend time with him?”

Fugo stared at Narancia, unsure of how to proceed. Narancia was relying on him, so whatever he said was probably going to be important. “Uh…” Fugo started, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think it is. Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with the people you care about?”

His friend was silent, but then let out a small sigh. “I guess you’re right.” Narancia then pressed closer to Fugo’s side and let go of his tank top straps, deciding to hug Fugo’s arm instead. “Thanks. I just feel kinda dumb right now.”

Fugo frowned despite Narancia no longer looking at him, but then he heard someone walk out the front door. A quick glance over showed that Giorno and Mista were heading towards them. “You aren’t dumb,” Fugo quickly murmured to Narancia, trying to wrap things up since he felt that Narancia most likely didn’t want the others to hear their conversation.

As expected, once Mista and Giorno got to the truck, Narancia made himself perk up. The truck shook as Mista hopped in the cargo bed, Giorno climbing in right after him, and after adjusting the beanie that almost fell off his head Mista gave Narancia a concerned look. “You alright, man?”

Narancia nodded, flashing Mista a smile. “Yeah, I’m good! I’m over it, it wasn’t really a big deal,” he lied, playfully kicking Mista in the shin as the older boy sat down across from him. “Is Abbacchio coming or what?”

Buying into Narancia’s façade, Mista nodded and kicked back. “Yeah, he should be out in a second. He’s old, give him time to get out here.”

As Narancia snorted at the jab, Giorno just shook his head. “You always joke about his age, but you do realize that you’re the oldest one after Bruno and Abbacchio, right?” he reminded his friend, who lightly elbowed him in response.

“Yeah, but I’m 20 years YOUNG. Abbacchio is 25 years OLD. Spot the difference, GioGio,” Mista quipped, laughing when Giorno rolled his eyes at him and called him dramatic.

Fugo watched Narancia carefully while everything was going on. If Narancia hadn’t told him how he was feeling a few minutes before, Fugo wouldn’t have even realized he was still upset. Maybe he doesn’t get over things as quickly as I thought… do the others know?

“Alright, we’re heading out now,” another voice called out to them, and when Fugo and the others turned their heads towards the sound they saw Abbacchio heading out of the house with Bruno following behind him. Abbacchio placed some bags into the cargo bed and then stared at Narancia for a few seconds. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just walked over the driver’s door and got inside. Bruno, however, hesitated.

“Narancia,” he began, getting the boy’s attention. “I didn’t mean to get so irritated with you earlier. I just wanted to apologize for that, I know it upset you.”

It took a few seconds for Narancia to respond, but then he smiled at Bruno and made a dismissive waving motion with his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Bruno!” he reassured the older man. “I’m sorry too; I shouldn’t have pushed so much. But, uh… are you still not coming or did you change your mind?”

As he asked the question, Abbacchio started the car and it began to lightly rumble. The white-haired man then rolled down his window and poked his head out, gesturing for Bruno to get in the truck. “C’mon, Bruno. Like I just told you, it’s just for a few hours. Giorno already texted your father about it and he said it’s not a problem.”

Bruno frowned at Abbacchio, not happy that even he was turning against him, but Bruno then sighed and gave in, walking around the truck to get in the passenger seat. Narancia and Mista cheered, and Fugo was struck with a realization.

“Is it… legal for us to all sit back here without seatbelts?” the blond asked, looking at his three companions. Narancia shrugged and put his headphones back on, more content to just close his eyes and rest against Fugo’s side for the duration of the trip than to involve himself in a conversation.

“I have no idea,” Giorno replied as he watched the scenery pass them by as they began to drive down the road. “I’m not fully aware of all those smaller rules of the road.”

Fugo felt a little uneasy now. What would happen if we ever got into trouble on the road? Would my parents make me come back so they don’t have to worry about me getting into legal trouble? Would Bruno stop that from happening? “I know there aren’t rules against it in some states, but I don’t know the laws in our state since I don’t drive a truck,” he explained to them, glancing to Mista to see if he had any idea.

“Uh… I mean you’re the dude studying law so you’d probably know better than me, but I would think since we’re all 18 or over it’s fine?” Mista guessed, scrunching up his face in thought. “We do this all the time though so even if it’s technically illegal, we’ll be fine. And I mean, I’m sure Abbacchio wouldn’t let us do this if it really was illegal; he would know all about that stuff.”

Fugo tilted his head at that, unsure as to what that meant. He didn’t know that Abbacchio was so knowledgeable on the law. Does he work in law or something like that? He shows up here all the time though, I don’t know how he’d be able to have this much free time.

“Just don’t worry your pretty little head, Fugo,” Mista teased, grinning at him, and Fugo copied what he had seen Narancia do before and kicked him in the leg. Mista grinned wider, the opposite reaction than what Fugo had hoped, and kicked him back. “Anyway. Fugo! Have I ever told you the story of the time we tried to teach Trish how to play soccer? Spoiler alert: she ended up getting hurt and we had to end the game early! But the way she actually got hurt was so weird! Lemme tell you about it!”

Fugo leaned back as comfortably as he could in the cargo bed, resigning himself to his fate of having to listen to Mista retell stories until they got to the park. He could feel Narancia begin to tap his fingers against Fugo’s arm and lightly bob his head to the music playing from his headphones, something that he hoped was a sign that his friend was actually feeling better. When Fugo looked over at Giorno, the other blond was already watching him and Narancia. Giorno smiled at him, and Fugo smiled back.

-

Upon arriving at the park, Narancia immediately hopped out of the truck, headphones falling around his neck. Music blasted and, as he caught the soccer ball that Mista tossed at him, he began to kick it around while rapping along to his song. Giorno carefully got out of the truck and followed behind him, waiting for the perfect moment to swipe the ball away from him. He let out a rare laugh when Narancia shouted and the two of them began playing a mini game of keep-away that Giorno easily won.

Mista jumped down to the ground, holding out a hand for Fugo to take. The blond thanked him and stepped down, still worried about the possibility of them getting in trouble on the way back for sitting in the cargo bed without seatbelts. Fugo then watched as Mista stepped back up to grab the boombox Narancia had insisted on bringing.

“Hold this?” Mista asked as he handed the boombox to Fugo, and without waiting for a response he quickly made his way over to Narancia and Giorno. He wrapped an arm around Narancia’s shoulders, distracting him from his game. He then turned the volume of Narancia’s headphones up so he could better hear the music. “You know I take the 110 until the 105. Get off at Crenshaw, tell my homies ‘look alive’,” he rapped, making Narancia grin and join in. “’Cause it’s hard to survive when you’re living in a concrete jungle and these girls keep passing me by.”

Mista then nodded at two young women a little ways away who had just bought lemonade from a vendor. “She looks fly,” he said at the same time the song.

Narancia nodded along with raised eyebrows and repeated the next lyric. “She looks fly.”

The two of them then looked at each other with wide smiles on their faces. “Makes me say ‘my, my, my’,” they both said simultaneously, doing some kind of weird fist-bump-turned-handshake.

Fugo could only roll his eyes, all of a sudden getting annoyed at the scene when he had previously thought nothing of it. I’m just annoyed that Mista’s forcing me to hold this damn boombox, he convinced himself as he pushed the heavy object in Mista’s arms. “Stop being weird,” he reprimanded with a stern look. “You’re acting disrespectful. It makes you look like a dumbass, staring after women like that.”

When Narancia laughed, Fugo turned his gaze to the other boy. “You too,” he added, a frown on his face.

“I wasn’t, like, catcalling them!” Mista insisted, passing the boombox onto a dejected-looking Narancia. “I just think they’re pretty! I wouldn’t go up to them and tell them they have a nice ass or something, that’d be rude and I’m a gentleman when I talk to women!”

At that comment, Giorno hopped into the conversation and lightly jabbed at Mista’s side. “Tell that to all the girls who cursed you out for being a bad date,” he lightly teased, but kept a completely neutral expression on his face. “Actions speak louder than words, Mista.”

As Mista sputtered out some response about how that “only happened twice!” and “the first girl was the rude one because she insisted on going to a horror movie at 4pm and really, who does that? She was asking for something bad to happen and she wouldn’t let us reschedule!”, Abbacchio let out a bark of laughter. He then covered his mouth with the side of his hand and cleared his throat so he could pretend like he hadn’t just laughed at something Giorno said.

Giorno gave the tall man an unimpressed look, locked eyes with an amused Bruno who was holding two duffle bags over his shoulders, and then rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on the other boys. “And what about the second girl?” he asked easily, like he had been paying attention the whole time. And honestly, with how observant he was, maybe he had been.

“Okay, listen! We can’t all be perfect!” Mista whined, now wrapping his arm around Giorno’s shoulders. “You gotta understand that even I can’t be perfect, GioGio! Now, if you ever saw me on a date then you’d know I always try to be a complete gentleman, but… sometimes things happen. Like forgetting my wallet. And maybe my date didn’t appreciate my idea to, you know, just make a break for it. But it was a valid idea; I didn’t want her to have to pay! She was very traditional with that stuff, you see, so I just didn’t think that she would be keen on paying for both of us! You gotta understand!” he explained, all dramatic and theatrical as he recounted his failed date. Giorno just nodded along, spinning the soccer ball in his hands.

As Fugo watched the two of them, Narancia leaned over to whisper in his ear. “He’s told this story before,” he said quietly. “You’re right, though. He’s a fuckin’ dumbass. He acts like a suave motherfucker but in reality he hasn’t been able to hold down a serious relationship in forever. I wish I felt bad for him but I really don’t.” The freckled boy then quietly laughed, probably thinking about other stories Mista had told him.

“Alright, boys! Can we finally leave the parking lot?” Bruno called out, getting everyone’s attention. “If you haven’t noticed, for some reason I’m the one holding all of our bags. Funny how this happens every time.”

And like that was some kind of magic word, Mista, Giorno, and Abbacchio all were suddenly offering their help. Fugo felt like he should have offered first, but when he went to take a step forward Narancia grabbed his wrist and tugged him back. “Don’t worry about it, they can handle it,” the shorter boy reassured him. “You can come with me and we can find a good spot! I want a place not near a lot of people because then I might kick a soccer ball at someone and get in trouble. C’mon!”

There weren’t many people at the park, so the two of them were easily able to pick a nice, comfortable spot. “I think this is the best spot in the whole park for us to play!” Narancia exclaimed as he threw his arms out wide. “Man, I love summer! It’s just so warm and comfortable!”

Fugo couldn’t help but smile at Narancia’s enthusiasm as he relaxed in the shade. It really did seem like he was back to his usual self, and when the black-haired boy turned and smiled at him he couldn’t catch anything off about his expression. But, then again, it’s not like I’m the best at picking up on that stuff… Still, Fugo felt like it was all alright now.

The blond watched as Narancia crouched down, connecting his phone to the electronic device. Fugo gave him a weird look because, as far as he knew, boomboxes were an older kind of thing and shouldn’t be able to connect to a newer phone like that.

“Hm?” Narancia hummed when he noticed Fugo staring, but then his expression turned into one of understanding. “Oh! It’s not actually an old boombox. It just was made to have a retro look because I like that stuff. Abbacchio actually got it for me for Christmas! I felt bad because I think it was real expensive, but he likes to spoil me sometimes and I’m not about to complain!” Narancia spoke with nothing but affection in his voice; it was clear that he was quite fond of the grumpy man and cherished his gift.

Fugo felt a flash of what he thought was anger, but he quickly took a mental step back. He tried to think of what Bruno would tell him to do. Why am I angry? Trying to figure out the root cause sounded like a good idea. I got angry when Narancia started talking about how the boombox was a Christmas gift from Abbacchio. Is it because he’s talking about Abbacchio? That didn’t sound right. He wasn’t jealous of Abbacchio; there was no reason to be.

“Fugo? You okay?” Narancia asked, leaning in far too close. Fugo blinked rapidly as he was yanked out of his thoughts, pressing up against the tree he had previously been relaxing on. He frantically nodded his head, and despite being confused Narancia accepted that and sat back. “You just looked, uh… troubled?”

“I’m fine,” Fugo replied automatically, but then bit his lip. “I mean… that’s a really nice gift. I could never imagine getting something like that for Christmas.”

Narancia stared at him for a second. “Oh,” he eventually replied, sounding like he didn’t understand. “What do you get for Christmas usually?”

“Nothing fun, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Fugo muttered, that feeling from before crawling up inside him again. “My family doesn’t do much for the holidays besides religious things. If I get presents it’s only practical things. That’s all.”

It made sense now. He was just jealous over the fact that Narancia and the others seemed to have fun Christmases. It was something Fugo always wanted to have, but he had quickly given up on that hope from a young age. That was all. It’s not a big deal. Nothing to get angry about.

By the time the others found their spot, Fugo had entirely calmed himself down. He felt this weird sense of pride in his ability to stop himself from blowing up over something small again, so much so that he was more agreeable than he probably should have been when Giorno asked if he wanted to join in on their game of pickup soccer.

“I have to warn, I’m not that great at sports. Never had much of a chance to learn,” Fugo warned as he stood up and dusted off his shorts. He only ever did sports during mandatory gym classes, and even then he barely played. It wasn’t that he was never interested, but once again his parents cared more about academic pursuits than athletic ones.

“That’s fine, you can learn as you go,” Bruno reassured him. “Just remember that you can’t touch the ball with your hands unless you’re the goalie, that’s the big one.” That was obvious, but Fugo still nodded and thanked the older man for his advice.

Narancia hopped up, his eyes shimmering in excitement. “Can I be team captain?” the short boy asked as he pulled on Abbacchio’s shirt. “I’m like, the only one who never gets to be captain!”

It looked like the white-haired man was about to give in, too, but Mista jumped into the conversation and physically bumped Narancia out of the way. “Actually, I think Fugo should be a captain! He’s new, after all!” he suggested, flashing Fugo a smile and a wink, and Abbacchio mulled over it while Narancia groaned and complained about how unfair that was.

“Sure, why not,” Abbacchio decided, nodding at both Mista and Fugo. “Bruno will be the other captain since I already told him he could earlier. Sorry Narancia, maybe next time.”

“WHAT! No fair!” Narancia yelled as he pouted, staring at Abbacchio in disbelief. “I didn’t get special privileges when I was new! What the hell!”

Abbacchio rolled his eyes at the boy’s complaint, roughly patting him on the head. “Yeah, wonder why,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that you could barely exert any energy the first few months you were here? Can’t exactly play sports, let alone be a team captain, when you’re in recovery mode.”

What is that supposed to mean? Recovery mode? Fugo stared at Narancia as he watched him swat at Abbacchio’s hand, wondering what that meant. Was he injured or something? But that did bring up a good point; he had no idea why Narancia lived on the farm. Giorno too, for that matter. He knew Mista lived with his family, but even he seemed to spend most of his time away from them.

Now wasn’t the best time to ponder over things like that, and Fugo let himself be dragged out of his thoughts when Mista announced that they were going to pick teams. Fugo hoped he would be able to pick Narancia for the sheer fact that the boy was the person he was most comfortable around, but his plan was ruined when Bruno called for Narancia to go on his team. Shit.

“Me? Oh sweet! In your face, Leone!” Narancia teased as he quickly trotted over to Bruno’s side, sticking his tongue out and throwing up a peace sign. Bruno probably only chose him first to make up for what he said to Narancia earlier, but the black-haired boy either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.

Now it was Fugo’s turn, and he looked from Abbacchio to Mista and then settled on Giorno. He felt that the younger boy was talented at the sport considering how he handled the ball when he played keep-away against Narancia. He had no idea if Mista or Abbacchio were good, but he knew he wouldn’t pick Abbacchio since he felt that the tall man would heavily prefer to be on Bruno’s team. So, the decision was easy. “Giorno, you can be on my team,” he said, and Mista’s face dropped as Giorno nodded and moved to stand next to him.

Bruno easily chose Abbacchio after that, and Mista sulked as he dragged his feet to Fugo’s side. “C’mon guys, why’d I have to be last? I’m never last!” he complained, glaring at no one in particular. “And to be the fourth person chosen? That’s just plain mean! Don’t come complaining to me if it suddenly starts pouring or something like that!”

No one batted an eye at Mista’s complaints, already too used to that. “I’d believe you if there were actually clouds in the sky, man!” Narancia called out as he, Abbacchio, and Bruno walked away with orange cones in their hands. The duffle bags were open, so the cones had most likely been stored in there.

The three of them set up small cones to create makeshift goals, and used the bigger cones to create an invisible box. It all reminded Fugo too much of gym classes from when he was a kid, but maybe this time it wouldn’t all go badly. Mista had already gotten over whatever he was mad about and was trying to explain the rules of soccer, and he looked pretty excited. It made Fugo feel just a little bit excited himself.

“But yeah, I’ll be the goalie since I don’t want you to get whacked in the head, ‘k?” Mista patted Fugo on the back harshly, causing the blond to cough and stumble forward. He then surprisingly took his purple beanie off, tossing it into one of the duffle bags, and jogged over to the cone goals. It was weird seeing him without a hat on.

When they started, Bruno allowed Fugo’s team to have the ball first since Fugo was new to the game. Fugo tapped the ball to Giorno, mentally sighing in relief when he didn’t mess up, and then followed the other boy’s directions and took off. He didn’t exactly know what was supposed to happen next, but he just hoped that he didn’t embarrass himself. Narancia stood in between him and Giorno, but it was clear he was just waiting for a moment to help out Bruno and double up on Giorno to get the ball. The second it seemed like Giorno was about to dribble past Bruno, Narancia ran up to cover for him.

However, neither of them expected Giorno to actually kick the ball towards Fugo. Honestly, Fugo didn’t expect it either; he had assumed that he was going to be a decoy or something. The ball went flying towards Fugo, and the blond gulped as it sailed closer to him. He froze, unsure of what to do, and his eyes instinctively shut right before it hit him. Thankfully, it hit his chest and bounced off, and even though it hurt the blond immediately opened his eyes and stared at the ball in surprise. Both Giorno and Mista yelled for him to shoot for the goal, but when Fugo turned to do just that he found that Abbacchio looked much taller and more menacing than before. He hesitated, but then noticed both Narancia and Bruno running towards him and decided to just go for it.

Honestly his kick wasn’t weak or anything, which was both surprising and impressive, but he also was trying to get a goal against Abbacchio. So, naturally, the tall man caught it with ease.

“Nice try, your form wasn’t horrible,” he praised and then tossed the soccer ball as far as he could. Bruno gained control of it, passed it to Narancia, and the short boy was able to just barely score on Mista.

“Woo! Hell yeah!” Narancia hollered, running over to Bruno to high-five him. “Good teamwork!” He then gave Abbacchio a thumbs up and yelled out, “Nice save, ‘bbacchio! Let’s keep it up.” His smile and bright attitude was as infectious as ever, and for some reason Fugo didn’t even feel that bad that he completely failed at his chance to put his team ahead.

“Don’t worry, Fugo! We’ll get the next one!” Mista called out to him from his spot at the goal. Fugo nodded and give him a thumbs up in response, hoping that he could stick to that plan.

Of course, because Fugo’s luck was shit, he was unable to stick to that plan. It wasn’t like he could magically make himself good at soccer, so he had to accept that he wasn’t going to be that great at the game. He offered to try goalie, but Mista insisted that it was better if he was out on the field. Giorno stepped up, giving Fugo directions for what he needed to do but doing most of the hard work himself. Fugo tried his best to follow what he was told, but it wasn’t surprising to everyone that he struggled. They still scored goals because Giorno was a naturally talented player, but Bruno’s team easily kept their lead.

After a while of playing, Giorno whispered to Fugo that they were going to try to do their play from earlier. Fugo nodded in understanding, and when Giorno got the ball he ran past Bruno like he had the first time. However, apparently Narancia was anticipating this because when Giorno went to pass down the field to Fugo, the black-haired boy began sprinting. His eyes followed the ball just like Fugo’s did, and Narancia looked determined to not let him get away with attempting to score on Abbacchio again.

As the ball flew closer, Fugo prepared himself to stop the ball with his chest like before. He took a few small steps backwards, trying his best to keep the ball from accidentally hitting him in the head instead, and he became so focused on it that he didn’t realize that Narancia wasn’t slowing down. He only took his eyes away from the ball when he heard Giorno yell out for them both to watch out, but as Fugo came to the realization that Narancia was still running at full speed, it was already too late. Narancia finally turned his head to look at Fugo and both of their eyes widened as Narancia attempted to pull back, and it seemed that they both missed the mark with the ball’s trajectory because it wound up hitting Narancia in the back of the head, which then knocked Narancia forward even more like pendulum. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for a second, and Fugo squeezed his eyes shut like before.

Narancia’s head collided with Fugo’s nose and the two of them fell back onto the grass, hissing and recoiling away from each other in pain. Narancia sat up quickly, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, but when he heard Fugo grumbling he looked over at the other boy in concern.

Fugo rolled onto his side, one of his hands covering his nose. “Shit! “ he hissed, feeling his whole face aching. He tried to sit up and immediately his whole head began to pound from the shock, so he ended up lying flat on his back again. “What the hell? That hurt! “

Narancia crawled over a short ways to him, looming over his body with a worried expression. There was a red mark on his forehead, but the short boy ignored it. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry, Fugo!” he exclaimed, his face once again much closer than it probably needed to be.

A moment later Giorno and Abbacchio made their way over to the two of them, Bruno rushing to go get the first-aid kit he helpfully had packed in the other duffle bag. Mista came up behind them a second later.

“Narancia, move for a second,” Giorno instructed calmly, touching the boy’s shoulder gently to get him to move aside. When Narancia got out of the way, Giorno fully knelt down and assisted Fugo in sitting up. A few seconds after Fugo was moved into a sitting position, he felt something begin to drip down his face. Giorno moved the blond’s hand away when he went to feel what it was. “Your nose is bleeding, don’t touch it,” he explained instead. “Let me just make sure it isn’t broken, okay?”

When Fugo nodded, Giorno gently began to touch Fugo’s nose to see if he made any expression of pain or discomfort that could show that his nose was hurt beyond just possible bruising. He learned forward slightly as he did so, and Fugo had to glance away from his face due to the close proximity. However, Narancia immediately swatted Giorno’s hand away and scooted so he was in front of Fugo instead. “Lemme do it,” he grumbled, looking strangely irritated. “You can go get an ice pack or tissues or something from Bruno.”

Giorno stared at Narancia, his expression unreadable to Fugo, but then sighed and stood up. “Fine, if you know what you’re doing then I’ll listen to you,” he told his friend before he turned and jogged over to Bruno, meeting him halfway.

“Okay, so lemme just touch your face a little,” Narancia murmured, ignoring the directed chuckle that Mista made. He was surprisingly gentle with his touch, and Fugo forced himself to keep his breath steady. “Does that hurt?” Narancia asked, making eye contact with him. The blond lightly shook his head, and after a few more seconds of checking for any bigger injury Narancia decided that his nose was almost definitely not broken.

“Uh, am I supposed to tilt my head back to stop the blood?” Fugo asked, now staring at the blood that was dripping onto his cupped hands. It was absolutely gross to have blood on his hands, but it was better than it staining his clothes or getting on the grass.

The second he voiced his question, everyone immediately told him that tilting his head back was the last thing he was supposed to do. “I mean you can if you wanna choke on your own blood and suffocate,” Narancia said, giving Fugo a teasing grin when the other glared at him. “But nah, really, that’s a common misconception. You need to tilt your head forward.”

As Bruno and Giorno arrived with the first aid kit, Mista decided it was the perfect time to start talking. “You know, not to say that I told you all so, but…” he trailed off, crossing his arms and side-eyeing the others. “… I told you so.”

“Uh, no you didn’t? You said that it was going to rain, genius!” Narancia rolled his eyes at Mista from where he was sitting in the grass.

Mista huffed, glaring down at the boy as he stepped aside to let Bruno hand Fugo an instant ice pack. “I said if it rained or something like that! This is what I meant by that!”

Fugo watched the two of them bicker as Bruno instructed him to keep leaning forward and to pinch his nose with one hand. He held the ice pack to his face with his other hand, and then let Bruno help him stand up so they could walk back to their original spot by the tree.

“Alright, boys! Pack up the cones,” Bruno told the others and he began leading Fugo away. “Even if Fugo’s nosebleed stops, it isn’t a good idea if he continues to play.”

Hearing that made Fugo feel guilty, especially when he saw disappointment on Narancia, Mista, and even a little bit on Giorno’s face. Surprisingly no one protested though, and the three of them went off to go collect the cones and the forgotten soccer ball. Abbacchio, meanwhile, decided to just walk back with Fugo and Bruno.

After about ten minutes, Bruno had Fugo check to see if his nose had finally stopped bleeding. If it continued to persist, then the older man warned that they may need to figure out a way to get Fugo to the doctor. To everyone’s relief, when he took his hand off his nose no more blood dripped out, which saved Bruno from most likely having to contact and have an uncomfortable conversation with the blond’s parents.

“Well… even if it isn’t bleeding anymore, it’s probably best if we head back home now,” Bruno decided after a minute. He then stood up from where he was crouched by Fugo’s side and turned to the others. “Sorry to cut this off early, but honestly I should be getting back to work anyway. Pack up the rest of our stuff and let’s head back. Leone, come with me back to the truck.”

Narancia frowned, staring at the rest of the park dejectedly. “But… we didn’t even get to go into the woods or to the beach area!” he complained, but shrunk back when Bruno gave him a stern look. He clearly didn’t want a repeat of what happened in the morning, so he gave up his protests and instead reached out to help Fugo stand up. Once Bruno and Abbacchio were a far enough distance away, however, he let out a heavy sigh and stared after them. “Man, this blows…”

“Maybe we can come back again,” Fugo suggested, still feeling bad for accidentally causing their day out to be cut short. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he was the one who got the nosebleed so the blond still felt just a bit responsible.

“Yeah, the summer is still young, man!” Mista agreed, slinging his arms over both Fugo and Narancia’s shoulders. “Maybe we can sneak in after-hours! That sounds fun, right Giorno?”

Fugo rolled his eyes, expecting Giorno to either disagree or not answer at all, but was taken by surprised when Giorno gave his friend a small smirk as he lifted up one of the duffle bags. “Yeah, why not?” he said and then nodded at the other duffle bag still on the ground. “Someone zip that up and grab it, I don’t want Bruno to have to wait very long.”

The trip back to the farm was pretty uneventful. Narancia kept his headphones off this time, but for the most part he just watched the houses and stores pass by as Abbacchio drove them down the road. Mista was sprawled out as much as he could, resting his eyes with his beanie mostly covering his face, and Giorno was somehow playing a game on his phone without showing any signs of motion sickness. When Fugo glanced inside the truck through the rear-view window, he could just barely tell that Bruno and Abbacchio were having some kind of conversation.

When they pulled up to the farm, Fugo checked his watch to see how much time they had left in the day. It was only a little after noon, so the blond decided that this would probably be a good opportunity to get some reading or general productivity things done until dinner. Again, as much as he had been enjoying his time with the others lately, he was more than just a little drained.

The others seemed to pick up on his exhaustion because, once they got out of the truck, Mista decided he was going to head back home for a while. “Yeah, I probably should go check up on my siblings,” he told them as he walked over to his bike. “I might swing by after dinner though, but I’ll text one of you, ‘k?”

Once he biked away, Narancia turned to Bruno. “Hey, Bruno! Since it’s still kind of early in the afternoon do you think we could-“ His forming question got cut off when Bruno began shaking his head.

“Sorry, Narancia, but I told you that I really can’t be spending a whole day off,” he explained to the boy, sounding a bit guilty as he rejected whatever it was Narancia was about to say. He then turned around when he saw Narancia’s face fall and grabbed one of the duffle bags out of the cargo bed. “I agreed to spending a few hours off, we can’t afford to have me spend much more time relaxing. Maybe another time.”

Somehow Fugo felt like Bruno didn’t actually think there would be another time for him to relax. He saw Giorno and Narancia exchange a look, and then Narancia did the same with Abbacchio. When the tall man just silently shook his head, Narancia frowned and sighed. “Okay… maybe another time,” Narancia replied to Bruno, climbing up to grab the other duffle bag.

Abbacchio then said his goodbyes to them, but before he went back in his truck he leaned forward to quietly murmur something to only Bruno. Fugo looked away and decided to just follow behind Giorno and Narancia, not wanting them to think he was trying to listen in on something potentially important.

“Man, I wish he would just let himself relax,” Narancia grumbled as the three of them took their sneakers off. “I swear the only day he takes off anymore is, like, Christmas. That’s so not fair! Like I’ll work extra hours if it means he gets to actually sleep in for once, y’know?” He did make a solid point; Fugo hadn’t been on the farm for long but even he could see how worrisome Bruno’s overworking habits were. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

“I agree, but we can’t do anything about it right now,” Giorno placated, but Fugo assumed he was probably worried as well. Giorno seemed to be protective over everyone here, so it made sense that he would worry over something like that. I mean even I’m worried… but I’m the last person who could do something to help.

Narancia frowned at Giorno’s words, but there wasn’t anything he could disagree with. “Yeah, yeah. I know… I just… I dunno. Whatever, you’re right; there isn’t anything we can do today. At least we got him to take a few hours off, I guess that’s good enough!”

The black-haired boy then let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms out over his head. “Man, I’m so fuckin’ beat all of a sudden. I think I still have a headache from whacking my head, too… honestly might take a fat nap and then eat a late lunch. I’ll catch you guys later!” He then waved and began walking to his room as Giorno and Fugo went in the opposite direction towards their own separate rooms.

“A nap definitely sounds like an appealing idea, I might do that too…” Giorno murmured as they approached their rooms, more to himself than to Fugo. “Or maybe I’ll just watch TV. Hm. Well, anyway, I’ll see you later, Fugo.” The two then waved at each other, and Fugo walked into his own room and shut the door behind him.

He was excited to be able to relax for the next few hours, but as he changed into different clothes and relaxed in his bed with his book, he couldn’t help but feel this overwhelming feeling that something was about to go wrong. It’s probably just me overthinking things again… Yeah, that’s probably it.

Chapter Text

A week after their trip to the park, Bruno collapsed while working.

Well, maybe collapse was too strong of a word… despite Mista having explained it that way and effectively freaking out just about everyone in town. It would make more sense, in Fugo’s mind, to say that Bruno almost collapsed while working. He didn’t pass out or get sent to the hospital, but it was definitely a scary experience.

When it happened, Fugo was working the storefront with Mista. Narancia was out picking some vegetables or helping out Mr. Pericolo, and Fugo didn’t know what Giorno was doing besides the fact that he was working with Bruno. He had known at one point when he read over everyone's schedules for the day, but honestly he had forgotten most of the details by now besides who was working with who. It was especially hot despite it only being the first week of July due to the heat wave passing through. Unfortunately they had been extremely busy too, so work was hectic and they all were finding themselves working longer hours than the month before. As usual, that meant Bruno had been working himself to the bone so everyone else could catch a break.

It was almost time for their lunch break when, all of a sudden, Giorno came bursting into the store. He was sweating, out of breath, and looked like he was barely able to keep himself composed. For a second he even looked scared, which immediately put Fugo on edge because when did Giorno Giovanna ever get scared? Mista looked troubled as well and he hopped over the counter to give the younger boy his water bottle, which he refused with a palm out and a shake of his head.

“It’s…” Giorno tried to speak but still hadn’t calmed down from his sprint. “… Bruno. Bruno, he’s… something happened to him!” he exclaimed through his panting, and Fugo was so glad they had a lull in customers coming into the shop because Mista was only stunned for a moment before he was yelling for Fugo to come on and follow them.

Nodding his head, Fugo followed behind the two of them but made sure to flip the store sign from “Open” to “Closed”. The three of them ran down the dirt road and past the barn, and Fugo could hear the sounds of barking. When he caught sight of Bruno, he saw that Sticky Fingers was circling around and causing a scene. The poor dog was probably worried sick. It was completely understandable considering Bruno was on the ground, slumped against the side of one of the smaller buildings.

“Bruno! “ Mista cried out, sprinting ahead of them to get over to the man. Sticky Fingers whimpered and nudged at Mista’s side when he knelt down, and the brunet paused to give a quick, reassuring kiss to the dog’s forehead before putting his hands on Bruno’s shoulder’s. “Bruno, are you okay? Are you awake? Oh shit, Giorno, did he collapse out here!?”

Giorno knelt beside Mista, and Fugo stood about a foot to their side. He didn’t know what to do, so when Sticky Fingers stood up on his hind legs to paw at Fugo’s torso, he decided to give the border collie some attention to keep him from bothering the others.

Thankfully, Bruno opened his eyes quickly after Mista started talking. “I’m alright, Mista, don’t worry,” he reassured, but his voice was thin and ragged. “Giorno, I told you I was okay.”

“No you’re not,” Giorno disagreed, staring Bruno in the eye as he spoke. “You almost passed out just now. It’s a lie to say you’re okay; you need to take a break!”

“Really, Giorno, I just need a glass of water,” Bruno insisted, but then coughed after he spoke.

Mista furrowed his brow and then gently pushed aside Bruno’s bangs, placing the back of his hand on the older man’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Bucc’. Have you been sick this whole time? You need to get inside so you can get hydrated and then rest.”

“Mista…” Bruno sighed, not enjoying how this conversation was going. “You know I have way too much work to do today. I can’t just stop working.”

Mista put his hands back on Bruno’s shoulders, giving him a stern look. “Yes you can! C’mon, you had me scared shitless for a second there! I’ll call Abbacchio if you don’t rest up.”

The threat didn’t have its intended effect, since Bruno just chuckled weakly. “Don’t talk like Leone is the one calling the shots.”

“Ugh, okay. Fine…” Mista grumbled, pursing his lips in frustration.

“We’ll get in contact with Mr. Bucciarati,” Fugo suddenly warned, speaking without fully thinking through his thoughts for once. Everyone’s eyes shifted to look at him, but he kept his gaze firm. Mr. Bucciarati probably should know if his son is sick, even if Bruno is in his mid-twenties now.

Bruno narrowed his gaze. “Fugo! My father is busy doing some work off the property right now, do not interrupt him!” he ordered, and Fugo looked away. He didn’t want to make Bruno angry while he was clearly dehydrated and sick, but he felt like he just had to say something.

“I’ll do it if you don’t get your ass in the house and rest, Bucc’. At least until after lunch,” Mista added, giving Fugo a thankful look. When Bruno sighed but didn’t reply, they took that as a win. It was a compromise, at least for now.

Giorno and Mista put Bruno’s arms over their shoulders and helped him walk down the path to the house, worried that Bruno was too weak to walk there without assistance. Fugo followed after them, but willingly got the door for the three of them when Giorno asked him to. Bruno was compliant the rest of the time, knowing he would just be fighting a losing battle at that point, and let them dote over him and bring him to his bed. Giorno took the reins from there, instructing Mista and Fugo to go and do simple tasks and fetch him certain things from around the house.

“We should probably tell Narancia, right?” Fugo asked at one point, looking from Giorno to Mista. He watched as the two boys froze and stared at each other before Mista nodded and turned to Fugo.

“Well, actually no,” he replied, his eyes unable to settle on Fugo’s face. He seemed nervous, like he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Uh, we can tell him once we know for sure that Bruno’s okay, alright? He doesn’t need to know right now, trust me. He wouldn’t handle it well; it’d be more of a nuisance than anything.”

That phrasing really rubbed Fugo the wrong way. A nuisance? “What do you mean?” he asked, defensively crossing his arms. The blond couldn’t think of any proper reason to not tell their friend; if anything, he could only think of reasons why it would be bad if they didn’t.

Mista sighed and then opened his mouth to speak, but it was Bruno who replied this time. “He’ll just get upset,” he weakly explained and then began to cough. Giorno immediately shushed him and helped him through his coughing fit, and then the boy shooed both Mista and Fugo out of the room with his hand.

As they walked out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen, Fugo found himself still wanting to stand his ground and disagree. “So what if he gets upset for a little bit? Even Giorno seemed like he was on the verge of losing his composure; it’s a natural way to react to something like this,” he said to Mista, trying his best to keep his voice calm. “If we explain to him from the start that Bruno is okay, I’m sure it won’t be that big of a-“

“Yes it will, Fugo!” Mista cut him off, surprising the blond. There was an edge to Mista’s voice that Fugo hadn’t heard before, and naturally it caused the younger boy to feel even more defensive.

“Listen, Fugo. If Narancia hears about this and then sees Bucciarati laying sick in his bed, he’s gonna freak the hell out. It’s more than a general anxiety response, it’s way deeper than that,” Mista told Fugo as they entered the kitchen. He then opened the refrigerator and grabbed two tin-foil-wrapped sandwiches, tossing one at Fugo. “He doesn’t handle people being sick or hurt well, so it’s best to just not have him know about it.”

Fugo felt his eye twitch, but he took a deep breath and placed his sandwich on the counter. When Mista threw him a plastic cup, he easily caught it. “Mista,” he began, doing everything in his power to stay calm. “How is he ever going to get better at that if you keep him in the dark about everything? That’s like if people said ‘Oh, Fugo gets really angry at things so let’s just never put him in a situation that will make him angry!’ I can tell you from experience that it doesn’t work.”

Mista was silent as he contemplated what Fugo said, but then he shook his head and opened the refrigerator again to grab some juice. “That’s different. Your situation and Narancia’s situation are different. Trust me when I say it’s not a good idea; he’ll freak out and it’s just easier on everyone if we don’t have to deal with that.”

“Why is Narancia’s response to that something you have to ‘deal with’? You’re talking like he’s a bother to you,” Fugo shot back. His tone was harsher than he had meant to make it, but he honestly didn’t mind. He felt like he had to go to Narancia’s defense since Mista was acting so out of character all of a sudden.

Mista glared back, roughly handing Fugo the juice carton so the blond could pour some as well. “Of course he’s not literally a bother to me! He’s my best friend!” the brunet exclaimed, sounding a bit offended. “Maybe I worded that wrong, but we’re doing this because we care about him!”

“Really? Then why does he-!” Fugo stopped himself short before he blurted out anything that he wasn’t supposed to. Narancia trusted him with information, he didn’t want to break that trust by telling people who Narancia didn’t want to know. But how do they not see that this, as well as some other things they do, is making him feel like he’s being looked down on? He’s going to find out soon no matter what, I don’t get why we can’t just tell him now!

“Then why does he what?” Mista questioned, raising an eyebrow. “What d’you know? You’ve only been here for a little over a month, man!”

Fugo grit his teeth, trying to fight off the rage building up inside him. I’m not going to lose control. I can’t, not right now. I refuse to. “I admittedly don’t know as much as you or the others might, but I do know some things. He’s my friend too, now.” It felt weird saying that so boldly, but he knew he had to stand up for himself. “All I’m trying to tell you is that he’s going to find out soon, so trying to protect him from being sad or whatever you’re trying to do isn’t going to work!”

“It’ll work if we don’t tell him!” Mista insisted, which made no sense. Narancia was going to find out no matter what because of work. How does he not get what I’m trying to say?

As if they were being tested by some higher power, in that moment the two of them heard the front door swing open. “Bruno?” a voice called out, and both Fugo and Mista knew it was Narancia.

“Bruno? … Where the hell is every- oh!” Narancia jumped a little when he peeked into the kitchen and saw Fugo and Mista standing on opposite sides of the room. “There you guys are! Did you take your lunch break early? No fuckin’ fair, guys! What ever happened to taking breaks together?”

Mista gave Fugo a look, and Fugo just sipped his drink and stared back. Fine. If he really doesn’t want me to tell him then I won’t say anything. Narancia’s going to find out when we get back to work and he won’t be happy, but it won’t be my fault. “Hey, Narancia. We just got here, so no worries,” he greeted with a smile. His anger lingered in the back of his mind, but he had control over it for now.

As Narancia rummaged through the refrigerator for his own lunch, Fugo locked eyes with Mista again. Fugo raised his eyebrows at him and Mista narrowed his eyes back, looking confused as to why Fugo was suddenly changing his tune. As they stared at each other, their friend got his meal together, unaware of the tension in the room. It was only when the shorter boy turned to ask Mista a question did he realize something was up.

“Uh… you guys good?” Narancia asked, but when he turned back to Fugo the blond just smiled at him and casually opened the refrigerator door for him to put his juice carton away. Narancia did just that, but then frowned and glanced towards the entrance to the hallway. “And hey, where’s Giorno? He should be on break too.”

Mista froze, clearly not that great at thinking on his feet at the moment, but Fugo easily covered for him. “I think he’s just finishing up some extra work,” he replied, grabbing his wrapped up sandwich. “He should be done doon, but did you want to go eat outside or something? It’s a nice day.”

Narancia’s face scrunched up in a way that Fugo would have thought was cute if he wasn’t so focused on keeping the other boy from finding out what was going on with Bruno. “Outside? It’s hot as shit outside, why would you of all people wanna go eat lunch out there? I thought you’d appreciate the AC in the house,” Narancia asked, and Fugo saw Mista give him a warning look. One wrong word and Narancia would get too suspicious and everything would go wrong.

“Oh, you told me one time when we were working together that you and Giorno sometimes go birdwatching together, right?” Fugo asked, taking a sip of his drink to feign casualness. When Narancia slowly nodded, he continued. “And you said you know how to do some bird calls, yeah? Well I was just curious to see if you could show me. It sounds impressive.”

The extra bit of praise at the end made Narancia throw any possible suspicions out the window. He grinned sheepishly and a blush formed on his face. “Ah, haha… it’s nothin’ really, Fugo, but if you really wanna see it then sure! We can find a shady spot to sit under and I can try to maybe show you how to do some! … Uh, if you want to, of course! No pressure.”

“I’d love to,” Fugo agreed with a smile, gently ushering him out the door while saying that they needed to hurry because work was going to start soon. As he walked behind Narancia out into the hallway he turned back and gave one more pointed look at Mista. If this is the hill he wants to die on, then so be it.

Lunch went by relatively quickly since it was being spent in Narancia’s company. Fugo sat back against the trunk of one of Narancia’s favorite trees and listened to the boy ramble about birds and the “birdwatching adventures” he and Giorno used to go on a lot before things got too busy on the farm. Narancia even offered to bring Fugo along if he and Giorno planned to go birdwatching sometime during the summer, but Fugo didn’t want to intrude on all the special things his friend did with the others. It felt rude to be inserted into everything.

But, as much as he enjoyed their lunch, their short fifteen minutes of relaxation came to an end. Now came the hard part. How am I supposed to convince him to not go look for Bruno? He knew Narancia and Bruno were scheduled to work together, and if he walked Narancia to the storefront like the boy most likely expected he would, then he would have to pretend like he didn’t know what happened to Bruno. All of this lying didn’t sit right with him. Maybe if I can get a few more minutes to talk to Mista and Giorno, I can convince them to just let me tell Narancia what’s going on. I’m sure Giorno doesn’t want to keep this from him either. He knew Giorno was probably still forgoing his work in order to care for Bruno, and there was a chance Mista was still in there too as a buffer in case Narancia came back inside.

“Hey, I’ll go bring these cups inside and throw out the tin foil while you head back to work, okay?,” Fugo suggested as they both got up, already reaching for the items. “I need to grab my water bottle anyway, I left it inside.”

Narancia grumbled at being reminded of the hours of work they still had left to complete, but thankfully the black-haired boy seemed to be in an agreeable mood for the time being because he just nodded as he stretched his arms out. Fugo made it a point to not look at how the stretch caused Narancia’s orange shirt to ride up a bit. He wasn’t looking! He was looking away… Maybe he glanced for just a second, but that barely counted in his mind.

After they parted ways and Fugo walked back inside the house, he let out a deep breath. He was not looking forward to having this conversation again. Thankfully (or maybe disappointingly) Mista was still finishing up his sandwich in the living room, and he looked surprised to see that Fugo came back inside alone. That surprise, however, turned to clear annoyance when he quickly realized Fugo was back just to argue again.

“Dude, c’mon, why can’t you just trust me on this?” Mista groaned, his head falling against the couch’s back cushion.

Fugo ignored his complaint, once again folding his arms after putting the items in his hands on the coffee table. “I can’t trust you because I know it’s not going to work, Mista,” Fugo tried to explain, already feeling a headache coming on. Does this guy really not know anyone else’s schedule besides his own?

“Of course it’ll work if you just shut up about it! I swear, man, you’re so stubborn!” Mista whined, giving Fugo a pleading look. He clearly was used to winning arguments like this, but Fugo knew he wasn’t about to just give in. He already went this far; it made no sense to just stop now.

The two of them went back and forth for a few minutes, unable to come to any sort of agreement. Mista had stood up at one point, and if there wasn’t a coffee table in between them then they most likely would be all up in each other’s face. However, they both froze when they heard the front door open again, a replay of what happened before lunch. This time though, neither of them had any excuses when Narancia peeked into the living room.

“Oh, you’re still in here, Fugo?” Narancia asked before giving an annoyed look at Mista. “So why is it that everyone else seems to get to be lazy today except for me? I’ve been waiting at the store for almost ten whole minutes! Do you know how embarrassing it was for me to have to help out a customer alone? Bruno was supposed to be helping me out but he’s gone M.I.A.!”

Fugo could feel the stare Mista was giving him as he pieced everything together. “… Wait, you and Bruno are supposed to work together?” he slowly asked Narancia, tearing his gaze away from Fugo. He looked ten times more nervous than he did a few seconds before.

Narancia nodded with a grumpy look on his face, looking upset about whatever it was he just had to go through alone at the store. “Uh, yeah! That’s what was scheduled, at least. If it got changed, obviously no one told me or whoever Bruno was switching with.”

With an agitated sigh, Mista turned back to Fugo. “You knew the whole time that they were scheduled to work together after lunch?” he questioned, incredulously.

“I did. And if you had just listened to me when I was trying to explain that to you, then we wouldn’t be having this damn conversation!” Fugo retorted, just barely able to keep from full-on yelling at his friend. It didn’t help that Narancia was staring at them in confusion, silently begging for some answers as to what was going on.

“Guys, what the hell are you going on about?” Narancia finally asked, sounding a bit fed up with being kept in the dark. It made Fugo stop himself from saying anything else to Mista, instead turning towards Narancia. This is ridiculous, I’m just going to say something.

“Listen, Narancia. There’s something we need to tell you,” Fugo began, giving an unsure glance towards Mista. Now that he informed Narancia that there was something he needed to know about, Fugo wasn’t sure if Mista wanted to be the one to explain it.

Mista just shook his head, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “Fine, if you wanna just tell ‘em then go ahead, Fugo,” he sighed, lazily gesturing at their confused friend.

With a nod, Fugo looked back over at Narancia. The other boy looked more concerned than confused, and his eyes were darting back and forth between Fugo and Mista. “Tell me what?” he asked, his voice wavering a bit.

It’s okay. All I need to do is tell him Bruno’s okay but we just found out that he’s a bit sick from stress. That should be fine. After reassuring himself in his head, Fugo opened his mouth to speak.

“Okay, Narancia, I just want to preface this by saying that Bruno is alright, okay?” he told him, and even though Narancia’s eyes widened when he realized something had happened to Bruno, he seemed generally calm. That was a good sign. Fugo really didn’t know what everyone was worrying about.

“… Okay,” Narancia eventually responded, his gaze changing focus to Mista briefly. Seeing that the brunet was anxiously tapping his foot against the couch and staring at them almost certainly didn’t make Narancia feel any better, but thankfully he looked back over to a much more calm-looking Fugo. “What happened?”

This is the hard part. Just explain it in the most simple way possible and it’ll be-

Fugo’s thoughts were cut short when Mista, who apparently was so anxious about the whole situation that he couldn’t bare more than a second of silence, decided to blurt out, “Bruno collapsed! ”

“WHAT!? “ Narancia shrieked, sounding and looking horrified by the news. It was by far the worst reaction to the situation that Fugo had seen, and any hold he had on his anger was let go of when Mista then turned and gave him an “I told you so” look.

“Dammit, Mista, you idiot! “ Fugo hollered at his other friend, unable to control the way his face contorted into an expression of rage. “Bruno did not collapse! Why on earth would you say that if you were worried about how Narancia would react? He was fine until you said that!” He was about to launch into a complete rant about how absolutely stupid Mista had just been, but through his blind rage some part of him was able to make out a sniffling sound. When he whipped around to see what was happening, he saw Narancia staring at them with a distraught look on his face.

Immediately Fugo’s anger took a backseat and he stepped towards Narancia, putting his hands gently onto his friend’s shoulders. “No, no, Narancia it’s okay,” he murmured, his attitude doing a 180 so sharp that it was giving even himself a headache. He was still furious at Mista, but he needed Narancia to know what really happened. He didn’t know what he would do if Narancia started crying or something over this; he didn’t know how to calm down someone in that state.

“Bruno… w-where is he?” Narancia asked with a wobbly voice, but the rest of his body was frozen still like the information had completely shocked his system. All he seemed to be able to do was quietly mumble about Bruno and his whereabouts, seemingly unaware that he was even talking out loud.

“Bruno’s okay, he didn’t actually collapse,” Fugo replied, lifting one of his hands up so he could use his thumb to swipe along the shorter boy’s cheek. This is how you comfort people, right? God, I don’t know what I’m doing. “He’s fine, he just got a little sick from stressing himself out. But he’s still home, all he’s been doing is resting up in his room today-“

“You knew?”

The sudden question stopped Fugo in his tracks. The look on Narancia’s face was the one of someone who knew they were lied to, and guilt crawled around in Fugo’s stomach. I knew keeping information from him was a bad fucking idea. Why didn’t I just tell him when we were at lunch? Now he thinks I wanted to lie to him, too. Shit!

Fugo shook his head, trying his best to calm his friend down from his… he didn’t even know what to call it. Is this a panic attack? He’s not crying or hyperventilating, but this response is still worrying. I don’t want to make anything worse. “The only reason I didn’t tell you was because I was told not to. I swear, otherwise I would have told you immediately,” he promised, hoping the other would hear the sincerity in his voice.

Surprisingly, Mista finally piped up from his spot on the couch. “Fugo’s right, that’s literally why we’ve been arguing. He’s been trying to convince us to let him tell you what happened this morning,” he agreed, and Fugo was surprised that the brunet would still vouch for him despite having just argued with him. No matter the reasons why Mista was coming to his aid, Fugo still appreciated it.

After squeezing his eyes shut and sniffling a few times, Narancia seemed to calm down. However, when he opened his eyes he still looked on the verge of getting upset. “… I’m sorry, I know I get too worked up. I’m fine. I just… you promise nothing bad is actually happening to Bruno?”

Fugo nodded and hummed in response as he subconsciously rubbed gentle circles into Narancia’s shoulder. As silence filled the room, an idea sparked in the blond’s mind; it was something that just might make Narancia feel better. “… You were absolutely right about what you said before, you know,” he said, getting the other boy’s confused attention. “You’ve been the only one openly talking about how Bruno’s been overworking himself. We should have paid more attention to you.”

Those words seemed to do the trick, and Narancia glanced away, finally smiling a little. “I mean I’m sure you guys were thinking it, too, so it’s not that big of a deal…” he mumbled bashfully, but it was clear that much of the tension built up in him was released. Guess all he needed was a little validation… I don’t know what to make of that. Ignoring the implications of that, Fugo was glad that he at least found an easy way to console Narancia when he was upset; he tended to be laughably bad at emotional things such as that, so this was a welcome change.

Mista decided that he didn’t want to be left out of their conversation any longer, so he stood up from the couch and stood beside his two friends. “Listen, man, I’m sorry if I made you upset,” he apologized, but it was obvious that he wasn’t exactly the type to do serious apologies often. “I, uh, just didn’t want you to freak out over seeing Bruno in a bad shape… but I guess I just made things worse. And, uh, Bruno also didn’t want us telling you. So. Y’know. I’m still sorry though.”

Fugo held back from rolling his eyes at Mista trying to shift some of the blame off of himself. Very classy. He was about to make a lighthearted comment about that, but saw a frown form back on Narancia’s face. Clearly there was still something else to discuss.

“Bruno didn’t want me to know either?” Narancia questioned, focused on Mista. “… I know for you and Giorno it’s probably annoying to deal with my shit sometimes, but… I didn’t think it bothered Bruno. I mean, like, I get it. I know how he works. He likes efficiency and I can act kind of dumb sometimes and make situations worse, but I guess I just thought he would, I dunno, think it was important to tell me. Guess I thought wrong this time.” His voice was calm thankfully, but there was a kind of sullen undertone to it that pulled at something in Fugo’s chest.

“Well, actually, I think Bruno was just exhausted today,” Fugo responded as quickly as he could, glancing towards Mista for a sign of agreement and continuing when the boy nodded. “Giorno kicked us out of Bruno’s room because we were being too much of a bother for him. So, I don’t think it’s as personal as you’re making it out to be.”

Unlike the time before, his words did little to placate Narancia’s worries. The black-haired boy nervously glanced back out into the hallway, probably debating whether he would be allowed to see Bruno if he went to his room. “Maybe. Uh, I’m gonna go say hi to him. Just wanna… uh. I just wanna show him that I’m not freaking out like he thought I would.”

When they heard Narancia walk in Bruno’s room and close the door, Fugo immediately turned to Mista. “You’re an idiot,” he stated, doing everything he could to not get pissed off again.

“Sorry for panicking, Fugo!” Mista exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “But listen, you were right, okay? Happy now? He didn’t get as worried as I thought he would, but usually he freaks the fuck out and thinks Bruno’s gonna die! I didn’t want him to hyperventilate or something, and Nara’s a horrible crier, too! It sounds like the world’s about to end whenever he cries; it hurts, okay!”

“It’s alright. I guess… it was just a misunderstanding. Sorry for getting overly angry at you, I didn’t mean it,” Fugo apologized, ducking his head in embarrassment as he realized how loud he had gotten at his friend.

Thankfully, Mista clapped a hand on Fugo’s shoulder and brought him in for a brief side hug. “It’s cool, man. But jeez, if looks could kill you probably woulda murdered me! You’re scary as hell when you’re angry!” he laughed, which made Fugo’s face flush. He didn’t want to be scary when he was angry, but Mista seemed to think it was a good thing… for some reason. So, Fugo decided not to dwell on it.

---

That seemed to be the end of the problems on the farm. Bruno took some much needed time off, though not by his own choice. He almost tried to get up to go do “just a little bit of simple work outside” later in the afternoon, but ultimately stayed put after Giorno got a hold of Mr. Bucciarati and had the man order Bruno to stay in bed.

Rest seemed to be just what Bruno needed, because after a couple of days he was back on his feet and able to do light chores around the house. Mr. Bucciarati still wouldn’t allow him to do any outside work no matter how much better Bruno claimed he was feeling, but Bruno did go out to check on everyone under the guise of just wanting to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. No one really complained though; all that mattered was that he was relaxing and recuperating. Seeing Bruno without the light bags under his eyes for once was refreshing, and it almost made Fugo forget about that weird thought of how something bad was going to happen that still was lingering in the back of his mind. The bad thing already happened, and the worst of it has passed. Everything is fine.

However, that also meant everyone else had to do work in his absence. Narancia, of course, had offered to do some of the jobs that involved the tractor, but that idea was quickly shot down. Apparently he didn’t actually know how to use the tractor because no one ever taught him, so he absolutely wouldn’t be allowed to learn on the fly. It was too dangerous.

Narancia confessed to Fugo one day while they were in between tasks that he thought the reason he didn’t get taught how to use the tractor was because of his bad eye. He had a feeling that both Mista and Giorno were taught how to use some of the machines like the tractors, but whenever he asked Bruno or Mr. Bucciarati or any of the older workers to be taught, he was always turned down without much explanation. The only reasons he could come up with as to why he wasn’t allowed to use the tractor were either because of his bad eye or because everyone thought he was too stupid, but he had said that he would rather not consider the second option.

All Fugo was able to do was reassure his friend that he also had no idea how to use a tractor, so at least they were the same in that regard. It was an obvious thing to say, but it still seemed to make Narancia feel better. It also made Fugo happy to know that not only was Narancia starting to actually open up to him, but that he was also able to help make Narancia feel better, too. He had never been the person anyone came to for advice or encouraging words, but it was good to know at least one person thought highly enough of him.

So, generally, the rest of the week was good. Word spread fast in the town and Fugo found himself having to tell a ton of people who came by the farm that yes, Bruno was okay, and no, Bruno did not collapse like some people said he did. It was honestly amazing how many people not only knew but also genuinely cared about Bruno. Even people from the opposite side of town or from the city stopped by to ask how he was doing. They brought cards, gifts, and some people even volunteered to help out around the farm for free until Bruno was feeling better. Of course, most of those people were politely turned down, but the offer was still greatly appreciated. All in all, it really felt like a community was coming together. Fugo had never seen anything like it; it was so different than the “community” he had grown up in. He liked it a lot.

But, of course, it seemed that every good thing that happened to them had to have a wrench thrown into it. This time, that wrench went by the name Prosciutto.

The day actually had been going fairly normally. The weather was overcast, so for once Fugo didn’t feel the blistering heat of the sun on him as he worked outside. He didn’t have to work with any of the barn animals, which was always a good thing, and he and Narancia were scheduled to work almost the entire day together… which was also a good thing.

However, the problem arose when Narancia convinced Fugo to take an extra break from work to go grab some granola bars from the farm’s store. Narancia claimed they didn’t have to pay for the food there, but Fugo somehow felt like that wasn’t the truth and only agreed to come along if the black-haired boy properly paid for the snacks.

When they arrived at the storefront, Narancia waved hello to an elderly woman heading back to her car. Fugo recognized her as Mrs. Menini, who usually was accompanied by family members or some of her friends. She usually stopped by on Sunday after she attended church, from what the blond remembered. When she saw Fugo, she waved to him as well, and he returned the gesture with a polite smile. It was weird that the regulars were starting to remember his face.

“Oh, Fugo, y’think you’d be interested in watching something on Saturday again?” Narancia asked as they neared the entrance to the store. “It doesn’t gotta be Fist of the North Star this time, either. Maybe we could watch a movie or show that you like? You don’t talk about yourself enough, I wanna know more about what you like!”

“Um, I mean I’m fine with that, but I really don’t mind watching the things you recommend,” Fugo replied sincerely as he reached for the door handle. “I don’t have many interests with those things, so I would rather not bore you by making you sit through a boring documentary.” It wasn’t the first time Narancia had asked him about his interests, and despite Fugo making it clear that he didn’t have much to talk about he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he was asked about it.

Narancia made a face, not pleased with his answer. “Hey, documentaries can be cool! I mean unless you’re gonna make we watch one about the history of NASCAR like Abbacchio did one time, I’m down to try it!” he huffed as he allowed Fugo to hold the door open for him, then walking through the entrance. “You think we could-“

When Narancia suddenly stopped talking, Fugo followed behind him through the door to see what was going on. He saw his friend staring at the counter, where Mista was talking to a customer. The brunet looked surprisingly irritated at whoever it was he was talking to, and Giorno gave Fugo an exasperated look when the two of them locked eyes.

Finally, after an uncomfortable few seconds, Narancia finally spoke. “What the hell are you doing here!?” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the customer, who turned back around to face him.

The customer was a slightly tall, lean man with sleek blond hair and a cold gaze. He wore a suit, something Fugo thought was a horrible decision given that it was almost 90 degrees out, and looked more ready to go to a business meeting then stop by a farm. He gave both Fugo and Narancia a once-over, his expression one of boredom and annoyance, and then quirked an eyebrow. “Hello again, Narancia,” is all he said, a sharp contrast to how Narancia was acting, which caused the black-haired boy to become more angered.

“Miss me with all that polite shit, Prosciutto! We told you not to step foot on our fuckin’ property again!” Narancia pointed more aggressively as he yelled, and Fugo glanced around the store to make sure no other customers were witnessing Narancia’s growing fit of rage. When he was sure no one else was around, he tried to quietly tell Narancia to keep his voice down, but his friend just glared at him and took a step closer to Prosciutto.

Fugo looked over at Mista and Giorno, who looked to be at as much of a loss as Fugo himself was. Prosciutto… isn’t that the name of Bruno’s ex? This can’t be good.

The older man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance at Narancia’s actions. “You talk like I did something abhorrent to Bruno, which isn’t true in the slightest,” he replied in defense of himself. “All I came here to do was ask if I could talk to Bruno and ask how he’s doing. I had heard he collapsed at the beginning of the week, so I just felt that I should come by and make sure he was alright.”

What Prosciutto was saying honestly made sense to Fugo. If all he wanted to do was make sure Bruno was alright, then Fugo wasn’t exactly sure why everyone was acting like there was a problem with that. Though, I suppose I don’t know the circumstances for their break-up. Maybe he’s acting considerate now, but in reality he was a horrible person? He wasn’t sure, so he stayed quiet. Narancia obviously didn’t appreciate him trying to step in before.

“You have no right to see Bruno. If you wanna know how he’s doing then I can tell you that he’s doing much better, so you can go now!” Narancia retorted, his posture tense and guarded. It was extremely reminiscent of how he acted when they talked to Formaggio in the convenience store that one afternoon, but this time he wasn’t allowed to just walk away.

“… Why do I have no right to see him? Tell me, Narancia, what is it that I did that was so horrible that it validates your claim?” Prosciutto asked as he looked down at Narancia, who was growing angrier by the second. It was clear that he was using his composed demeanor to his advantage so he could seem like he was in control over Narancia. And, at least for the time being, it was working.

Narancia visibly hesitated, glancing away as he tried to come up with an answer. Everyone was watching him now, adding extra pressure to the situation. “I… I mean, you broke Bruno’s heart!” Narancia finally said, the fire back in his eyes as he recalled some past memory. “You hurt him, and I saw how it affected him after you left!”

“But what did I do? Do you even know what happened?” was the automatic reply Prosciutto gave. He raised an eyebrow again and his face was one of annoyance and disappointment in Narancia’s debating skills.

“I don’t need to know! All that matters is you left him and you hurt him and you don’t deserve to see him ever again!” Narancia practically yelled, not caring that he wasn’t giving the proper answer to the question asked.

After a quick, deliberate silence, Prosciutto slowly nodded and then asked, “So, you’re basically telling me that you came up with your own imaginations about what happened between Bruno and I despite having no idea what even transpired?”

Narancia was silent.

Prosciutto leaned down slightly, further showcasing his height over Narancia. He wasn’t much taller than Fugo, but he still had almost a good half foot on Narancia. “Tell me, Narancia, have you considered the idea that perhaps Bruno hurt me as well?”

The black-haired boy bit his lip, still not responding. Fugo worriedly stared at his friend, unsure of what to do. It seemed as though both Giorno and Mista didn’t have any response to that, either. Do they not know what happened either? What is going on?

With an unimpressed huff, Prosciutto stood up straight again. “Your silence tells me that you’ve been so biased that you haven’t even considered that.”

Finally, Narancia found the will to speak again. “Why would I have any reason to think Bruno would hurt you? He cared about you!” Even though he spoke at a loud volume, he sounded more confused and unsure than before.

“As did I,” Prosciutto replied firmly. “Why would I be in a committed relationship to someone for two whole years if I didn’t care about them?”

Obviously Fugo knew that there were reasons why someone could be in long-lasting relationship while not truly caring about them, but it felt wrong to bring those points up while being so uninformed about their relationship. But still, it was a fair point, and it was one that Narancia seemed unable to properly argue against. Still, he tried to at least say something. “… Uh, I-I’m sure there are reasons!”

Prosciutto gave Narancia a deadpan look and shook his head. “You always have been bad at understanding complex situations, haven’t you?”

Suddenly the tone of the argument shifted, and Fugo felt a whole different kind of tension. When the blond looked over at the others again, Mista looked ready to jump over the counter to come over where they were and defend Narancia. Next to him, Giorno’s eyes had widened and his hands on the counter were in tight fists. They were still on the job, so they probably couldn’t leave unless they absolutely had to. Most likely they were hoping that one of them would back down before things escalated.

A sound akin to a growl coming from Narancia got Fugo’s attention again, and when he looked back he saw that Narancia had taken a step closer to Prosciutto. “You callin’ me an idiot? You think I’m too dumb to understand this shit?”

“I think you’re too comfortable with being ignorant. Your idolization of Bruno gets in the way of seeing the full truth! All I came to do was ask him if he was alright and if he needed anything, but you’ve already demonized me in your mind, haven’t you?” Prosciutto explained, ignoring Narancia’s flaring anger. It was clear no one was going to back down.

In turn, Narancia ignored Prosciutto’s pointed question. “You already have Risotto now, why would you even need to come back to make sure Bruno’s okay?” He asked in an accusatory tone, glaring up at him.

At that implication, Prosciutto scoffed and rolled his eyes. “God, Narancia, did you ever consider that I might still care about him? Maybe we aren’t on good terms, and maybe we’ll always be bitter towards each other, but if he gets hurt I’m mature enough to put personal issues aside.” His voice was sharp, the only indicator that he was losing his cool at all.

Narancia stood back, drawing in on himself. He glanced down at the floor, his expression a mix of anger and confusion, like he was trying to think about something he didn’t understand. “That doesn’t make any damn sense. You hurt him, and… and if Bruno really did hurt you too, why do you still give a shit!? Why wouldn’t you just forget about him all together?” His voice shrunk towards the end, and there was some kind of raw emotion to it that Fugo couldn’t comprehend as he listened.

However, Prosciutto seemed to know exactly what the short boy was hinting at. He gave Narancia a long look, and as he bore holes into the boy’s eyes he said, “Just because your father gave up on your mother and eventually on you doesn’t mean that that’s how everyone works.”

Oh. That was a loaded sentence. Everyone seemed to freeze at that, Narancia included. The black-haired boy’s lip wobbled, so he bit down on it and harshly looked away from everybody. He then gave a nervous glance Fugo’s way, but the second their eyes met his gaze shifted down so he could stare at the ground. He looked embarrassed- no, he looks ashamed, I think. What Prosciutto had just announced to everyone in the store was something meant to be kept quiet. But, judging by how no one else seemed surprised by the bit of Narancia’s past that had just been revealed, it was probably only new information for Fugo.

Fugo took a brave step towards Narancia and reached out to comfort him or reassure him or just do something instead of just standing there uselessly, but the second his right hand made contact with Narancia’s shoulder the short boy was spurred into motion. His eyes held a fierce glare and he got in Prosciutto’s space, jabbing a finger in his face as he shouted, “Shut up, don’t bring up that piece of shit! You don’t even deserve to know about me like that!”

Standing his ground, Prosciutto glared back at Narancia. “You get in your own way, Narancia! I’m trying to talk some goddamn sense into you, but I swear you are just unable to learn at this point! You are so much like Pesci in that way, but at least he seems to have the potential to learn and grow! I’m really starting to understand why Bruno would always get so frustrated with you!”

While some of the points the man made before had genuinely made sense, even Fugo could tell that he was quickly crossing a line. As Fugo moved to stand by Narancia’s side, Mista finally launched himself over the counter and physically wedged himself in between Narancia and Prosciutto, making the man step back to create distance. Giorno, meanwhile, looked ready to hop in as well if need be, and his hand inched closer to his phone just in case he needed to make a call.

”Hey, man. That’s going too far, you can’t just-“ Mista started, trying to keep his voice level. He was moderately successful, but Narancia forcibly knocked his friend out of the way mid-sentence so he could get back up in Prosciutto’s face.

“I will fuckin’ kick your ass, Prosciutto! Fuck you!” He hissed, and when Prosciutto challenged him by raising a condescending eyebrow, Narancia made an angry, growling sound before lunging.

Fugo instinctively grabbed Narancia and yanked him backwards. ”Narancia, he’s a customer! What on earth are you doing!?” Fugo hissed, holding Narancia tight against himself. “You could get us all in trouble!”

“I don’t care! You’re one to talk; you wouldn’t do anything different! You probably woulda thrown a punch ages ago, you fuckin’ hypocrite!” Narancia yelled back, desperately trying to free himself from Fugo’s hold. Fugo tried his best to not take what his friend just said to him personally, but it still hurt.

“Don’t be an idiot, Naran-!” Fugo yelled back, but immediately caught himself and froze. Shit, shit, shit. Good going, Fugo! You’re making things worse! In his moment of hesitation, Narancia used his strength to get himself free. The look his friend gave him hurt Fugo more than the words previously thrown at him.

Narancia then whipped back around to face Prosciutto and looked ready to throw himself at him again, but the backroom door opening caused everyone to stop in their tracks.

Bruno stood in the doorway, wearing casual, lounging clothes. He looked as though he had just woken up from a nap, but he quickly snapped to attention when he processed the scene before him. ”What on earth is going on here!?” he asked, demanding an answer. When no one dared to open their mouth, he huffed out an irritated sigh and then fully stepped into the room. “Narancia, get over here right now!”

“No!” Narancia immediately shot back in a surprising display of defiantness. “Prosciutto needs to get the hell out, I’m gonna fuckin’-“

Narancia’s shout was cut off by Bruno’s stern voice talking over him. “You will do nothing! Fugo, bring Narancia here if he won’t come himself.”

Fugo felt his blood run cold. All eyes were on him now, waiting to see what move he would make. The blond internally cursed at Narancia for putting him in this position, and at Bruno for coming in the room at the absolute worst moment. And why aren’t Mista and Giorno doing anything? Why is this Prosciutto guy just watching me? Bruno’s here, this is his moment to talk! Why do I have to be roped into all this shit?

“Fugo.”

Hearing the low, cold way Bruno repeated his name shook Fugo out of his thoughts, and he stepped towards his friend again to talk some sense into him. ”Narancia, let’s just listen to Bruno. Please.” He surprisingly kept his voice calm despite the uncomfortable mixture of emotions swirling up inside of him, but it didn’t help in the way he thought it might.

“No! Fuck you, not you too bein’ like this!” Narancia yelled, and Fugo was brought back to their fight from the beginning of the summer. They were in this very room, and it was all caused by a simple misunderstanding. They hadn’t known each other then, but by now Fugo had hoped they knew each other well enough to avoid something like this. They had been doing so well lately; Fugo had been helping with things. He was trying to help now, too, and his blood boiled when he realized that he failed.

Bruno gave them another second to make their decision before calling out again. “Narancia, now !”

Narancia squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again they were glistening. He stared at Bruno in disbelief and then turned to Mista and then Giorno for help, but made a low, growling sound in the back of his throat when they stayed silent. “Why are you taking Prosciutto’s side over mine!? I’m not movin’!” He stubbornly crossed his arms, but Fugo could see how his friend’s hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

“I swear to God, Narancia-“ Bruno started, but then finally made eye contact with Prosciutto. He narrowed his eyes at the other man, who had simply been watching the scene unfold with a smug calmness, and then made his way over. Bruno stepped in between him and Narancia and swiftly grabbed Narancia’s forearm, tugging him away. He ignored the black-haired boy’s loud protests and sharply gestured for Fugo to follow.

Once they all were behind the counter, Bruno let go of Narancia’s arm and opened the door. ”Get in the backroom. Mista, Giorno, Fugo, you too. I will handle this with Prosciutto. You will wait for me to finish and then we will discuss this. Do you understand?” There was no room for disagreement, something everyone – even Narancia – understood. Whatever discussion the two men were going to have in the main room, it was not something they were meant to hear.

“Yes, Bruno,” they all replied simultaneously and shuffled into the back room. When the door shut behind them, all eyes went on Narancia, who harshly glared at all of them before stomping to the corner of the room and sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

Fugo took a step towards him, but he stopped in his tracks when his friend hissed at him to go away. Instead, the blond leaned against the wall by the door and checked the time, seeing that it was 4:28pm. Everyone else was silent, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other, so the only noises filling the room were the clock on the wall and the incessant tapping of Narancia’s fingers against the floor. In an attempt to not get riled up by the out-of-synch tapping, Fugo stared at the clock and watched it tick, and tick, and tick, and tick…

The door to the backroom opened, making Fugo jump to attention. When he checked the clock again, fifteen minutes had passed already. Bruno once again entered the room, shutting the door behind him slowly. He looked each of them in the eye – or attempted to, given that Narancia refused to look at any of them even after he stood up.

“So, we need to talk about what just happened,” Bruno stated, not bothering to beat around the bush. “I frankly don’t trust half of what Prosciutto says when it comes to you all, so I can’t say I know exactly what happened that caused the situation I saw when I walked in the room to check on you. There’s still work to be done today before the rain starts, so I’ll make what I’m about to say brief and then we can have a deeper talk later.”

“When we are working, we sometimes need to bite our tongues. There might be someone we don’t like or they might say something that makes you angry, but you should stay polite if you can. These people are customers and you don’t run this place; my father runs the farm. If you yell at or attempt to assault any of our customers, it gives myself and my father a bad name. I don’t care that we know Prosciutto and that he and I have a bad history together. He showed up as a paying customer so he should be treated as such,” Bruno lectured, his voice hard and stern. It made Fugo feel like he was being reprimanded by a general or something like that instead of just by Bruno.

“Now, did he threaten any of you?” Bruno asked.

The four of them shook their heads. “No,” Giorno confirmed, the only one able to look Bruno in the eye still.

Bruno sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “Then you are damn lucky I got him to say he would forget this incident ever happened,” he replied. He then looked over at Fugo, who bit his lip in nervousness. “Fugo, you have no idea what this is all about, I’m assuming, so this isn’t necessarily directed at you. But, I do need you to keep what I said in mind. Mista, Giorno, and Narancia… you three know better. I know Narancia was the one who was the most out of line, but you two should have known to stop it before it escalated.”

Bruno then looked over at the clock, sighing when he realized the time. “That’s all I’ll say for now,” he concluded. “You need to go back to work so we don’t have to inform my father about this. However, Narancia, you can take the rest of the day off. This isn’t the first time you’ve acted up like this at work, and this time you could have gotten both the farm and yourself in major trouble. I hope this won’t be something you’ll repeat. Mista, Fugo, and Giorno can cover for you, sorry if that makes you three finish even later than usual.”

Narancia’s eyes widened and he gaped at Bruno. “What? No, Bruno, let me just work overtime instead!” he begged, desperation evident in his voice. “Please don’t make them cover for me! They had nothing to do with this!”

“No, Narancia. You’re done for the day,” Bruno insisted, ignoring the shocked way Narancia was staring at him.

Then the door slammed, signifying Narancia’s exit. From out the window, Fugo saw Narancia make his way into the house. He wanted to follow after him, but then from his peripheral vision saw Bruno take a seat in one of the chairs. The older man sighed, looking and sounding more exhausted than he did just ten minutes ago, and Fugo decided that he was just going to listen to what he was told for now.

---

“Man, today was hell…” Mista groaned as he lazily kicked his shoes off at the door. As Fugo untied and placed his own shoes against the wall of the breezeway, he grabbed Mista’s and neatly put them beside his. Messy…

It was awkward spending an extended time with Mista without Narancia around, especially after what transpired earlier in the afternoon. It wasn’t that he disliked him, but he definitely felt closer to Narancia. The little trio that had begun to grow between the three of them was tied together by Narancia, that much had become clear.

“Should we… check on Narancia?” Fugo asked as he caught up with Mista, who already was halfway down the hall. He was clearly being guided by his nose, following the savory scent of soup that was wafting in from the kitchen.

“Uh, I mean maybe if he doesn’t come down for dinner,” Mista replied with a shrug, acting far too casual than Fugo believed he ought to. “Whenever Narancia gets into a real spat with someone he either gets super clingy with everyone else or he goes up to his room to sulk until he gets hungry. Since he wasn’t waiting by the door when we came in, I’m guessing it’s the second one.”

They were called to come to the table before Fugo could say anything else, so the blond decided to drop it. As he and Mista got their food and sat at the table with Giorno, he heard Bruno walk down the hall to call out to Narancia to come eat too.

But, as the time passed, Narancia didn’t come down. Bruno kept glancing over to the door, looking over more and more often as dinner came to an end. He tired to make small talk at some point, but even then seemed distracted. There was an awkward tension in the air, and Fugo noticed the way Giorno kept eyeing everyone. He seemed worried too, in his own way. Whether he was worried more for Narancia or for Bruno, Fugo didn’t know.

Mista was quick to take everyone’s bowls when they finished eating, and he slightly tripped on his words when thanking Bruno for the meal. Soon after Mista made his leave, everyone else decided to call it a night. Fugo finally caught Giorno’s eye before they retreated to their separate rooms and tried to subtly gesture down the hall to where the attic entrance was, but the other blond just shook his head and then purposely made a few glances at Bruno, who was walking into the living room. Fugo nodded, hoping that he understood what Giorno was silently trying to tell him, and then the two of them parted ways.

As much as he wanted to make sure Narancia was okay, he didn’t want to push his boundaries. At least for now. Causing more of a disruption sounded like a bad idea, so instead of worrying about it the blond decided to change into comfortable pajamas and read some more of that Thich Nhat Hahn book that he hadn’t touched for a few weeks now.

A few hours accidentally flew by as Fugo continued his book. For how short of a read it was meant to be, it was taking an exceptionally long time to get through it. I guess it makes sense since it’s all about meditation and being in the here and now, you would need time to digest it all… and I’ve also been busy. When was the last time I even read this, the first week I came here? I can’t even remember; so much has happened…

As he thought back on the events of the summer so far, Fugo found himself worrying about Narancia again. He hadn’t seen or heard from his friend since Bruno told him to end work early for the day. Mista had already gone home for the night, most likely, and even though it seemed like Giorno was worried as well, Fugo still felt strange about going to him regarding the situation.

Fugo stood up to go put his book away; he had done enough reading for the night. It was only when he stood up to go put his book back on the shelf that he realized his windowsill was getting soaked. He had lately been leaving the window open until he got ready to sleep to keep fresh air circulating through the room, but he had completely forgotten that it had started drizzling by the time they finished up work earlier. “Guess it’s just full-on pouring now… hopefully the ground isn’t all muddy tomorrow morning, that’ll be annoying to clean off my shoes,” he muttered to himself as he closed the window, and then sighed when he realized he would have to go and ask for a cloth to clean the water up with so the windowsill’s wood wouldn’t get messed up. And here I thought I could get away with staying in here for the rest of the night…

When he peeked his head into the living room, Bruno was still sitting in there alone, watching some movie on the television. Sticky Fingers was curled up beside him, fast asleep. “Um, Bruno?” Fugo called out, getting the man’s attention, and then fully stepped into the room. “I forgot to close the window in my room and now it’s soaked. Is there some kind of cloth I can use to wipe up the rainwater? I didn’t want to use the towels in the bathroom since we use those for washing up,” he explained, feeling unnerved by the unnatural quietness in the household. Especially towards the end of the week, evenings were usually more noisy and busy. This felt too similar to how nights went back at his house; it was simply off-putting and made himself feel nervous.

“In the kitchen there should be a cloth on the counter, you can use that and then just put it in a laundry bin so it can be washed this weekend,” Bruno directed, and then gently blew on the mug he was holding to cool down the liquid inside. There was the tag of a tea bag hanging off the rim of the mug. Giorno must have come out here not too long ago.

Fugo nodded, murmuring a small thank you. He turned to leave the room and let Bruno get back to his movie, but as he made his way down the hall he heard his name being called.

“Oh, Fugo,” Bruno called out to him, and waited until Fugo walked back into the room to continue. “Do you mind checking up on Narancia? I tried knocking on his door a little while ago, but I think he knew it was me because he didn’t answer. I know he seemed mad at you, too, but you honestly didn’t do anything wrong. I think he’s realized that by now.” Bruno seemed calm, though slightly on edge, when he asked the question.

Why me? I’m not… against it, but I would have thought Bruno would have wanted Giorno to check on him instead of me. Fugo stayed silent to contemplate the favor he was being asked. He felt as though he wouldn’t get much more of a response than Bruno did, even if he wouldn’t be opposed to talking to Narancia about what happened. After all, he wanted to help his friend.

Seeing his hesitation, Bruno was quick to continue talking. “Don’t do it if you don’t want to, of course. Usually Giorno or Mista, if he’s around, will check on Narancia when he’s upset. I just worry that he’ll see Giorno coming to talk to him as me trying to use Giorno as a middle man to tell him what I want to say. And… he wouldn’t be wrong; he knows how I act pretty well by now. And I would rather not bother him, but I suppose I could see if Abbacchio could come and talk to him too; he and Narancia are pretty close. So, really, only do it if you actually want to,” he told him, placing his mug down and clasping his now-free hands in his lap as he talked.

“Yeah, I can try,” Fugo agreed after another brief moment of hesitation. “I’ve been a bit worried about him all evening, so I don’t mind going to check on him. I doubt he’ll answer me, though.” He had to tack the warning on at the end, not wanting to get Bruno’s or his own hopes up. Bruno didn’t seem to mind, and after he thanked him Fugo left the room again.

There was a staircase at the end of the hall, but it was wooden and looked more like a ladder. As Fugo approached, he came to the realization that he had never actually been in Narancia’s room before. In fact, he hadn’t been in anyone’s bedroom besides his own since he arrived. He had gotten glimpses of Giorno and Bruno’s room from just living in the house, but in order to see Narancia’s room someone would have to make a deliberate effort. The more he thought about it, the more weirdly nervous he felt. He had no idea what to expect. Maybe his room has a lot of bold, bright colors? It would fit his personality… I don’t know why I’m analyzing this so much. This is dumb. It’s not like he’s going to let me in, anyway.

After climbing up the stairs, Fugo knocked on the access door to the attic and waited for a response. Five seconds passed. Then ten. After a half minute, Fugo knocked again. “Narancia? It’s Fugo,” he called out, wondering if assuring the other boy that he was the one knocking would allow him to come in. There was no response.

“Uh, did you want to watch some more of your show? Or maybe we could watch a movie? Since it’s raining, it might be a relaxing thing to do.”

“Or I can leave you alone. I’m fine with that, but can you tell me that you’re okay?”

“If you want me to go away, just tell me. I’ll go if you want me to.”

“… Okay, you’re starting to worry me. Can you say something to let me know you’re alright?”

“I swear to God, Narancia, if I’m starting to get anxious over this when you’re really just asleep, I’m going to scream! Or something. … Shit, uh, I’m not mad at you, I swear. I’m just worried. I’m sorry about earlier, too, I just didn’t want you to get in trouble or hurt.”

“Okay, this is ridiculous. I’m coming in now!”

Fugo pushed open the hatch and peeked his head inside the dark room. The first thing he immediately noticed were the sheer number of bright, glow-in-the-dark-stars on the ceiling, and he briefly wondered how long it took Narancia to put all of them up, and why on earth he would even want all those stars in the first place. Besides that he could barely see anything, but could make out that there was a window on the other side of the room. The sound of the storm outside was loud, and Fugo realized Narancia also forgot to close his window. Fugo realized he was probably asleep, but there was this nagging worry in the back of his head that made him climb into the room fully and search for the light switch or a lamp.

When he found a lamp and flicked the switch on, his vision was assaulted with the sheer clutter of Narancia’s room. There were posters and string lights on the walls, clothes strewn on the ground and partially kicked under his bed, accessories and knick-knacks on the furniture surfaces, and his blankets were all bundled up. It seemed like Narancia was curled up under the covers, so Fugo ignored the mess and made his way over to his friends bed. “Narancia?” he quietly asked, not wanting to startle him as he gingerly moved the covers.

Fugo’s eyes widened and his heart dropped to his stomach. The blond then lifted his head up to stare at the open window with a newfound understanding.

Narancia was gone.

Chapter Text

Abbacchio opened his eyes to see it was much later in the evening than he had anticipated. He had gotten back from work at 5:30pm and went to close his eyes only an hour later, so the fact that it was suddenly dark outside was surprising. He must have overslept again. Goddammit… I keep doing this. It was just another annoying thing that happened today. Though, despite taking a much longer nap than intended… and the new leak in the ceiling… and having his umbrella break again in the middle of the storm… Abbacchio supposed the day was comparatively better than others. At least he didn’t get fired from his job again.

With a sigh, he forced himself to get out of bed and then dragged himself to the bathroom so he could shower, a change of clothes in hand. As he bathed, he pretended to not care about how the shitty water pressure in the shower made his skin redden and sting. Technically he should have called someone to get the showerhead fixed… and to get the never-ending drip in the sink fixed, too. While he was at it, he had to get the dryer looked at too; it hadn’t been properly drying his clothes for months. But… fixing a dryer cost money and simply hanging clothes to dry might have been way more annoying but it was also free.

The robe Abbacchio put on over his fresh clothes after his shower had been fluffy and soft at one point, but it had been through one-too-many wash cycles to even be remotely considered plush now. He kept saying he would go to the store and buy a new one, but if he was going to go out then he probably would need to buy some new utensils as well as a new curtain and window blinds to replace the ones Moody Blues messed up with her claws, and that sounded like a problem for tomorrow… or the tomorrow after tomorrow. Actually, just any day that wasn’t today. Whenever Abbacchio focused too much of his energy on trying to fix up his shitty house it turned out to be more of a problem then it was worth, so he really couldn’t bother. The only thing he could honestly put any energy into these days was Moody Blues, but that was only because that cat would actually die if she ever had to fend for herself. She really was a hopeless, stupid cat. Despite everything, he loved her to death.

Abbacchio looked himself in the mirror for approximately fifteen seconds before deciding that tonight was a wine kind of night. Every night seemed to be a wine night lately. He could sit down on his couch, cover himself with his old, scratchy blanket, and drink a glass or three of wine while he watched reruns of old television movies before passing out until the next morning. It wasn’t fun by any means, but nights like those were predictable. There was nothing Abbacchio liked more than to know exactly what to expect in situations.

Now, walking down his creaking stairs to see Narancia absolutely soaking wet and somehow standing in the middle of his kitchen definitely didn’t fit Abbacchio’s description of “predictable”. He stood there, stunned into silence. Narancia didn’t make any moves away from or closer to him; he just shivered and curled in on himself. Abbacchio was too confused by Narancia’s presence to even have a proper, startled reaction. He started to talk, but then paused. Ten seconds later, the older man opened his mouth again. “… How the hell did you get into my house?”

“Window,” Narancia immediately replied, his voice quiet and strained. Water continued to drip from his hair and onto the floor, and whenever droplets ran down his forehead and into his eyes he rapidly blinked but still couldn’t bring himself to move and wipe it away.

“I thought I locked my windows,” Abbacchio replied, suspicious. He always locked his doors and windows for the purpose of keeping out intruders, so the fact that Narancia was able to get in was worrying.

“Your locks suck,” is the only response Narancia gave him.

When Abbacchio was sure that Narancia wasn’t going to say anything else, he decided to talk again.“… are you telling me that you messed up the locks on my kitchen window in order to break into my house?”

Narancia’s lip wobbled and he swallowed before talking again with an uneven voice. “I knocked first. Waited a while. You didn’t answer.”

Jeez, how long was he out in the rain? Abbacchio thought back to what he had done since he got back from work. Besides his shower, he had been tending to Moody Blues, job searching on his laptop, and taking an accidental nap. “I was probably in my room,” he answered with a frown, finally glancing away from him and in the direction of his front door. “Did you ring the doorbell?”

Narancia gave him a shaky nod. “Yeah. Like ten times.”

“… I told you not to ring it that many times in a row. That’s probably why it doesn’t work anymore; you little shits rang it too much,” Abbacchio grumbled as he mentally added ‘fix the doorbell’ to his list of home-improvement projects.

Narancia didn’t answer and stared at the puddle of water pooling on the tile floor. He didn’t seem to want to reply, so Abbacchio tried to ask another question in order to get more information. “Why are you here, Narancia?”

“Uh, c-can I borrow five dollars?” Narancia responded with his own question as his gaze flickered from the ground to Abbacchio’s face, but his stare never lasted for long. “I wanted to use the bus… but I left my wallet in my room.”

So that’s what this is. “Hell no,” Abbacchio replied sternly, finally taking a step towards Narancia. “I don’t even think I have a five to give you. You shouldn’t be trying to take the bus during a storm like this anyway… but I can’t stop you. Why don’t you just go home and grab your wallet?” He knew asking that question was a gamble; either Narancia would crack and open up to him or he’d run away like he clearly just had before coming here.

When Narancia didn’t reply, Abbacchio worried he pushed too far too soon. The boy hadn’t moved, though, so he pressed his luck even further and asked another question.

“… Kid. What happened at home?”

Like he had hoped, the dam broke and all of a sudden Abbacchio found himself with a crying Narancia in his arms. Narancia’s face pressed into his chest and his skin was so, so cold, so he really hadn’t been kidding when he said he waited outside for a while. Something bad must have happened earlier, and now he had to deal with the aftermath. Abbacchio eyed the wine bottle on the kitchen counter and silently mourned the loss of his quiet night. Well, technically his previous plans were still possible if he kicked the kid out or brought him home himself, but when he felt Narancia desperately grab fistfuls of the back of his robe and choke out a sob, he knew he didn’t have it in him to send Narancia away.

“Alright, alright, you’re soaking wet. You need to change or you’re going to catch a cold. I doubt Bruno will want to deal with that,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes when Narancia’s cries became louder. So he must have gotten into a fight with Bruno of all people. Great. Those fights were always the worst.

Abbacchio reluctantly pulled himself away from the boy and gave him a once-over again. Narancia looked miserable; his eyelids were puffy and red, his nose sniffled every few seconds, and his clothes clung to his shivering frame. If he didn’t get sick after this it would be nothing short of a miracle. The short boy hiccupped and made to get back up in Abbacchio’s space, but was stopped.

“Shit, alright. Go to the bathroom and dry your hair and I’ll grab something for you to change into,” Abbacchio instructed, gently pushing Narancia in the direction of his bathroom. He then made his way back up the stairs and into his bedroom, but not before he almost tripped over Moody Blues as she dashed down the stairs to lay down in the living room. That fuckin’ cat is gonna kill me one day, I swear…

By the time Abbacchio found the absolute smallest clothes he owned and made his way back down the stairs, Narancia was already standing outside the bathroom door with one of the towels wrapped around him for warmth. He was breathing more heavily than before and looked uncomfortable alongside still being on the verge of tears, and Abbacchio caught on quickly.

“Here, I don’t have anything smaller so just tie the ties on the pants and stuff, ‘kay?” he muttered the directions as he handed the clothes over, but grabbed Narancia’s arm before he could go back into the bathroom. “And kid, I swear you better take that damn binder off while you’re at it. You’ll crack a rib at this rate.”

Narancia’s frown deepened and he stared down at the clothes in his hands. “But-“

“I don’t care that Fugo doesn’t know yet, that isn’t an excuse. He isn’t here, it’s just me,” Abbacchio swiftly and sternly cut him off. If that little blond kid ever gave Narancia shit over something like that, then he would just teach Fugo a lesson. Leave it to the blonds to constantly be causing issues.

“But-!”

Abbacchio sighed. “I know. Kid, you know I’m the last person who’s going to judge you about this. I’m telling you that when you can’t breathe and you damage your body then you’re going to regret it. Now go change.” And, after letting go of Narancia’s arm, the bathroom door was shut in Abbacchio’s face. Actually, maybe this kid will be the real death of me.

As he passed through the kitchen again Abbacchio was reminded of the wet tiles and he sighed, snatching a hand towel from the counter and chucking it on the ground. He put his foot over the towel and sloppily wiped the water up, and then picked it up and threw it back on the counter. It wasn’t a perfect clean, but the rest of the water would dry up on its own anyway.

Briefly he considered just saying “fuck it” and pouring some wine, but as Abbacchio reached for the bottle he remembered his copious amounts of talks with Bruno about how his little habit wasn’t that healthy. And, of course, because the little shit always had to pop in his head, he remembered how uncomfortable Giorno sometimes got when he went too overboard with the number of drinks. Still, one glass couldn’t hurt. Just one.

“… Uh. Where do I put my wet clothes? They’re in the bathroom right now,” Narancia suddenly asked, now standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and Abbacchio snatched his own hand away from the wine and turned around to face the boy.

“Just keep them in there,” he replied with the thought that he would just put the clothes in a wash along with some of his own dirty clothes, but then he remembered. “… I would say I’d wash it for you, but-“

“The dryer,” Narancia finished the sentence easily, his expression unchanging and thankfully calmer than before. He came by too often to not know about Abbacchio’s ongoing dryer issues.

“Yeah. The dryer.” It was always uncomfortable admitting out loud how many things in his house were messed up, but it was Narancia he was talking to, and that brat definitely shouldn’t be judging him for it. Abbacchio was about to tell Narancia to stop giving him a look, but then a thought crossed his mind. “… Bruno knows you’re here, right?” he asked, eyeing the boy suspiciously. If he was trying to use the bus, he probably hadn’t planned on stopping here.

“I told him I was coming here,” Narancia replied quickly and wrapped his arms around himself when Abbacchio’s gaze only became more suspicious. “Uh, but I had been planning on just using the bus the whole time; I only told Bruno I was coming here so I could get out of the house.”

That explanation was weird but knowing how flighty Narancia had always been, it honestly sounded like some dumb plan he would come up with on the spot. So, Abbacchio gestured for him to come with him to the living room and, without another word, the boy followed behind him closely. It reminded Abbacchio of when Narancia was fifteen and new to being on the farm, since all he would do was follow Bruno, and eventually even Abbacchio himself, around everywhere. Well, when he had the strength to move around, of course. Mr. Bucciarati had fondly called Narancia a duckling for the way it seemed like they imprinted on the kid… or something like that.

It was weird to think about Narancia’s first year here. He had been so small and distant and sick… and honestly, even though he was well fed now and had grown a few inches Narancia still sometimes looked too much like the lost kid who latched onto anyone who was even remotely nice to him. When they sat down on the couch and Narancia, who was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants that were multiple sizes too big, immediately climbed on him and burrowed his face into the crook of his neck, Abbacchio couldn’t help but think now was one of those times.

“Abba…” Narancia sniffled, and that was the only warning given before the waterworks started again. Abbacchio rubbed the boy’s back consolingly, but stayed silent. It wasn’t like Narancia was going to properly hear his words right now, anyway.

They sat like that for a few minutes and Narancia sobbed the whole time. The boy made a few attempts to talk, probably wanting to explain what happened earlier in the day, but each time he tried to form words he ended up getting too choked up. He trembled and clawed at Abbacchio to get closer, craving even more comfort from the man, and Abbacchio sighed and held him tight. It was the best he could do; he wasn’t made for comforting others.

Narancia was the only one of the “kids” who ever came to him for comfort, and for that the white-haired man was grateful. If he had to do this any more often than he already did, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Consoling a crying person was far too draining; it was a bother. But still, for some reason he had never turned Narancia away once whenever he showed up at his door.

Eventually, Narancia’s cries quieted down and he lifted his head up, staring at Abbacchio with red and puffy eyes. “I-I… I almost got into a fight again,” he admitted, pressing his face against Abbacchio’s neck again before the other could reply.

“… who pissed you off this time?” Abbacchio asked, genuinely curious. Narancia got irritated often, but he never tried to fight anyone without a proper reason. He was a good kid.

Narancia grumbled something unintelligible, but then turned his head and repeated it. “Prosciutto… he showed up and refused to leave.”

Prosciutto… That name always left a sour taste on Abbacchio’s tongue. He watched Bruno and Prosciutto’s relationship form, grow, and then bitterly end. He was there for it all, and while he would never admit it he was glad that the two of them were no longer together. So to hear that Prosciutto showed up again…

“Did you throw a punch?”

Narancia huffed as he recalled the memory. “I tried to. I got stopped, though.” The grip he had on the man’s shirt tightened, wrinkling the fabric.

“Hm,” Abbacchio hummed as he rubbed circles into Narancia’s arm. It was an unconscious gesture, but when he realized he was dong it he didn’t stop. “Shoulda tried harder.”

“Abbacchio! This is why no one comes to you for advice.” The ‘o’ of Abbacchio’s name was drawn out in Narancia’s whine, and the black-haired boy lightly smacked him.

Abbacchio chuckled and smacked him back on his arm. “Except you.”

“Whatever!” Narancia flopped back against his chest, and in that moment Moody Blues decided to show her face and exit her hiding spot under the rocking chair. She made a curious, trilling sound and then hopped up onto the couch. Narancia adjusted his sitting position so she could curl up on his lap, and she immediately began to purr.

Abbacchio briefly smiled at them, and when Narancia felt the man’s gaze he leaned against him again as he got comfortable. They sat in silence until Narancia murmured a small, “thanks, Leone,” and in that moment Abbacchio felt like this was the closest thing he would ever get to being a parent. He never thought he was the type for kids and technically Narancia wasn’t an actual kid anymore, but he definitely needed a parental figure in his life, preferably one who he didn’t have to worry about turning on him. And, honestly, having someone actually rely on him was a bit nice even if it was tiring as all hell.

“… Um, Abba? There’s something I need to tell you…”

With a sigh, Abbacchio rolled his eyes. “Is this about that Fugo kid again? I already told you not to get too atta-“

“No! It’s not about Fugo!” Narancia cut him off, pink curiously dusting his cheeks. That was interesting; they would have to talk about that another time.

“Then what is it?” Abbacchio asked.

“Uh. Well… remember when I told you that Bruno knew I was here?”

Oh no, absolutely not. Abbacchio hoped this wasn’t about to be what he thought was about to happen. “Narancia…” he said in a warning tone, his voice low.

Narancia tensed up and began petting Moody Blues even more, trying to keep his focus on something less intimidating as he talked. “Would you hate me if I, um, told you that I… might have… lied? And maybe, uh… maybe I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.”

“Narancia.”

“I’m sorry! ” Narancia exclaimed, the loudness of his voice startling the cat in his lap. She swiped at him as if she was trying to make him quiet down, and the boy apologetically scratched behind her ears. When he spoke again, his voice was softer but still clearly distressed. “I didn’t want you to send me back home or make me talk to Bruno on the phone!”

This kid absolutely was going to be the death of him. He wasn’t going to make it through the night, not at this rate. “Jesus fucking Christ… okay. Okay.” He then took a moment to clear his head, coming up with a game plan. “I need to call Bruno; he’s probably tearing through every acre of that farm if he’s realized you’re gone. You don’t need to talk to him, but I need to tell him where you are. That’s non-negotiable.”

Narancia didn’t reply until Moody Blues began to knead at his thigh, the motion comforting him enough to reply. “… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” He then hugged the gray cat close to him, treating her gently but almost as if she was a stuffed animal. She didn’t mind and continued to purr.

“Damn right you weren’t thinking. Remember what happened the first time you ran off? At this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if Bruno got the whole town involved in a goddamn search party to find you.” Abbacchio could only imagine how they were all reacting on the farm. Not only would Bruno be freaking out, Giorno probably was seconds away from showing up on Abbacchio’s doorstep himself to demand that he help look for Narancia. Mista was probably already called, and Trish might have even decided to venture out in the nasty storm to help look too despite how wet she would inevitably get. Maybe. And who knew how Fugo would react; that kid was still a wildcard in Abbacchio’s mind.

The white-haired man moved to get up, and Narancia silently moved to let him. Okay, calling the farm is probably going to be a mess. I’ll just call the house phone… His cell phone was up in his bedroom, so he made his way back up the creaking stairs again to get to it.

When he grabbed his cell phone and unplugged it from its charger, Abbacchio saw that he had seven missed calls. The first call was from Giorno, naturally. Almost immediately after was a call from the farm’s home phone, meaning Bruno had called him after he hadn’t picked up for Giorno. He probably assumed Abbacchio wouldn’t have picked up on purpose, which was annoying but he couldn’t blame him for thinking that. The last five were from Mista, four of which made in a rapid succession and then the fifth added about two minutes later. It made the man chuckle, remembering Mista’s strange superstitions.

He pressed the “return call” button next and put the phone to his ear, waiting for Bruno to pick up his home phone. It took three rings for the phone to be answered, but it was definitely not Bruno who picked up.

“Hello?” a soft, slightly higher pitched voice than what he was expecting came through the phone. Abbacchio didn’t recognize it immediately, which meant it was probably Fugo who had been waiting by the phone.

“This Fugo?” Abbacchio asked anyway, just on the off-chance he was wrong and it was some other new person in the house that Bruno took in on a whim. When there was no response, Abbacchio sighed. “This is Abbacchio.”

“Oh, hello Abbacchio,” Fugo finally replied, and his voice sounded more relaxed. He probably hadn’t been sure of who was on the other line and hadn’t wanted to give information to a stranger. Smart kid.

“Hey kid,” Abbacchio greeted gruffly, leaving against the wall. He didn’t feel like making small talk with this kid and avoiding the big elephant in the room. “Anyway, can you give the phone to Bruno? I need to talk to him.”

Fugo was silent for a second. “Well, actually, he isn’t here at the moment,” he answered, hesitant. He sounded like he was waiting for Abbacchio to get mad at him or something. When the man didn’t get upset, he continued to talk. “Everyone is outside somewhere right now , but Bruno told me to stay here in case we got a call… Oh, wait, did you get Mista’s calls? Narancia is, um, missing. There was a bad argument earlier and when I went to his room, he wasn’t there. We checked the lake and around the property, but he isn’t anywhere… Uh, so Bruno is out with Giorno and Mista and they’re all still looking but they thought maybe he might call? Bruno also said you might call back if you weren’t sleeping already… Sorry, I apologize; that was a lot.”

There was another silence as Abbacchio processed what he was just told. Fugo had spoken quickly and nervously, and it sounded as if his voice was getting closer and further away from the phone like he was pacing or constantly looking around. He must have been worried, too.

“Yeah, I knew already,” Abbacchio eventually replied as he stared out the window at the intensifying storm. It wasn’t safe to be outside right now. “Take a breather, kid, it’ll be fine.”

Instead of taking that as a more light-hearted, reassuring comment, Fugo seemed to only grow more on-edge. “How can you be sure that everything is fine!?” he snapped, surprising Abbacchio with how sharp his voice suddenly became. “I checked the weather, this storm might cause flooding, there’s a severe thunderstorm warning, and everyone is outside when it’s almost pitch black out! And who even knows where Narancia is? He could be lost, or hurt, or-“

Jesus Christ. “Fugo,” Abbacchio stopped the anxious boy there, his voice strong and stern. He was not in the mood to listen to this kid talk himself into an anxiety attack or something. “I know it’ll be fine because Narancia is in my house right now.”

Fugo didn’t reply for such a long time that Abbacchio worried they had lost connection. After about a minute, though, he started to speak. “Oh. He’s okay?” he asked, like Abbacchio hadn’t literally just said everything was fine.

The white-haired man forced back a sigh. “Yes, he’s fine. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now for whatever reason, so I need to talk to Bruno. Get him on the line for me, would you?”

“Uh, yes, of course,” Fugo immediately answered, but then paused. “I… just wanted to apologize first. I didn’t mean to displace my anger and worries about the situation towards you. It was rude of me. I’m… very happy that Narancia is safe and at your house.”

The words in Fugo’s apology sounded like they were ripped from a textbook. “Displacement? What, you been reading up on psychology or something?” Abbacchio asked, huffing a small laugh.

To his surprise, Fugo made a noise of agreement. “Yes, actually,” the blond said honestly. “I do a lot of reading on anything that could help me, and- oh, um, right. Now isn’t exactly the time to get into that, is it? I’ll go call Mista on my cell phone right now, but I’ll have to put this phone down if that’s alright with you.”

Once he was given the OK and put the home phone down onto the closest surface, there was another silence. What a weird kid. Fugo acted so strangely formal, and Abbacchio would be tempted to call him nervous or quiet if he hadn’t witnessed the boy’s absolutely fierce anger. He only got a glimpse of it over the phone, but he could remember the intense bout of rage he saw from him that day back at the store. It had immediately made Abbacchio distrustful of him, but it seemed as though he had genuinely been trying to keep control of himself. Plus, Narancia seemed surprisingly fond of him, which didn’t happen often. That kid wasn't most trusting person with new people who he intruded on his "safe zone" that was Bruno and the farm, but Abbacchio was glad that Narancia was starting to be more open.

The wait was longer than expected, but then all of a sudden Abbacchio heard some kind of commotion and then a voice was speaking to him through the phone. “Leone, is that you?”

“Oh, Bruno, you’re here already,” Abbacchio replied, wondering if Bruno immediately ran back to the house when he heard the news. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was exactly the case.

He heard Bruno sigh in relief, and then another voice in the distance said something Abbacchio couldn’t hear. He did hear Bruno murmur a “thank you, Giorno,”, so he assumed the blond just handed him something.

“Sorry, it’s absolutely pouring out so I need to dry myself off before I properly walk inside,” Bruno explained, and Abbacchio realized he probably was just given a towel to wipe himself off with.

“Take your time, no need to rush anymore,” Abbacchio murmured into the phone in a way he hoped was reassuring. When Bruno lightly hummed in response, his way of saying thank you without the words, Abbacchio found himself unable to hold back a small smile.

Eventually Bruno deemed himself dry enough to throw the towel in a laundry bin and head into his room so they could talk more privately, and after Abbacchio heard the door shut he also heard Bruno say that he was going to put the phone on speaker.

“Okay, say something for me, Leone? I’m just changing quickly, but you can talk,” Bruno asked, his voice sounding softer and farther away now.

Abbacchio cleared his throat before he spoke, suddenly feeling awkward. “Um, can you hear me?” He asked, and when he got an affirmative answer decided to just start explaining what he knew. And he absolutely wasn’t thinking about the fact that Bruno was changing during all of this. Maybe his face was a little red, though. Dammit, why does he have to be so open about telling me these things? … He wasn’t really complaining though.

“Okay, well, not too long ago I left my room and found Narancia standing in my kitchen,” he explained poorly, and when he was met with silence decided to elaborate more. “Well, he told me he knocked and tried to ring my doorbell, and when I didn’t answer he waited a while and then came in through my window… which means he probably broke my lock or something. And then I found him in the kitchen and he tried asking me for money to take the bus because he forgot his wallet.”

That got Bruno’s attention, and suddenly Abbacchio heard the other man’s voice through the line. “He was trying to take the bus?” he asked. His voice was calm, but Abbacchio was able to pick up on the man’s subtle changes in tone. The idea that Narancia had been thinking of taking the bus away from home clearly bothered him.

“He told me that you knew he was leaving,” Abbacchio started to explain, and stopped Bruno when the other immediately began to deny it. “Yeah, I know now that he lied. He confessed that to me like… I don’t know, ten-ish minutes ago? So I called here to tell you where he was.” When Bruno sighed on the other end of the line, Abbacchio wished he could see the other man’s face to better gauge how he was feeling.

“… Can I talk to him?” Bruno eventually asked, his voice hesitant.

“He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, I think. He was pretty upset earlier and I had to calm him down and I told him he didn’t have to talk to you as long as I could tell you where he was,” Abbacchio replied, though he wished he would allow himself to force Bruno and Narancia to just talk and fix this whole situation.

Thankfully, Bruno had put aside his own personal feelings about that and simply sighed again. It was a tired-sounding noise and it reminded Abbacchio about how much the other man had been overworking himself lately. “He’s okay, Bruno,” Abbacchio found himself saying into the phone. “I’ll bring him home in the morning and then you can talk to him. But I already checked and he isn’t hurt or anything; he’s just upset. I’ll talk everything through with him though, he’ll be fine. You know he just gets like this sometimes.”

“I know,” Bruno replied quietly, and there was a shuffling sound that indicated that he had finally either sat or lay down on his bed. “I… Thank you, Leone. Really. When Fugo came and told me Narancia wasn’t in his room, I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find him; I know he can do what he wants and I can’t actually stop him from leaving, but I just thought he was gone for good this time. I wouldn’t have known what to tell the others if that happened.”

Abbacchio understood the unspoken words: “I wouldn’t have known what to do if he was really gone.” Even though, to a stranger’s eye, one might think Bruno preferred someone like Giorno or Mista over Narancia, the fact was that Bruno had a big soft spot for the short boy. They all did, and it manifested in different ways. For Bruno… he tended to be harsh on him in hopes that it would help “shape him up”, but Narancia tended to take offense to it even if he understood why Bruno acted the way he did. This wasn’t the first time the two of them had gotten into a spat like this, but it was the first time Narancia had actually left the property.

“Well, he’s fine and he’ll be home soon, so that’s what you can tell the others,” Abbacchio reassured him again. Bruno hummed in response, letting them fall into silence as he thought over what to say.

“I know I just said this, Leone, but really… thank you,” Bruno repeated suddenly, his voice soft in a way that turned Abbacchio’s stomach in knots. “I know how you feel about it, but I’m glad Narancia is comfortable enough around you to feel safe in your house when he’s vulnerable. I’m glad he’s given you his trust. I feel responsible for him most of the time, considering everything, but I know he’s in good hands when he’s with you.”

Letting out a chuckle at that, Abbacchio spoke without thinking over the wording too much. “Sometimes I feel like he’s just as much my kid as he is yours, so-“ he said, and then froze. “I mean, that sounded wrong. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

To his surprise and relief, Bruno began to laugh. The sound was gorgeous and calmed any of Abbacchio’s own nerves. “Leone…” Bruno murmured and Abbacchio didn’t know how many more times he could handle the other saying his name, especially in such a soft manner. God, he’s killing me here. “I didn’t realize you thought of him as your kid. That’s sweet.”

“I never said that,” Abbacchio denied immediately, an embarrassing shade of red creeping up his neck.

“You did, I heard you say it,” Bruno insisted.

“I did not.”

“You called him my kid too, you know. You never told me we were co-parenting a twenty-year old. I have to say I feel a little young for the job; I’m only twenty four.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Am I now, Leone? You’re the one who said he was our kid.”

“You are a goddamn liar, Bruno Bucciarati.”

Bruno laughed again and Abbacchio felt lighter, even despite his embarrassment. “That’s supposed to be my line,” Bruno teased. Abbacchio wondered if he knew the effect he had on him, and suddenly felt glad they weren’t face-to-face so he wouldn’t have to hide his expression.

When Bruno sighed, it sounded less tense and more relaxed. Abbacchio mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done, even if it cost him some of his pride. He would gladly give up almost anything to make Bruno feel better.

“Well, I’m relieved to know that everything is okay,” Bruno began, and there was another sound as the man stood back up. “You don’t want to know how worried the others were. I told Trish to stay at home because I know how her mother gets about her going out late, but I promised to call her house the second I got news. If Mista hasn’t already told her everything, I’ll need to do that now. And… Giorno will probably need to be reassured that he isn’t secretly bleeding out in a ditch somewhere; you know how he worries.” He talked quickly, starting to speak more to himself than to Abbacchio, but the white-haired man didn’t mind. He felt special, for once, knowing that he was one of the few people allowed to witness Bruno take off his mask of calmness and responsibility, even if only for a moment.

“Bruno,” Abbacchio attempted to get the other man’s attention. “Rest tonight. If you make yourself sick again I’ll come over and give you a piece of my mind,” he threatened, but as always it had little-to-no effect on the other.

“Of course you will,” Bruno murmured, holding back another laugh. He then cleared his throat, growing more serious again. “Just… take care of Narancia tonight. I’ll handle the others and make sure they don’t come storming into your house, okay?”

“Thank you,” Abbacchio replied with a small laugh, trying to imagine all the other brats trying to break down his door to see Narancia. With his luck, they would break the door right off its hinges. “If I have to deal with one more kid tonight I might rip my hair out.”

Bruno clicked his tongue in amusement and Abbacchio could imagine him shaking his head fondly at him. “Well, I should go now, shouldn’t I?” he said eventually, but sounded hesitant. Maybe Abbacchio was imagining things, but it seemed like maybe Bruno wanted to continue talking to him. Still, as much as the idea made a disgustingly warm feeling grow in his chest, he knew he had to let Bruno go to talk to the others. Plus, he still had a little runaway brat sitting on his couch downstairs to deal with.

“Yeah, probably,” is all Abbacchio replied with, shrugging even though he knew no one was around to see him. “Call me if you need anything.” That was what he always said when he finished a conversation with Bruno, whether it was over the phone or in person.

“I will. Same goes to you. I’ll talk to you later,” Bruno replied with a smile that Abbacchio was unable to see.

Once they hung up the phone, Abbacchio gave himself a few minutes alone in the silence of his room. He knew he had strong feelings for Bruno – he had for as long as he could remember – but in moments like these he allowed himself to wonder if there was a possibility that Bruno might feel the same way. He didn’t feel like he was allowed to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Now’s not the time to worry about that. He had more pressing issues to worry about, like Narancia. He hoped the boy hadn’t run off the second Abbacchio shut the door to his room.

Thankfully, when Abbacchio came back down the stairs and walked into the living room, he found that the boy had actually listened and stayed put. Narancia was curled up in the corner of the couch, loosely wrapped up in the old, rough throw blanket with his eyes closed. Moody Blues was comfortably nestled in his arms, her consistent purring most likely having lulled him to sleep. The kid had a long day, after all. He looked relaxed enough, but Abbacchio knew from too much experience that sleeping more than an hour on that couch was a surefire way to have a body ache for the rest of the day. So, he bent down to grab the remote off the coffee table and shut the tv off, and then gently scooped Narancia up into his arms so they could switch and he could sleep in the bedroom instead. Light as a feather, just like always… How the kid got so strong while staying so light, he would never know.

They got halfway down the hall before Narancia was rustled awake. “… ‘bbacchio? Whaddya doin’?”

“I’ll take the couch; you need to sleep in an actual bed,” Abbacchio explained. He would feel like shit if he slept in the bed instead.

“You’re letting me stay the night? Even though I made you mad?” Narancia asked, sounding so innocent and young and vulnerable that it was almost scary.

“Of course. You did something dumb but it’s alright. I won’t force you to go home, like I said, and Bruno knows you’re okay now so it’s fine.” It was sad to hear that, even after all these years, Narancia still couldn’t fully trust that he had people who actually cared about him no matter whether he was doing something good or bad. Some traumas just weren’t able to be shaken, apparently. Abbacchio knew a thing or two about that.

Narancia frowned, seemingly not believing everything he said but was too tired to disagree. “Oh… okay. Yeah, I’ll stay. You don’t gotta take the couch though, it’s your bed.”

With a scoff, Abbacchio shook his head. “No way, kid. You kick too much; I’m not risking it,” he grumbled, remembering the one and only time he let Narancia sneak into his bed for comfort. Even though he had stayed on the complete opposite side of the bed, somehow Narancia was still able to kick him so hard that he almost straight up fell off the bed. After that night, he swore to never let the little shit share a bed with him again unless it was absolutely necessary.

Narancia rolled his eyes. “Whatever, your loss,” he grumbled, and then fell silent. The black-haired boy squirmed in his hold, a sign he was uncomfortable, and Abbacchio was about to ask what was wrong when he met the boy’s uncertain gaze.

“Hey, Abbacchio?” Narancia called his name, sounding quiet and unsure of himself.

Abbacchio gave him a look as he gazed down at him. “Kid, I swear to God if you’re about to tell me some other shitty news…”

Immediately Narancia shook his head, whipping it back and forth so vigorously that his head seemed like it was going to fly off his neck. “No! It’s not that!” he exclaimed, and then curled in on himself as much as he could. “I just… uh… man, I’m shit at saying this stuff. Um… I just, uh, wanted to say I love you, Abba. Thanks for putting up with my shit, and all that. You get what I mean.”

Abbacchio was annoyed at the way his heart swelled at that. There was no way he would be able to say those words back; Narancia may have believed himself to be bad at expressing his feelings, but Abbacchio was ten times worse. So, instead, he went for the subtle response. “Listen, I put up with you as much as you put up with me.”

“But I don’t ‘put up’ with you!” Narancia replied, tilting his head quizzically with a furrowed brow. “I mean… usually!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Abbacchio replied simply.

“Oh.”

Narancia pondered that, and then snuggled up in Abbacchio’s hold while Moody Blues, who had been contentedly laying in Narancia’s arms, started up her purring again. By the time Abbacchio made it to his room and went to tuck Narancia into his bed, he saw that the boy had already fallen back asleep. He looked comfortable, and he settled into the bed easily when Abbacchio placed him in it. Upon taking another good look at him, Abbacchio could still only think of him as the skittish teenager who he had to watch Bruno nurse back to health five years ago. It was a miracle that the kid ever had arrived at the farm to get help, let alone made it this long. And damn, he had a lot of baggage behind that loud personality. It was a lot to handle sometimes, like with tonight.

But… he realized that, despite everything, he also loved the kid to death.

---

The next morning, Abbacchio woke up to the wonderfully annoying sight of Moody Blues sitting on top of him and tapping her front paws against his forehead. She was a quiet cat in general, but she made up for it by being as bothersome as possible whenever she had the opportunity.

Abbacchio groaned and tried to swipe her paws away, but she took the action as a game and began to attack his hand. Damn cat. He humored her for a few seconds, lightly batting at her with his own large hand, and when she gave up her attack so she could lick his palm instead he chuckled and scratched behind her ears. She was more affectionate than bratty on this particular morning; usually she didn’t act this nice until she was fed. That could only mean one thing.

After making sure Moody Blues was off of his chest, Abbacchio stood up and immediately stretched. He felt a satisfying crack in his back when he twisted, but his body still felt sore. Sleeping on that couch always made for an uncomfortable morning. Now that he was finally waking up, though, he caught the scent of something coming from the kitchen, further confirming his suspicions.

As he followed the scent’s trail, Moody Blues following behind him with her tail lazily waving in the air, a voice called out to him. “Mornin’, Leone! I already fed Moody, so don’t worry about that.”

“Thanks. Mornin’, kid,” Abbacchio replied and stepped up behind where Narancia was standing by the stove, ruffling the boy’s hair and staring down to see what he was cooking. It was nothing special, just two eggs, and he also noticed an almost empty carton of milk and an opened box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on the counter. I guess we’re having cereal and eggs for breakfast, then.

“Uh, I meant to finish making the food before you woke up, but it’s okay that I raided your kitchen, right?” Narancia asked like it mattered if Abbacchio said yes or no. Without waiting for the older man to answer, he continued talking. “I mean, there really wasn’t much here. You gotta get groceries, y’know. Hey, I can go grocery shopping with you! I’ll push the cart and take in the bags as long as you buy me a jar of pickles as a snack. I want those sweet ones, not the Dill ones-“

Abbacchio could see what Narancia was trying to do, so he stopped him there. “I’ll go myself. The only place you’re going today is home,” he replied, unamused. Their agreement was that Narancia could stay the night and then go back to the farm in the morning; kid had to face Bruno at some point. “Plus, you grow cucumbers anyway; just pickle them yourself and save the money. You do that all the time.”

Narancia visibly deflated, but didn’t argue with him. He didn’t reply either, though, and silently put the cooked eggs on small plates from Abbacchio’s cupboards. He then grabbed two of Abbacchio’s favorite purple bowls, poured the cereal into both of them, and then filled it up with milk. “Uh, you’re out of milk now,” he murmured, only realizing after the fact that it was probably best to leave a little bit in the carton for the coffee that the older man inevitably would want.

With a sigh, Abbacchio grabbed one of the plates and one of the bowls. “It’s fine, I’ll stop somewhere after I drop you off and order a coffee then. Or I’ll just make some anyway and drink it black,” he responded, too tired to care about it. “C’mon, grab your shit and some utensils and we’ll sit in the living room.”

Their breakfast was mostly quiet as the both of them watched the morning news station that Abbacchio put on. If Narancia had gotten hold of the remote then he probably would have to watch some dumb cartoon like Pokemon or Naruto or whatever the shit was that the black-haired boy liked to watch.

“So,” Abbacchio finally broke the silence when he finished his egg and cereal, only having the milk in the bowl left over. “Feeling any better?” When he leaned back and lazily glanced over at his companion beside him on the couch, he saw that Narancia’s face was dusted pink from embarrassment.

“… I feel dumb,” Narancia replied after swallowing the food he was chewing. He was hunched over his bowl, swirling whatever pieces of cereal were left floating in the milk, and stared down at it intensely. “I feel stupid for everything. And stuff. I dunno, I feel bad.”

For as well as Narancia could understand his emotions in his head, Abbacchio knew the boy struggled with putting it all into words. He also knew he probably would be having a conversation about it with Bruno later, so he decided to help him out and try to decode whatever unnamed emotions were getting clogged up in his head. “Do you regret what you did?” he asked.

Immediately Narancia looked up at him, his intense look now directed towards him. “No!” he exclaimed, but then thought about it again and frowned. “I mean, maybe I regret leaving the house? No… I think I regret leaving without writing a note. But I don’t regret telling Prosciutto to fuck off! Fuckin’ prick deserves a kick in the ass. Or the dick. Both at the same time; that’ll teach ‘im to fuck around with Bruno!”

With a chuckle, Abbacchio lifted his cereal bowl towards Narancia. “Cheers to that; I give you my blessing. Maybe I’ll even join in.”

Narancia stared at the purple bowl for a few seconds, but then a wicked grin grew on his face and he clinked their bowls together and narrowly avoided having the milky contents spill all over the couch. “Cheers!”

Suddenly Narancia was pressed up against his side like he always did when he was relaxing with someone on the couch, and Abbacchio held back a grin when he realized he succeeded in cheering the kid up. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this.

“Anyway, so you don’t regret standing up to Prosciutto, but you regret worrying everyone by running away, and now you feel guilty about stressing Bruno out,” Abbacchio tried to summarize, getting back on track with their conversation.

“Yeah, I guess…” Narancia mumbled before taking a big gulp of his cereal milk. He audibly swallowed, gross, and then coughed and whacked at his chest with his free hand. “I just feel dumb. Y’know, I bet Giorno wouldn’t have run away if he was in my place.”

Abbacchio rolled his eyes and put an arm over the back of the couch. “You always gotta bring up Giorno. I know you have a thing for comparing yourself to him but you gotta give it a rest. Who the fuck cares if Giorno Giovanna would have run off? He’s not the one in the situation; you are. And you ran off. Own up to it, apologize, and talk to Bruno about why you felt like you had to run off,” he advised, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice. It just pissed him off that Narancia felt inferior to them, especially that brat Giorno.

“I ran off because… uh. I don’t know why,” Narancia mumbled, his face pinched in annoyance. “I think it reminded me of my dad.”

Ouch. That was a sore topic, Abbacchio knew, and he reminded himself to tread carefully. “… I’ll beat up your dad,” he said eventually and immediately cursed at himself internally. Thankfully his tone and word choice made Narancia giggle uncontrollably, so the white-haired man sighed in relief. “Bruno’s not your dad. Bruno won’t treat you like he did.”

“I wish Bruno was my dad. Or maybe Bruno’s dad so then Bruno could be my brother for real,” Narancia sighed as he put his empty bowl on the coffee table and then completely slumped against Abbacchio. “I wonder if my dad thinks about me.”

Abbacchio properly wrapped his arm around Narancia’s shoulders, having given in and allowed himself to dote on the kid a bit. “Don’t get caught up on that, kid. Focusing on people from the past won’t help.”

With a little scoff, Narancia wrapped his arms around Abbacchio’s torso and rested his head on his shoulder. “Says you.”

“Yeah, says me is right. I know best that that shit isn’t good. Try to focus on people in the present,” Abbacchio sneered down at the black-haired boy in mock annoyance. They both knew Abbacchio was shit at taking his own advice.

“Maybe you should try to focus on people in the present too, then! I know you still-“ Narancia started, not realizing the dangerous territory he was about to lead the conversation into, and Abbacchio cut him off again to steer their talk to something better.

“So, what’s up with Fugo?” he asked, not sure why the new kid was the first thing he could come up with. Maybe it because of talking to him the night before. Whatever the reason, it turned out to be quite the interesting topic choice given how red Narancia’s face got.

“Whaddya mean!? Nothin’s up with Fugo! Shut up!” Narancia insisted, already assuming he was about to be teased for no reason. He was absolutely right, of course, but that only made it funnier.

“He was really worried about you on the phone, you know. He got mad at me because he was freaking out over you,” Abbacchio casually said, his eyes now focused on the news story. Some power lines had gone down the night before, but luckily their neighborhood seemed to be alright. Still, Abbacchio bet he had some pretty large sticks that he had to go pick up in the backyard… eventually.

Narancia, meanwhile, just stared at Abbacchio, his expression one of disbelief. “Wait, seriously? He got mad at you… because of me? He was that worried about me?”

Abbacchio nodded, looking down at the boy and raising an amused eyebrow. “Yeah, why are you so excited about it? Got a soft spot for him or something?” Perhaps he was teasing him, but if his suspicions were correct then he might have to keep a closer eye on Fugo. He thought he remembered being told that the kid was supposed to go back to his rich family at the end of the summer, so the last thing Narancia needed was to get attached to someone who was only going to leave him again.

“Uh, I mean- I dunno! He’s just really nice… when he’s not an asshole,” Narancia replied, sticking his tongue out and glaring at no one in particular. His expression became more serious a moment later and he frowned a little. “I guess I also just feel bad… he probably has no idea what’s really going on. Like he doesn’t know about any of the shit that happened to me so maybe he thinks I was just having a fit or something last night! Like he doesn’t know about my dad, or about how I left home, or even about that kid who saved my-“

Once again, Abbacchio cut him off. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Narancia to talk, but he could see that the boy was potentially going to get himself worked up if he thought too much about it. “You don’t need to tell him. Only do it if you really want to,” he answered gruffly, squeezing Narancia’s shoulder with his hand.

A short silence passed through them as Narancia mulled over it, but then he looked at Abbacchio with determination. “I want to tell him,” he decided. “Maybe I’ll tell him soon after I go home… after I apologize to Bruno. I just- I know he might leave at the end of August but I still trust him. I mean, I want to trust him. There’s just something about him; kinda feels like he’s always been here. I only met him at the beginning of June but I feel like I’ve known him for years. I dunno what that’s called. It just feels… nostalgic? And it’s nice. Reminds me of when I met Bruno and you. And the others too, I guess.”

Every now and then Narancia got all wistful and serious, and the shift in tone never failed to take Abbacchio aback by how weird it was to hear. Even so, he couldn’t say he didn’t understand where the kid was coming from. Abbacchio felt the same way about the others, even Fugo to a degree despite not having spent much time with him yet. Maybe there was a word for it. He had no idea.

With a sigh, Abbacchio decided he had done all he could do to help Narancia unscramble his thoughts and that it was probably a good time to bring him back home. “Well, if that’s what you want to do then do it, I can’t stop you. Just please try to not give Bruno a heart attack next time you get upset; I would rather not have him sent to an early grave,” he said with a warning gaze, but Narancia sensed the joke and grinned back at him, all teeth.

“Yeah of course you don’t, he still hasn’t swept you off your fee- HEY! ABBA, PUT ME DOWN!” Narancia’s sly tease morphed into a shriek of anger when Abbacchio decided to grab the kid and throw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hissed and kicked and pulled at the tall man’s hair and it reminded Abbacchio far too much of Moody Blues when he tried to get her in the crate to bring her to the vet. Out of the corner of his eye, Abbacchio spotted said cat staring at them. He may have been humanizing her too much, but there was a twinkle in the Russian Blue’s eyes that made her looked amused.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” he grumbled at her, pointing an accusatory finger her way. “Don’t act like you don’t do the same thing when things don’t go your way. Bratty cat…”

“Abba, you talk too much, she doesn’t know English,” Narancia commented as he wiggled, still trying to squirm out of his grasp.

Abbacchio snorted and pinched the skin behind Narancia’s knee, barking in laughter when the kid yelped and punched him hard on the back. “Thank you, peanut gallery,” he said sarcastically, but couldn’t keep the small grin off his face.

“You’re welcome!” Narancia replied cheekily, and Abbacchio knew the kid was probably making upside-down faces at him. It was childish but somehow endearing, at least in the moment, and since he was in a good mood he put Narancia down to allow him to walk. Well, first he intercepted the jab Narancia immediately sent for his gut, and then he spun the boy around and pushed him towards his bathroom like he had done the night before. If he wasn’t reminded then Narancia would most likely forget to grab the clothes he wore to the house.

However, he wasn’t expecting Narancia to turn back towards him after taking a few steps and then rush back into his arms. The hug Narancia gave him felt bone-crushing, but his strength was a pleasant reminder of how much the kid had grown. “Thanks again, Leone,” he murmured into his shirt, his voice warm and thankful.

“I swear if you start with the damn waterworks again…” Abbacchio warned, but his empty threat trailed off. He then wrapped an arm around Narancia in return and pet his hair for a few minutes. When he moved to pull away, Narancia held onto him just a tad tighter, and the small action made that strange parental feeling well up in him once more. Goddammit, I'm too young to be feeling like this.

As annoying as it was to suddenly feel so much older than he really was, he didn’t dare move. It really was nice, he decided, to have someone rely on him like this. He wouldn’t mention to anyone else how Narancia acted here, just like Narancia would never tell anyone else about how uncharacteristically soft he acted in response. It was like a little secret family bond the two of them shared, and the only other ones in on it were Bruno and the cat. It was nice. It made him feel more like a real person then just a shell going to his shitty job and coming back to his shitty house every day. But, even so, they couldn’t stand like this forever.

“You know everything will be okay when you talk to Bruno, right? So come on, go get your clothes.”

“Mmph.”

“Narancia… you can’t stand here forever. Everyone is waiting for you back at home.”

“One more minute.”

“Jeez… Alright, but only one. I’m not letting you procrastinate anymore.”

Abbacchio continued to stroke Narancia’s hair, loosely counting own the time in his head.

“… You promise things will be okay with me and Bruno?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Maybe he wasn’t the right person for Narancia to confide in and rely on, but damn if he wasn’t going to do his best for him despite everything. He would kill if it meant he would be able to protect the moments like this, he really would. Can’t believe I’m thinking shit like that and my dream job used to be a cop… And anyway, as much as Narancia would appreciate his dramatic declaration of protection, Bruno would probably prefer he do something more practical and preferably less illegal for them. He probably would want Abbacchio to work on making his own living situation better somehow.

So, maybe he would finally go pick up those new blinds he needed and call to get his dryer fixed, and maybe he would try to find a new job that didn’t make him hate his entire existence. Maybe then he would feel more pride in being such an important person in Narancia and Bruno’s lives. Maybe he could start to consider himself to be an important person in Mista, Trish… and even Giorno’s lives, too. And who knew, maybe he could even try to consider that new Fugo kid to be a permanent addition to their weird, makeshift family. Only time would tell, really.

Chapter Text

Abbacchio dropping Narancia off at the farm was a major relief to everyone, but honestly not much changed afterwards. The only possible difference was how when Trish came to visit later that day she commented that the “energy” had shifted a bit. Fugo had no idea what that meant but Mista wholeheartedly agreed with her and Giorno wisely nodded his head in understanding, so Fugo just went along with it. He knew that Narancia and Bruno had a lengthy talk soon after Narancia had come back to the farm, but by next morning everything seemed to have gone back to normal on the surface. The issue was supposedly solved and over.

Well, Narancia now made a point to give Bruno a quick hug every morning, but whenever anyone mentioned it Narancia just got agitated and embarrassed. It was endearing. But the more he thought it, Fugo did think that something was off. The idea was stupid, but maybe the energy had shifted or whatever it was Trish said? How can you tell that there’s an energy shift? Is it like that mercury in retrograde thing that people sometimes talk about? Maybe he would ask Trish the next time she came by. He had been meaning to try and get to know her anyway, but just never found the right opportunity.

Fugo still had a lot of questions about everything that happened circling around in his mind, but he knew better than to try and pry. It was easy to keep those thoughts in the back of his mind during the day since work kept everyone preoccupied, but once they were all back in the house after the workday was over, the questions in his head became distracting. Why did Narancia run off like that? Why did he get so upset over Prosciutto? What happened with his parents? It didn’t help that Narancia had been spending more time in his room after work too. Was he trying to avoid them? Or maybe just trying to avoid Fugo?

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mista said one evening as he, Fugo, and Giorno sat in the living room watching tv and, due to Fugo bringing it up, discussing Narancia. Narancia hadn’t come down to hang out again and it had really begun to worry him.

“I feel like every time you tell me not to worry it means I actually should worry,” Fugo replied and shot his friend a look. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mista’s judgement… but he absolutely didn’t trust Mista’s judgement in the slightest. For good reason, too.

“No, Mista’s right this time,” Giorno piped up from where he was lounging on the couch, Sticky Fingers fast asleep against his side. The younger boy rolled to his side so he could face the loveseat Fugo was sitting in but was careful to not wake the dog. “I talked to him yesterday and he promised that he was fine. He said he just had some things on his mind, but I can assure you that it’s nothing to worry over.”

Giorno’s words did much more to sate Fugo’s worries than Mista could ever hope to, but he still found himself worried. That worry was what led Fugo up the steps to Narancia’s room one afternoon a week later.

Hesitating for only a moment, Fugo knocked on the access door and called Narancia’s name. He was met with silence again, and for the briefest moment the blond was filled with fear that his friend was gone again. Thankfully, the access door opened and Fugo found himself face-to-face with Narancia peering down at him. The room behind him was dim, but there was slight noise and a soft glow indicating that the other was using his tv.

“What’s up?” Narancia asked, tilting his head in curiosity. “Did’ja wanna come in? I’m not really doin’ nothin’ right now so feel free to come up. I’ll be on my bed.”

Fugo’s relief over seeing that Narancia was alright merged with his sudden spike in irritation over the other boy’s grammar skills. Before allowing himself to climb into Narancia’s bedroom, the blond took a deep breath and relaxed himself. He was not going to let something that miniscule mess things up again. He was better than that now.

Once he was in the room, Fugo let himself take a proper look around. The glow-in-the-dark stars shone down on him, though much fainter this time, and Fugo noticed that there were purple string lights looping around the wooden beams and bedframe. The room itself was still a mess, and when Narancia noticed that Fugo was staring at all the items in his room he chuckled sheepishly.

“I, uh, forgot you haven’t really come in here before,” Narancia explained as he casually kicked some clothes under his bed. “If I knew you were gonna come over here then I would have cleaned up a bit.”

“You should just clean up in general…” Fugo mumbled as he stared at the short dresser table. There were movies, a turtle plushie, three plastic cups, and a mug with words that he might have been able to read if the room was a bit brighter. Nothing was in order; he couldn’t understand how Narancia was able to live like that.

“I know!” Narancia huffed as he flopped back on his bed, crossing his arms. “I try to clean, okay? Everything tends to get messy no matter how orderly I try to make it, but I swear I know where all the important stuff is!”

Fugo knew he would be toeing the line between friendly banter and an argument if he pushed the topic any further, so he made the smart decision to not respond. Instead, he sat himself down on the edge of Narancia’s unmade bed, staring up at his ceiling. “How long did it take to put all those stars up?” he asked, changing the topic.

“I dunno, I didn’t put ‘em there,” Narancia replied with a shrug as he, too, stared up at the stars. “Bruno was the one who did it for me when I first came here.”

That gave Fugo pause. This seemed like a good moment to try and address some of the questions he had been wondering about, but the blond was hesitant to reply. He knew he would have to word it in a certain way or else Narancia would either brush it off or straight-up tell him to drop it.

Luckily for him, Narancia seemed willing to continue talking on his own without being prompted. “I never told you that story, did I?” he asked, and grinned when Fugo shook his head in response. “Ha, well it’s not a long story but basically when I first started living here, Bruno cleaned up the attic and made it into a bedroom for me. He made Abbacchio go out and find a store to buy a shit ton of these stars and then he put every single one of them up by himself. I think he did it because I had mentioned that I liked the idea of sleeping under the stars, but he didn’t want me falling asleep outside so he did this as a substitute.”

Allowing himself to lean back against the headboard next to Narancia now, Fugo tried to imagine a younger Bruno putting up all of the stars on the ceiling. It probably took forever, but the amount of thought Bruno put into it made his heart pang. It reminded him of the care he never got; it made him jealous. Still, he was glad that Narancia had people who cared for him that much.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Narancia suddenly asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Fugo nodded in reply, turning his head to look at him.

Narancia leaned in, his eyes trained on Fugo’s face, and all of a sudden Fugo felt his heart rate spike. For whatever reason his first thought was that Narancia was about to kiss him, which caused a myriad of conflicting thoughts to fly through his head, but he bit the inside of his cheek to bring him back to reality. I need to focus.

“I…” Narancia’s expression turned a bit guilty, and he glanced up at the ceiling briefly. “I don’t like the stars that much. Never have. I never took ‘em down though since they remind me of Bruno and how he would be disappointed if he saw them gone. ‘s that bad?”

“I don’t think so. I probably wouldn’t take them down either,” Fugo replied honestly. His response seemed to be good enough since Narancia leaned back and smiled at him.

They stared at each other again until Fugo was able to visibly see an idea pop into Narancia’s head. The black-haired boy’s eyes grew a little wider and there was a certain kind of shine in them now, and when he gave him a big grin Fugo found himself unintentionally smiling back. “Hey, Fugo, you wanna go on a walk before it gets dark?” Narancia asked even though they both were able to hear the tapping of rain hitting the little window beside the bed.

Fugo glanced at the window and then looked back at Narancia with a confused expression on his face. “A walk? In the rain? … Why?” he asked, feeling a little suspicious. Just what does he have planned this time?

Narancia put his hands up with his palms forward and shook his head. “Oh, no, it’s nothing bad! I just wanted to talk to you about something! … Really, it’s nothing bad! Well. I mean like, I’m not mad at you or anything, I just wanted to talk and I like walking and talking,” he explained, trying his absolute best to not give away what he wanted to talk about for some reason.

Fugo sighed. He really didn’t want to go out in the rain and get all wet and gross-feeling, but his ability to say no to Narancia was dwindling by the day. And maybe he secretly liked the idea of taking a walk in the rain… as long as he could stay at least mostly dry. Maybe it could be fun. Maybe.

“… Fine,” Fugo hesitantly replied, smiling when Narancia let out an exclamation of excitement and climbed over him to get off the bed.

“Okay cool! I love walks. Let’s go, Fugo!”

---
Ten minutes later, the two of them were in the breezeway by the front door, ready to head out. “Here, let me hold the umbrella; I’m taller so it makes sense,” Fugo offered, taking the object off the hook on the wall. He then opened the front door, holding it open for Narancia as he stepped one foot outside. “C’mon before it really starts raining again.”

Narancia made a noise of confirmation and slipped his feet inside his sneakers, stuffing the frayed laces into the sides and tapping his heels against the floor to adjust them. “It doesn’t matter if it rains since we got the umbrella,” he responded as he grabbed the door handle and opened it up wider so he could step outside too. He laughed when Fugo lightly whacked him in the thigh with the object, grabbing it before the blond could pull it away. “And I’m older so I should hold the umbrella! Lemme hold it!”

Fugo took a step back, yanking it away before his companion could get a good grip on it. He quickly undid the velcro keeping it together and pressed the button on the fake-wooden handle, opening the black umbrella up. He then held it up above him and gestured with his other hand for Narancia to walk under it too. “This isn’t about age, Narancia. It’s more practical for the taller person to hold it; if you held it then it would be awkward for me because it’d be too low!” he tried to explain, but as he was talking he had to bring the hand holding the umbrella up above his head when Narancia tried to grab at the handle.

“Fugo! I want to hold it though!” Narancia complained as he continued to ignore all the points Fugo was making. He instead was grabbing at the taller boy’s arm, trying to yank it down so he could grab the handle.

When trying to elbow Narancia didn’t work, Fugo simply resorted to just walking away. Narancia was dragged along with him, and even though Fugo had lowered his arm again the blond kept a firm grip on the handle. “Just let go,” Fugo said with a sigh, knowing that the other most likely wouldn’t listen. They were going on this walk to actually talk to each other, but it seemed as though they were on the path to just bickering again.

“No!” Narancia argued, his disagreement unsurprising. However, instead of trying to yank the umbrella away like before, he roughly grabbed the umbrella handle right above where Fugo’s hand was and kept it there. “If you wanna be so stubborn then fine! We’ll both just hold it then!” he said with a huff, refusing to look Fugo’s way now.

Fugo was caught between feeling pissed off that Narancia had the gall to call him stubborn despite being the one who refused to listen to his completely valid points, and feeling flustered over the fact that their hands were kind of touching. If Narancia changed his grip just slightly… they would technically be holding hands. The thought of that made Fugo turn his own head away as well to hide the embarrassed flush that appeared on his face. Shit. This is bad. It was getting harder and harder to deny whatever weird, complicated feelings he had for his friend, but he knew that he absolutely shouldn’t act on it. So, he tried to shake the umbrella in a final attempt to make Narancia finally let go.

“Stop moving it, you’re getting rain on me!” Narancia whined, lightly hip checking Fugo while still refusing to look in his direction. He then let go for the briefest of seconds, but before Fugo could rejoice in winning the argument Narancia did the opposite of what he wanted and placed his hand directly over Fugo’s, trying to stabilize the umbrella. “You can’t even hold the stupid thing right! This is why I should have the umbrella and not you!”

Fugo didn’t reply to that, though it wasn’t because he had nothing to say but more because he felt like there was something suddenly caught in his throat. It wasn’t very cold out, but Narancia’s hand was definitely warm where he could feel it and it was quite distracting. Fugo clenched his other hand into a fist as tight as he could to focus his mind; the last thing he wanted was for Narancia to catch onto whatever it was that was going on with him. That couldn’t happen, or at least it couldn’t before Fugo had proper time to actually figure out what it was that he was feeling.

So, he stayed quiet and stared at the scenery to the left of him as they walked. Narancia was silent as well, looking to his right. Fugo didn’t know if the silence was awkward because they were both realizing that arguing over holding an umbrella was stupid… or if it was awkward because they were holding hands. For him, at least, both of those answers were correct.

“So…” Narancia eventually started up the conversation, clearing his throat and taking the quickest glance at Fugo before looking away again. His grip on the umbrella handle – and consequently Fugo’s hand as well – grew tighter as he moved closer to avoid stepping directly in a forming puddle.

“So,” Fugo repeated back, taking a look at Narancia now that the other had broken that weird barrier. “You wanted to talk?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow when Narancia looked over again. They locked eyes and Fugo smiled, and just like that the temporary tension faded away completely.

Narancia scrunched up his nose and grinned back, knocking his shoulder against Fugo’s playfully. “Yeah! I mean I was until you ended up being a stubborn asshat and wouldn’t give me my umbrella!” he exclaimed, but his tone of voice was light and teasing. He was just joking around, so Fugo told himself to relax and play along.

“Asshat?” Fugo repeated, giving Narancia his own small grin. “That’s a new one. You’re getting more creative; good for you!” The blond knew he still struggled with the part of his friendships where his friend would tease him and he would tease back without being mean or awkward… but Narancia laughed so he decided that maybe he was just overthinking things again.

“Abbacchio says it sometimes and I think it stuck with me,” Narancia explained, his voice raising as a car loudly flew past them down the road. “He swears more than anyone, honestly, and now I’ve picked up on it because I spend so much time with him. I swore a lot before I came here, but now I’m like a- a fuckin’ sailor… See!? It’s bad, Panna, I swear more than Mista now so that’s how you know it’s bad!”

Fugo had honestly forgotten that he even allowed Narancia to call him a nickname, so hearing him say it so easily made the blonde feel… something. God… Why do I like it so much? He was at a loss with how to respond, so he just smiled and checked both sides of the road before tugging Narancia along with him to cross to the other side. “We should walk on the side where we can see the cars coming towards us. It’s safer, especially given the weather,” he explained before Narancia could question him. As soon as he spoke, the wind picked up and both of them huddled closer, trying to keep the umbrella between them stabilized. The clouds were growing darker, too. How often is it supposed to storm here?

Keeping both the weather and the time of day in his mind, Fugo decided to bring the conversation back around to their main topic. “Anyway, you wanted to talk, right?” he asked, turning his head again to show Narancia that he was listening.

The other boy nodded, a sheepish smile on his face. “Yeah, I did,” he confirmed, his eyes following a car pulling out of a driveway on the other side of the road. His fingers began tapping on Fugo’s hand and he made a low humming sound before deciding what to say. “I- I mean. How do I put this… Okay, remember earlier when I told you the story about Bruno and the stars on my ceiling? Well I just thought that I could, y’know, tell you a little more.”

“About the stars?” That was a stupid question; it slipped out of Fugo’s mouth before he could give it thought.

“No! Ugh, I mean- well- I…” he sighed loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. When he opened his eyes again, he took a deep breath in and then gave a little nod to himself. “I’m bad at this. Talking and stuff. I mean I talk a lot! But when it comes to talking about shit that happened in the past and about feelings and all that crap I forget how to make the words. I know what I want to say but my stupid brain can’t make me talk right!”

His voice was raising in volume and had a sharp edge to it, so Fugo wiggled the umbrella handle to get his attention. “I know what you mean,” he reassured him, understanding that sometimes it was hard to actually talk about certain things, even if you wanted to. Sometimes you knew exactly what you were feeling, but trying to tell someone else what you felt seemed impossible; that happened to him a lot on those rare occasions when he actually could pinpoint what his emotions were. “I’m listening, so just do your best, okay?”

The encouragement made Narancia smile without meaning to and he nodded in agreement. “Okay. I guess I thought if I could tell you stories about when I first came to the farm then it would make it easier to tell you the, uh, other stuff,” he explained, kicking at a shallow puddle in front of them and splashing water into the air.

Other stuff? The way Narancia spoke… he sounded almost solemn. Fugo desperately wanted to know, his curiosity growing tenfold, but he wouldn’t push him. “Take your time,” is all he said, allowing his friend to talk at his own pace.

Narancia murmured his thanks and then pursed his lips as he tried to come up with something to say. “Did I ever tell you that I had to eat soup and oatmeal every day for like a month when I first came here?” he suddenly asked, despite already knowing the answer. Fugo didn’t even have to reply for him to continue talking. “You’d think I would never wanna eat soup again in my life, right? Well it’s weird because I think I got so used to eating it that now I just… like soup so much. It’s definitely in my top five favorite foods and you know I mean it when I say I could eat only soup every day for the rest of my life. I’d miss having pizza though.”

“And what about oatmeal?” Fugo asked out of simple curiosity and chuckled at the face Narancia made.

“Ugh, oatmeal is fine I guess but Bruno only would give me the brown sugar one because he doesn’t like apple cinnamon and never had it in the house! But the brown sugar one is nasty!” Narancia complained, clearly still annoyed about a years-old situation. His distaste for something so simple was cute, and he thankfully looked a little more relaxed now.

Assuming Narancia was open to more questions, Fugo decided to push him just a little bit this time. “Why did you have to eat soft foods like that for so long?” he asked him, trying his best to keep any worry out of his voice. He suddenly remembered Abbacchio’s passing comment at the park about how Narancia was in “recovery mode” for a period of time, and while he didn’t know what that exactly meant he did have some kind of idea as to the implications of it. A pit began to form in his gut as he slowly began piecing together the puzzle of his friend’s past.

Narancia, too, could tell where Fugo was trying to lead the conversation, but he thankfully didn’t shy away from it. “Oh, I never told you that,” he murmured with his gaze toward the ground. His fingers began a rhythmic tapping again. “I mean I told you about my eye, but… I didn’t mention the rest. It’s a complicated story, and it doesn’t really make sense without, uh, detail. I dunno if you wanna hear all that; it’s not a fun story like what I was gonna tell you.”

“I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me, Narancia,” Fugo told him seriously, coming to a stop. The wind blew through their hair and rain pattered against the umbrella above them as Fugo fully turned toward his friend, giving him his complete attention. Narancia stared at him in surprise and Fugo could practically see the gears turning in the black-haired boy’s head as he tried to come up with what to say.

“Oh,” is what he said after a while. He really seemed at a loss for words, which was odd. Fugo sincerely thought he had made it clear to Narancia in the past that he wanted to be there for him and listen to him. Did I make him think otherwise? But maybe Narancia just had more self-doubt than he originally thought, which honestly wouldn’t be surprising anymore.

Either way, Fugo wanted it to be known now that he would be there for him. He waited patiently, letting Narancia adjust to the shift in conversation, and when his friend tugged at his hand so they could walk again he simply followed without resistance. He didn’t even know how far away from the farm they had gone, but he wasn’t focused on that right then.

“Ask me something,” Narancia demanded suddenly, purposefully staring straight forward. “It’s easier if you ask than me just coming up with something on my own. So ask me something... about, like, my childhood or something. I know you want to know.”

Fugo was taken aback for just a second, as he had expected Narancia to launch into some random story like he did before. What do I want to know? There might be only one chance to ask a question, at least for this conversation, so he wanted to ask something meaningful. “Did…” he started, but hesitated. He didn’t want to offend him, but there was no other way he knew how to word his question. “Was Prosciutto right when he said your dad gave up on you?”

When the blond felt more tapping against his hand, he immediately felt guilty for what he asked. Before he could try to salvage his mistake, though, Narancia put his other hand up to stop him from talking.

“It’s fine! I said you could ask me whatever,” Narancia assured despite his visible nerves. “And uh, yeah, he was right.” Even though he knew the man had most likely been telling the truth, hearing his friend confirm it made Fugo’s blood boil. He forced himself to stay quiet and just listen, but he had to bite his tongue.

Narancia let out a quiet sigh before he continued, glancing up at Fugo only briefly. “My dad…” he began, his voice a bit muffled by the pattering of the rain. “He stopped liking me when I was a little kid. He had an idea for who and uh, for what I was gonna be and it became pretty clear early on that I was never gonna be any of that. He yelled at my mom about it a lot; he claimed it was her fault for making a messed up kid. Eventually he just started giving me the cold shoulder… felt like I was living with a stranger once my mom died.” He explained all of this casually, but it seemed too forced.

“Your mom…?” Fugo trailed off, unsure if he was allowed to ask about her. When Fugo tugged on the umbrella Narancia didn’t fight him and surprisingly let go, so the blond switched the hand he was holding it with so he could wrap an arm around the other’s shoulders. Narancia hesitated but then leaned against him, thankful for the comfort, and they continued to walk.

“Yeah, there’s not much to say,” Narancia replied with a small shrug. “She was great, but I barely remember her now. I don’t remember much from my early childhood honestly. She was home a lot; she wasn’t a housewife but didn’t go to an office to work. I dunno what her job was, but she had… something going on that made her get sick more easily I think, and she and my dad argued a lot too like I kinda already mentioned. It got really bad sometimes but she always said she was fine when I asked. She was really strong like that… but then she mysteriously got this eye infection that had absolutely no correlation to this big fight she and my dad had about me, and my dad refused to let her go to the hospital until it got too bad and was infected and stuff. And then she died there. That’s the story as best as I can remember it,” he explained, sounding bitter now. Is he… is he implying that his dad… hit his mom? That was something Fugo absolutely wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t feel like he needed to be told anyway; it was pretty obvious by the way Narancia spoke.

They walked for a while after that. At one point Narancia slipped an arm around Fugo’s waist but neither of them commented on it, afraid that mentioning it would make the situation awkward again. The conversation drifted to a more casual, random topic – Narancia’s way of relaxing himself – and then it lulled. The rain had quieted a bit, though there was a more consistently strong breeze. This kind of weather Fugo usually hated, but right now he didn’t mind it.

Eventually Narancia felt ready enough to seriously talk again. “Uh… I really wanted to tell you, um, something,” he said and looked at Fugo nervously. “I feel weird with you not knowing.”

Fugo hadn’t exactly been expecting Narancia to want to talk about anything else serious during this conversation, but he obviously wasn’t going to try and stop him. “… Alright. What is it?”

Narancia didn’t reply, so Fugo waited. The wind picked up, causing a few wet leaves to drift by in front of them.

“Ugh! This is pissing me off!” Narancia suddenly groaned, moving his arm away and stepping out from the safety of the umbrella in his sudden irritation. “I’m so lame! I had it all planned, y’know? We were gonna take a walk, I was gonna tell you what was on my mind like I told Bruno I was gonna, and then it was gonna be good! But I can’t- I can’t talk. I’m so fucking dumb!”

“Narancia… don’t call yourself that. You aren’t dumb,” Fugo tried to reassure him. He hated when Narancia spoke negatively about himself like that. He wished he had never lost control of his anger that one day; maybe if he had kept his cool and hadn’t insulted him then his friend would actually believe him when he said he wasn’t dumb.

But, as it was now Narancia refused to listen to him and shot the blond a sharp look. “Yes I am, Fugo! Do you know how old I was when I stopped going to school?”

“How old?” Fugo asked. He knew a lot of kids didn’t finish high school; it was sadly a much higher number than it should have been. But, even if Narancia didn’t have a high school diploma that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart. Though, he did have to admit that that opinion of his was rather new, something he only learned recently. His opinions on intelligence and people in general were currently going through quite the change thanks to his experiences on the farm.

“Fourth grade,” Narancia stated and his forehead creased when he deeply furrowed his brows. “I was ten years old. I know I’m dumb; like, Bruno’s the only other one who probably is never gonna go to college but at least he graduated high school! I don’t know if it’s even legal to be dumb like I am.”

Fourth grade? But that’s… Fugo had never heard that before. He hadn’t expected Narancia to say anything less than during high school, so he was completely thrown off guard by the statement. He didn’t know what to say at first, but he forced himself to come up with something to reassure his friend. “That’s… that’s not being dumb, Narancia. That’s-“

Narancia didn’t let him finish, shaking his head back and forth violently in disagreement. “It is! I let so much shit happen to me because I’m dumb and didn’t stay in school. And now I got stupid issues that cause problems for other people. I talk bad, I read comics because I’m too slow of a reader too keep my attention on anything with too many words in a row, and I can’t even use a stupid cash register.” He was silent for just a moment, his eyes wide as if he just realized something, and then he groaned in absolute frustration. “Shit… this isn’t even what I wanted to tell you! I’m so bad at this!” he yelled out.

For a moment, Fugo saw Narancia’s rage build up and it was startlingly similar to himself. The words, “he’s like me,” popped into the blond’s head, making his eyes widen at the realization. However, before his friend’s anger spilled over Narancia settled down and his shoulders slumped. His hair was beginning to droop from the rain splattering onto him, and Fugo decided to take a step forward. Narancia wouldn’t listen to outright words in this state… so maybe he had to try a different approach.

“Here,” he murmured, holding out the umbrella. “You can hold it, if you want.”

Narancia eyed the umbrella handle, finally taking it when Fugo pushed it more towards him. He then turned his head down at the wet ground, still looking troubled. “Would you…” he began to ask, but then shook his head and started to walk again without waiting for Fugo.

The blond hurried to catch up with him, and once they were both walking in sync again Fugo tapped at Narancia’s hand. “You’re holding it a little low; hold it up higher,” he murmured gently in a quiet voice. Despite his attempts at being non-accusatory, Narancia still glared at him.

“Whatever, I get it. You can have it back,” his friend grumbled and held the umbrella out for him to take from his hand.

“I didn’t ask for it back, I just said for you to hold it up more,” Fugo explained to him, tapping at the other boy’s hand again. When Narancia lifted up his hand about an inch, Fugo smiled at him. “There, that’s a lot better. Good job.” You can do anything I can do, see? He hoped Narancia understood his message, as dumb as the on-the-spot metaphor was.

Narancia looked at him strangely, his lips pursed together. Fugo raised an eyebrow at him, but turned his gaze away when his friend stayed silent. Eventually, he decided to just say something again. “Narancia. Can I ask you another question? You said your dad had… expectations for you. What did he want you to be?”

However, because Narancia always seemed to say things he wasn’t expecting, his friend’s response was completely surprising. “A girl,” were the words that came out of Narancia’s mouth, spoken quietly and bitterly.

Did I hear that right? Fugo frowned and stared down at his friend, feeling quite confused. “... What?”

“A girl. He wanted a girl,” Narancia repeated. “And I’m a boy. I mean, I was born- uh. I’m a- I… my body. My body is… I don’t know how to explain it. I’m a boy. But I, uh, have the wrong… parts? I’m not tryin’ to be weird; I just don’t know how to explain it! Do y’know what I’m trying to say?”

As difficult as it was to follow what he was saying, Fugo slowly nodded as he started to connect the dots. “… Please correct me if I’m wrong, but are you telling me that you’re tran-“

“Yup! That,” Narancia exclaimed, cutting Fugo off yet again. “You don’t- you don’t need to finish the sentence. You got a problem with it? You sound like you got a problem with it!” He spoke quickly, growing more defensive after every word, and then created distance between them as he glared at Fugo.

Almost immediately Fugo’s heart began to race from nerves, staring at Narancia in shock from the accusation. “What!? No! Of course I don’t have a problem with it! I’m just a little taken aback!” he tried to explain as his voice accidentally rose.

As he always did, Narancia matched Fugo’s energy and raised his voice as well. “You sure you don’t got a problem with it? I’m kinda gay too; you got a problem with gay people?” he questioned.

“No!” Fugo yelled back, not understanding where all of this was coming from. When did I ever give off the appearance that I had an issue with gay people!? “Why are you putting words in my mouth!? Narancia, I’m- I’m gay people! ”

A hush fell over the two of them. Even the wind died down for a moment, leaving the drizzling of rain as the only background noise. Narancia stared at him with eyes wide as saucers, looking almost… hopeful. “You’re gay?” he asked simply, thankfully sounding calm again.

“I-I didn’t say that,” Fugo immediately replied as one of his hands flew to cover his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say any of that. It was too soon for him to say it himself. What if his parents found out?

Unsurprisingly, Narancia didn’t seem convinced. “You just said you were, uh, gay people. Pretty sure that means you’re gay, dude.”

Fugo felt his face heat up under his friend’s gaze and he removed his hand from his face so he could defensively cross his arms. “Shut up! I didn’t say that!” he exclaimed with a glare despite knowing he wasn’t fooling anyone. Why did I have to say that!?

“So you’re not gay?” Narancia asked, tilting his head. He didn’t actually look confused; it was more like he just wanted Fugo to say the words again.

“No-! I…”

A small smile formed on Narancia’s face and he slowly nodded in understanding. “Ohhh, I get it. I won’t say anything to the others,” he promised. Despite the other’s big mouth, Fugo had a feeling he would stay tight-lipped on this topic. He and Mista were both similar in that way.

Fugo decided then to give up resisting. It wasn’t like anything he said would change Narancia’s mind, anyway. If his friend promised to not say anything to anyone, then it should be fine. “… Thank you.”

Narancia waved a hand at him to signal that it was no big deal, and then the two of them just stood facing each other under the umbrella. Narancia frowned, letting out another sigh before seemingly making an agreement with himself in his head and looking back up at Fugo. “I… Sorry for gettin’ defensive just now,” he apologized sheepishly. “I thought you were gonna hate me if I told you, so my head got all messed up.”

“Narancia…” Fugo murmured with a hint of sadness. He hated the idea that Narancia probably worried and fretted over telling him for most likely months; he never wanted to make the impression that he would be so close-minded. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hands on Narancia’s shoulders, pulling him in just an inch or two closer. “I would never hate you for that. I don’t know if I’m, um, very knowledgeable on the subject, but it doesn’t change my thoughts about you. I care about you, Narancia, and something like this won’t change that. Please don’t be afraid to talk to me about anything at all.”

Narancia’s eyes widened at Fugo’s earnest response, and his lip wobbled ever so slightly. A cold burst of fear shot through Fugo’s system upon seeing that and he worried he somehow said something wrong. What did I do? I thought being honest would make him feel better! Does he still not believe me?

Before Fugo could lose himself in his swarm of thoughts, Narancia smiled at him. The storm in his head quieted almost immediately. “… Thank you,” Narancia responded, moving his free hand to place it over one of Fugo’s. “That means a lot to me. You, um, can talk to me too. About anything. It’s a no-judge zone with me, okay?”

Fugo let out a chuckle and squeezed Narancia’s shoulders gently before letting go. Narancia kept his hold on one of Fugo’s hands for an extra second, but when Fugo looked at him curiously the black-haired boy let go like it burned him. Weird. Anyway… “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?” Fugo asked, knowing that when Narancia talked, he could go on for hours. He wasn’t surprised when he say his friend nodded his head almost immediately.

“Yeah. There’s a lot, I guess. I feel weird blurtin’ it out all at once though,” Narancia replied with a little laugh, but then paused and looked Fugo in the eye. “Can I ask you a question?”

Fugo raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question but not put off by it. “Me? Oh, well, of course.”

“Why did your parents send you to Bruno’s place? There are plenty’a farms and stuff they could send you to… did they just pick at random?” Narancia asked, his gaze now on the neighborhood houses that they were passing by. It was getting darker out and the rain was beginning to pick up again. They needed to head back soon before it got too hard to see.

“No, they didn’t pick randomly,” Fugo replied with a small shake of his head. He put his arm back around Narancia’s shoulders as he talked, bringing him and the umbrella in closer so he didn’t get too wet. “My parents and I had briefly met Bruno on a trip to the city a few years back when we stopped by a farmer’s market… or at least I think it was Bruno. A lot happened that day so it’s kind of hard to remember. I got in trouble with my parents because I was, uh… talking to the locals too much or something. In reality I was just trying to buy food for someone-“ He stopped abruptly, suddenly feeling strange about going into detail on that day.

-

When he visited the city Fugo had been fourteen at the time and was very much a product of his parents’ brainwashing (or as they liked to call it, training). He and his parents for the most part stuck to the nicer part of the city, but near one of the city squares there was a local farmer’s market going on. Fugo’s mother thought it would be a fun little experience to go and buy some vegetables from there, and despite Fugo’s protests they went over.

As they crossed the busy street, someone rushed by Fugo and his parents, knocking into Fugo’s shoulder and almost sending him falling on the ground. Fugo snapped at the running boy as he wiped at his shoulder, sneering at him when he saw how disheveled the boy looked. His parents scoffed at the kid as well when he took one look at them and continued to run, knocking into multiple other people as he crossed the street.

“Let’s hope he didn’t pickpocket us,” Fugo’s mother muttered, wiping her hands on her own clothes despite the boy not having even touched her. Just seeing him was enough to make her feel dirty. Fugo’s father stayed silent but his hand was tight around his phone, finger hovering over the button to dial 911 if need be.

Having quickly calmed down from his burst of anger, Fugo found himself more curious about the boy than genuinely mad. There was something different about him. He almost lost the boy in the crowd, but as they neared the farmer’s market his eye found him again. For the briefest moment the two of them locked eyes, and Fugo watched as the boy’s expression grew cold and terrified and he scurried away like a mouse.

After that, Fugo almost forgot about him. Almost. His parents surprisingly let him go walk off by himself as long as he stayed in the area and didn’t get into trouble, and Fugo was both excited and nervous by this momentary freedom. He was curiously checking out some of the stands when he saw the boy again. There was a little tomato on the ground that someone had most likely dropped, and a fat, ugly pigeon was casually pecking at it to see if it was food or not. It didn’t fly away when the boy walked over to it, but hopped back when he reached over to grab it himself. It had dirt on it and most likely had more germs than someone could even imagine, but the boy looked all too excited to take a bite. It was disgusting. And what was with that weird wrap on his head too? Fugo remembered being grossed out but too confused to look away, not remembering that staring at random strangers like that was incredibly rude.

It was then that a man walked over to the boy, dressed in some kind of uniform despite not exactly looking like a police officer. Perhaps he was a security guard of some sort. Either way, the man and the boy seemed to know each other because the moment the man angrily called out to him, the boy’s eyes widened and he took off running, dirty tomato still in hand. Fugo watched him stagger across the street even though there were cars still driving and the blond honestly thought he was about to witness a murder.

Thankfully, the cars skidded to a stop and beeped loudly at the boy, who waved in apology as he ran by. He knocked into another person once he got on the sidewalk and fell on his ass, but he just grabbed the tomato that fell out of his hand and scurried up to his feet before wobbily running into an alley. It was the weirdest scene Fugo had ever witnessed with his own two eyes. He had no idea what to make of that.

He knew in his head that he should ignore it. Why should he care about some random, probably homeless boy? If he got too close the boy would probably try to steal his wallet or something (not that he had one on him), or at least that’s what his parents had taught him. But… despite the large majority of his brain yelling for him to just go back to his parents and forget that boy ever existed, before he knew it Fugo found himself going around to the stands asking if they knew about the boy and if they could spare some food to give to him. That boy was beyond skinny and looked like he relied on small bursts of adrenaline to move as quickly as he did; Fugo worried if he fell over again and lost his momentum then he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

To his surprise, each time he asked about bringing food to the boy he was told “no” for one reason or another. Some didn’t want to give away free food, others said they were discouraged from doing so in order to not attract other “young hooligans” from events like these, and Fugo was about to give up when someone waved him over.

Fugo walked over to a stand of a farm that, if his memory wasn’t failing him, was the Bucciarati Family Farm. A young man who was probably no older than twenty years old stood there, accompanied by an older man who looked to be his father.

“Hi, sorry, I’m Bruno Bucciarati,” the young man had introduced himself with a smile. “I overheard you speaking with some of the others about that young boy… it’s a shame that it’s frowned upon for us to give food to the needy. I understand why they say it, but… I would rather struggle for a little bit if it meant helping someone in need, you know? You seem like you’re the same way, um…”

“Just call me Fugo,” Fugo replied, but he had felt the burn of guilt in his gut from Bruno’s words. Bruno thought he was some noble young man trying to help the poor, when in reality he had just yelled at the boy not even five minutes before for having the nerve to even brush shoulders with him.

“Alright,” Bruno nodded and then turned to his father, who handed him a small bag. “Can you do me a favor, Fugo? There are a few fresh foods in this bag; can you deliver them to that boy? He ran right down there. Don’t worry about having to pay us back for the food either; just make sure he gets it.”

Fugo had nodded, taking the bag in his hands and then glancing over to see if his parents were watching. They were luckily in a conversation with an older couple a little ways away, so Fugo looked back at Bruno and nodded before taking his leave.

-

Fugo frowned at the memory, wondering why exactly he was recalling so much of it now. He delivered the food to the boy and got caught by his parents who were absolutely furious at him, so he didn’t like thinking about it usually. So why… why is it so interesting now? Is it because that was probably how I met Bruno?

Either way, Fugo didn’t want to go on for too long. “But anyway, yeah…” he murmured, ending his explanation lamely. He didn’t need to go into all that detail with Narancia. Just the basics of it were fine.

Narancia, meanwhile, was looking at him with his full attention, finding everything he was saying to be the most interesting thing in the world. “Really!?” he asked. “That’s so cool that you probably met Bruno before! I wonder if you met Giorno too then? He started going to the farmer’s markets a lot like two years ago.”

Fugo shook his head, knowing for a fact that he would have remembered Giorno’s peculiar hairstyle. “No… it was a while ago, like back when I was still in the first half of high school.”

“Oh… oh well,” Narancia replied with a disappointed frown, but then perked up again a few seconds later. “Y’know I met Bruno at a farmer’s market too!”

“What!?” Fugo exclaimed, his voice much sharper and louder than he would have liked.

Narancia just nodded with an excited smile, ready to tell his story. “Yeah! It was in the city five years ago! I mean, I didn’t literally meet him but I did catch his eye because I was tryin’ to get some leftover food, y’know? I was hungry. But I more, uh, met him… by association? Like some guy met Bruno and then met me and I learned about Bruno’s farm, so then I went over to the farm myself to try and get food!”

Everything suddenly felt weird. Narancia’s story had to be a coincidence, right? “… And Bruno just took you in?” Fugo asked, trying to get more information. Fugo barely even remembered what that boy looked like, but it couldn’t have been…

Narancia nodded and then gave him a little shrug. “Well yeah, I was halfway to death-“

Even with the abrupt stop, Fugo still understood exactly what he was saying. His eye infection was a little more than five years ago… his mother died and his father neglected him… he dropped out of school in fourth grade? He must have run away from home. Did that- did that mean he was on the streets for almost six years? The thought of that possibility made Fugo feel sick. An image of a boy – small, sickly, and injured – appeared in his head. He could imagine a younger Narancia almost too well. He wondered how often Narancia had to fend for his life with that old pocketknife of his. It made sense now why he was so quick to draw it on people. Was he… no. He couldn’t be. But this can’t be a coincidence. Can it? Or was he actually that boy? If I hadn’t been there that day, would Narancia have eventually… died in the city? Thinking that he had anything to do with something as big as saving Narancia’s life was too much for him to focus on. Maybe he would talk to Bruno about it later.

“… You don’t need to tell me anything else if you don’t want to,” Fugo eventually ended up saying for a lack of better response, still feeling shaken up by his revelation. He reached out and gingerly placed his other hand over Narancia’s on the umbrella, catching the way his friend flinched at the touch ever so slightly. When he looked over, Narancia looked as if he was coming out of some sort of trance.

“No! It’s fine!” Narancia yelled out far too loudly. He was chewing on his lip, his eyes darting around and eventually landing on Fugo’s face. “I just don’t wanna keep rambling; you’re easy to talk to so things kinda slip out of my mouth.”

Narancia looked like he wanted to say something else, but Fugo worried that all of this heavy talking was doing a toll on both of them. He rubbed Narancia’s far shoulder with his thumb and brought him closer to his side, trying his best to relax both his friend and himself. “Did you want to head b-“ Before he could finish, his friend cut him off again.

“Doyouthinkyoucouldteachmestuff?” Narancia spoke quickly, his words coming out of his mouth so rapidly that Fugo couldn’t catch what he was even saying.

“… What? I couldn’t understand you,” Fugo asked, leaning forward a little to better hear him. However, the second he did so Narancia rapidly shook his head and his cheeks grew a soft pink.

“Nevermind, it’s dumb!” he exclaimed, his hand squeezing the umbrella handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

There was that word again: dumb. Fugo narrowed his eyes at his friend in caring concern. “Narancia.”

The little sigh Narancia gave in response was a signal that he knew exactly why Fugo was giving him that look. “Ugh…” he groaned, kicking at a small rock. Upon missing, he stomped his foot hard on the ground but quickly gave up his anger. “I just asked if you could teach me stuff, alright? I just thought- y’know, you’re really smart and you know a lot of stuff and I actually like talking to you… and you said I could talk to you about anything. So I just thought, uh, maybe you could… teach me things…”

That hadn’t been what Fugo was expecting, but the idea that Narancia wanted to be taught by him made something in him feel like it was flipping around. As soon as the nice feeling came, though, it was replaced with worry. The last time I tried to actually teach him something was with that math problem… I don’t want to lose a hold of myself again. But Narancia just looked so nervous, so Fugo decided to put aside those worries for now. Maybe they just wouldn’t study math. “I mean, I can’t say that I would be a great teacher… but I’m willing to try,” he replied, not wanting to let him down.

Immediately, Narancia’s eyes went wide and he stared up at Fugo in shock. “Really!?”

A small smile grew on Fugo’s face. “Of course. You were the one who helped me learn things around the farm when I first arrived here, so it’s the least I could do.”

There was another silence. Narancia didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say, but he murmured a “thank you,” and pressed as close to Fugo’s side as he could. It wasn’t raining anymore, but he still held up the umbrella between them.

“We should head back,” Fugo murmured after a moment as he turned the two of them around. He hoped they hadn’t walked too far away from the farm since he could see that the little bit of sun peeking through the clouds was already starting to set.

Thankfully they had stayed on the main road the whole time, so it wasn’t too hard to get back to the farm. Bruno lightly chastised them for being out so late in bad weather especially given what had just happened, but Narancia whispered in Fugo’s ear that he wasn’t actually mad so he didn’t need to worry about it. Fugo took a quick shower after Narancia did and then changed into a set of purple pajamas.

The two of them ate dinner quickly, having missed it when they were out on their walk, and Fugo mentally planned the rest of his evening in his head. He would wash his dishes, do some laundry, and then potentially finish reading his book so he could start on another one. However, when he began heading back to his room to go get his laundry, a hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

“Hey, Fugo!” Narancia exclaimed, talking loudly like he wasn’t standing right next to the blond. “Did’ja wanna come up to my room? Me, Mista, and Giorno were gonna play a video game; it’d be cool if you joined. I asked Trish if she wanted to join too, but she’s going out with some of her friends from school so she can’t come over.”

An imaginary scale popped up in Fugo’s mind. One side held his laundry and books, and the other held Narancia, Mista, Giorno, and a set of video game controllers. Which was more important? Doing his laundry and finishing his book was more practical and something he felt should be the obvious choice, but… Narancia squeezed his wrist gently, and Fugo smiled at him. “Sure, that sounds like fun. We aren’t staying up too late though; we have work tomorrow and I’ll be tutoring you during lunch.”

The way Narancia’s face fell at the mention of tutoring actually made Fugo let out a laugh, one he quickly muffled with his hand. “Tutoring? During lunch break!?” Narancia cried out, looking absolutely terrified of the idea.

“Yes, Narancia, during lunch break,” Fugo responded. “You’re the one who asked me to teach you things, right? Time is of the essence so we should start as soon as we can. Unless you changed your mind?” He raised an eyebrow at the end of his question, waiting to see if Narancia would give in.

Of course, he did after just a few seconds.“No! We can study during lunch, that’s fine!” Narancia replied, but the frown stayed on his face. “Just start with something easy, okay? I haven’t done this studying shit in a while so don’t expect much.”

Without thinking too much about it, Fugo reached out and cupped the side of Narancia’s face, swiping his thumb over his freckled cheek once. “Don’t worry, we’ll study at a slow pace. I believe in you; you’ll do wonderfully, Narancia,” he murmured with a smile, hoping that his words and the gentle touch would calm his friend’s nerves.

Fugo let go after he was done talking and said that he would head up to the room in a few minutes, and as he turned away to leave the room he completely missed the way Narancia’s face bloomed a bright red. Fugo’s own cheeks grew a little pink as he thought over the exchange in his head, realizing just how intimate that could have been interpreted, but he shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts. Hopefully no one else saw them just then. He would let himself think about what his feelings meant… eventually. Not today though.

Though, honestly, he really didn’t know how many more days he could keep saying that to himself before he really did something dumb.

Chapter Text

For the first time since he arrived on the farm, Fugo found himself waking up early. When he saw that the sky was barely beginning to lighten up he tried to hide under the blankets and fall back asleep, but his legs grew uncomfortable and restless so he made the decision to just get up. Bruno, Giorno, and Narancia were all fast asleep in their rooms, so he made sure to stay quiet while he put on his flip flops and slipped out the front door. Getting some fresh air won’t hurt.

Almost immediately he realized that Mista must have already arrived on the farm since his red and blue bike was parked out front, but he wasn’t anywhere in the house. It was weird to think that Mista of all people would want to get to work before everyone else, but it was a pleasant surprise; maybe he could spend some quality time with him before the others woke up.

However, no matter where he looked Fugo just couldn’t find him. He even peeked into the barn, but upon being startled by one of the cows loudly mooing he immediately left. Just as he was about to give up his search, a memory popped in his head. Mista called himself the personal caretaker of the chickens on the farm, so he was probably in the coop feeding them or something. Fugo had avoided that little building ever since his unfortunate experience with feeding them himself, so that was the one place he could think of that he hadn’t checked.

While he wasn’t necessarily trying to be quiet at first, when Fugo neared the coop there was a sound coming from inside that made him pause. It sounded like there was music coming from in there, so Fugo creeped closer to the entrance in hopes that whoever was inside wouldn’t hear him. The door was closed, but the windows were open enough that if he stood on the tips of his toes he could see inside. He felt a bit weird about peeking in through the window, but if he opened the door to the coop and it wasn’t Mista inside then he would feel embarrassed for intruding on a stranger’s space.

A new song had just started playing when Fugo looked inside, and the blond’s eyes widened at what he saw. Thankfully Mista actually was the one inside to collect the eggs, but the part that made Fugo so surprised was how Mista was singing. Well, just hearing him sing wasn’t too surprising; he and Narancia were like human songbirds with how often the two of them sang and played music together. However, Mista was singing… country? It sounded like country at least. Fugo had no idea that Mista liked this kind of music.

The young man sang as he held one of the hens as gently as one would hold a newborn baby. The other five hens around him were mostly quiet for once, sitting by his feet or on his shoulder almost as if they were listening to his voice. Do chickens like music? Fugo remembered Mista mentioning before that cows liked music, but he found it a bit unbelievable that chickens of all things would like people singing to them.

Mista brought the hen he was holding closer to his face and smiled sweetly at her. He was practically cooing as he sang the words to the song, his voice smooth and sweet. It was completely unlike how he usually sounded. And, at least in Fugo’s mind, it was hilarious that Mista liked country music so much that he would sing it to a bunch of little chickens at five in the morning.

Fugo scrambled to find something to stand on so he could see inside better, and thankfully he was able to find an empty bucket that someone left behind. He turned it upside down and stood on top of it, and despite feeling extremely wobbly and unsteady he was able to keep himself balanced enough to fish his phone out of his pocket and open up the camera app. I shouldn’t do this…

He pressed record. Mista made fun of him for the chicken incident at least once a week, so it was only natural that Fugo wanted to get back at him somehow. The blond surprised himself at his own childishness, but seeing Mista dance around with a flock of chickens was all too funny. Plus, it would be a nice memory to share with the others. Maybe Narancia would laugh when he saw the video.

As Mista sang and danced, the other hens seemed to get excited with him and they clucked and hopped around with him. It was like they were his little background singers and dancers and for the quickest moment Fugo found himself thinking that they were actually kind of cute. Did I just think a chicken was cute?

Fugo wasn’t planning on recording the whole song, so once the chorus ended and Mista began to sing the next verse the blond stopped recording and went to put his phone back in his pocket. As soon as he moved, though, he lost his balance on the old bucket and toppled over onto the dew-covered grass. The bucket made a loud clanging sound when he accidentally hit it with his foot, and time seemed to almost freeze. Fugo gulped. Mista is going to kill me when he finds me.

When Mista came to the window Fugo was already standing back up and beginning to back away from the coop. “Fugo? Why are you awake right now?” Mista asked with a furrowed brow, but as he noticed the phone in his friend’s hand he paused. “… Did you just, uh, hear all of that? You didn’t record me or anything did you? You better not have, I swear…”

“Um,” Fugo bit his lip and his eyes darted around to try and find any way around this. He would have simply lied, but he was tired and caught off guard so his mind was shockingly blank. “Well, you see…”

An idea struck him. It was a very bad and very stupid idea that he knew that he was way too mature for, but he was also desperate to not be murdered via Guido Mista. So, he quickly went over to the door of the coop and opened it as fast as he could. He then placed the bucket in front of it to keep it open and watched as the chickens rushed outside onto the grass.

“Fugo, what the hell are you doing!?” Mista cried out, but Fugo was already running away. “Fugo! You fucking recorded me didn’t you? Get back here you piece of shit!”

Now that Fugo bought some time to get away, he had to think quickly about where he would hide. The barn was big, but… He cringed at the idea of hiding away in a barn with a bunch of smelly animals. The only animal that he liked in there was the barn cat named Spice. She was cute and all, but not cute enough to make him want to go in there. The shed was also another option, but it was so small that if Mista found him in there then it was game over. So, the only other place he could think of was the house.

If I go in through the front door then I’ll lose time taking my shoes off, and then I need to be quiet so I don’t wake anyone else up… and he’s probably going to assume that I’m going to my room anyway. He felt like he was in a lose-lose situation now, but then he caught site of the fire escape on the side of the house. He had completely forgotten about it, but that was what Narancia had used when he left for Abbacchio’s house. The thought of climbing up the ladder was a little nerve-wracking, but he pushed aside that fear and ran over as fast as he could.

Once he successfully climbed up the fire escape Fugo sharply knocked on the window, ignoring how the hard surface hurt his knuckles. He had to get inside the house now, and this was his only chance to get inside without Mista seeing where he went. Luckily for him, the curtains on the other side were pulled back, revealing a bewildered Narancia who was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Fugo made a pulling motion with one of his hands, and after a moment or two his friend caught on and opened up the window.

“Fugo? What’re you doing?” Narancia asked, looking a tad bit worried as he glanced behind him. “Why are you climbing the fire escape? Is there another coyote or somethin’!?”

“What? No. What are you talking about?” Fugo replied, blinking in confusion. There are coyotes around here? That was a worry for another time. “Whatever. I need to come in; can you move?”

Though he was still looking lost, Narancia just nodded and scooted back on his bed to give Fugo room to climb inside. The blond wasted no time hiking himself up to get through, though climbing in through this window proved to be much harder than it had been when he climbed out of his own room’s window before. Not only was it was incredibly painful, but he almost got stuck halfway through. Narancia let him struggle for only a few seconds before he leaned forward and yanked Fugo forward, the action strong enough that the two of them both fell onto the bed and almost rolled completely off of it. Fugo groaned in pain and immediately rolled over onto his back, and Narancia sat up, briefly shook his head like a wet dog to fully wake himself up, and reached out to shut the window again.

“Well that’s one way to wake up,” Narancia quipped and then looked down at Fugo, who was still attempting to catch his breath while kicking his shoes off and under the bed now that his adrenaline wore off. “So, why exactly did you need to climb in through my window? Something wrong with our doors? Why were you even outside anyway? The sun’s not even up.”

Fugo shook his head at the questions, tiredly sitting up as well and glancing around the messy room. “I… I need to hide. Mista… he’s going to kill me,” he tried to explain through labored breaths.

Narancia’s eyes widened in curiosity at that brief explanation. “Oh? What’d you do?”

Oh, right. The video. Fugo smiled at the memory and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Did you know that Mista sings to the chickens when he collects eggs?” he asked casually as he pulled the video up.

Narancia immediately pressed against his side, leaning over so he could see what Fugo was about to show him. “What!? No way. You got blackmail on Mista? ” he asked incredulously. “I’m impressed, man. Who woulda’ thought you had it in ya'?”

“You act like I’m some old man who can’t have fun. I know how to have fun!” Fugo exclaimed, frowning at his friend. Narancia looked up at Fugo and stared at him with slightly raised eyebrows, and the blond stared back at him until Narancia gave in and began to giggle.

“Okay, okay, you know how to have fun,” Narancia said through his laughs. “… Sometimes.”

Fugo rolled his eyes and lightly shoved at Narancia with his elbow, but when the dark-haired boy just laughed more it made him let out a few chuckles of his own. “Whatever; we don’t have time for this. Just look! And then hide me so I don’t get murdered before breakfast.”

He pressed play on the video, and Narancia’s eyes widened even further as he watched the recording of Mista singing and dancing with the flock of hens. He was still a bit giggly from having just laughed at Fugo, so when the chickens began to dance with Mista he couldn’t help but let out the loudest laugh yet. “Oh my God… Holy shit- Fugo this is gold! Mista has dirt on everyone, but now the tables are turned on him! Oh man… this is great!”

Once the video had looped twice and Narancia calmed down enough, Fugo closed his phone and put it away once more. “So, yeah. Mista wants to kill me right now. Can you hide me?” he asked and glanced out of the window. He could see a figure who looked to be Mista leaving the coop, which meant they didn’t have much time before he got back to the house.

“Yeah, that’s easy!” Narancia nodded, looking confident like he already had a plan worked out. “It’d be too annoying to have you hide under my bed, so uh… Here, just get under my covers,” he suggested, scooting near his pillows and holding up his comforter.

What? He wants me to… lay in his bed? Fugo felt the sudden need to clear his throat. “Why?” the blond inquired as he hesitantly moved towards Narancia.

His friend sighed and shook the comforter a little bit. “No time, Fugo! Just trust me and get under the covers!”

Fugo stayed frozen for a few more seconds before he relented and let Narancia cover him in blankets. He was enveloped in the warm comforter, and then a moment later he saw Narancia join him underneath it. Then, the smaller boy grabbed Fugo’s shirt and tugged him forward until they were flush against each other with Narancia half on top of him, but before the blond could say anything a large pillow was put over him. The covers were then pulled up, the other pillows were adjusted around them, and then Narancia wrapped his arms around both Fugo and the pillow.

“Can you breathe?” Narancia asked after getting comfortable, and Fugo nodded since he suddenly couldn’t trust his voice. He was glad Narancia couldn’t see his face; he was sure he was up in flames at the moment. His arms felt too squished, too, so he cautiously let himself press closer and hug Narancia back. It felt nice, kind of like when they slept in the hammock together earlier in the summer. He tried to control his breathing, but then his friend let out a quiet sigh of content and suddenly Fugo was struck with a realization that he knew was a long time coming. I like him. I like Narancia. I like Narancia a lot. Shit. I like him I like him I like him-

Even from Narancia’s room it was easy to hear what was going on in the rest of the house, so Fugo’s thoughts were cut off when he heard the front door shut rather loudly. There was muffled talking that Fugo could still recognize to be Mista, who never seemed to care about keeping his voice down ever. He’s looking for me, no doubt. He tried to stay as quiet as possible, but Narancia started to giggle again when Mista’s voice got louder so he had to kick his friend in the shin to shut him up. Narancia kicked him back and hugged him tighter in response. He’s so annoying. I like him so much. This is so dumb.

There was a sudden, sharp knocking on the access door to Narancia’s room, causing the both of them to hold their breaths simultaneously. Fugo could feel his pulse speed up rapidly, and he could feel Narancia's heartbeat do the same.

There was more knocking on the door. Neither of them moved an inch. “Narancia? I’m coming in, you lazyass.” That was definitely Mista’s voice. Shit. I’m doomed.

The access door was then pushed open and Fugo couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear Mista come inside. “Dude… I know you’re awake. Bruno didn’t send me here to make you start work so don’t worry.”

Fugo felt Narancia shift and move around as he pretended to wake up. “Huh? Mista… why are you in my room?” he asked, sounding convincingly half-awake. “Lemme sleep, asshole.”

“I will, jeez! I was just gonna ask you if you’ve seen Fugo anywhere is all,” Mista replied. “I got a bone to pick with that scrawny bastard.”

Scrawny bastard? Fugo’s eyebrow twitched at the insult, wishing he could tell him to fuck off or something. His hands balled up into fists, squeezing the fabric of Narancia’s t-shirt tightly.

“Uh…” Narancia yawned and moved a little bit again. “I mean I’ve been sleeping, dude, so the last time I saw him was last night. Why are you mad at him though?”

Mista was quiet as he decided what to say without giving away any info. “Um… it’s nothing, he just let the chickens out of the coop early and made me go and get ‘em,” he replied, avoiding the real reason he was after Fugo. It was funny but Fugo knew he couldn’t laugh yet.

“Oh… well, I dunno where he is,” Narancia said with a little shrug. “Sounds funny as hell though. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mista replied and then made his way back to the door.

It seemed like a mission accomplished, so Narancia let out a real yawn and relaxed, which made Fugo feel like he could relax too. He accidentally ended up yawning too in response to Narancia’s, but when the air seemed to get tense again he moved a hand to cover his mouth. He had already made a fatal mistake, unfortunately, because suddenly Mista whipped back around. “Aha! I knew he was in here!” he exclaimed, and before Fugo knew it he and Narancia had 170lbs of Mista crashing on top of them.

Fugo tried in vain to scramble away, but Mista quickly tossed the pillow to the floor and pulled the blanket off of him. “Delete the video!” Mista demanded, and when Narancia immediately began to laugh he glared at him. “Come on; he told you everything!? He showed you the video, didn’t he?”

Narancia nodded, and when Mista went to grapple at him he deflected the attack with one of his pillows. The two of them roughhoused with a sense of familiarity, and when Mista had the smaller boy in a playful chokehold he tried to grab at Fugo again too. “Give me your phone!”

“Absolutely not,” Fugo responded, taking his phone into his hand and holding it away from Mista. “I’m not letting you go through my photos and videos! Those are private!”

Mista rolled his eyes. “What, you got a secret S.O. that you’re hiding from us or somethin’?” he teased and let out a loud laugh when Fugo gave him a strong glare.

“What!? I do not!” Fugo insisted with a violent shake of his head. The last thing he wanted was for Narancia to think he was dating someone in secret. I mean, he probably doesn’t even care… However, when he glanced at Narancia he found that his friend was staring at him intensely, not even bothered by being held in the chokehold anymore. Fugo quickly looked away. “I’m just a private person, okay? I don’t like people touching my things. Do you want me to delete the video?”

For a second Mista didn’t respond, but then he let out a sigh and shrugged. “It’s already engrained in Narancia’s mind so there’s really no point in getting rid of it, I guess,” he replied, but didn’t look too happy about it. “Just don’t show anyone else! This stays between us, got it?”

As if hearing his name snapped him out of his daze, Narancia began to struggle again in Mista’s grip. He pulled at the other’s arm, but Mista just tightened his grip and put his other hand over Narancia’s mouth. “I know if I let you go you’re just gonna go blab about to Giorno and Bruno,” Mista said lightly, grinning when Narancia glared at him.

That grin slipped off of the older boy’s face a moment later, and Fugo watched as Mista’s hand quickly retracted like it had just gotten burned. A disgusted look was on his face as he looked from the palm of his hand back to Narancia. “Did you just lick my hand!?” he questioned, and when Narancia began to cackle he groaned in annoyance.

Fugo was almost accidentally shoved off of the bed when Mista tackled Narancia again and pushed him down on the mattress. Narancia was laughing all the while, even when Mista pushed a pillow onto his face and wiped his hand all over his t-shirt. Narancia tried to kick and jab at Mista’s side, but completely missed. It wasn’t until he blindly grabbed one of his other pillows and swung with it did he actually hit something. However, he didn’t hit Mista at all. Fugo was the one who got the pillow to the face, and he fell back against the headboard from being caught off guard.

“Ow!” Fugo hissed and rubbed the spot on the back of his head that hit the hard wood. He wasn’t mad about it, thankfully, so he just gave Mista a thumbs up when he saw his friend look at him in concern.

Once he was sure that Fugo was okay, Mista let himself burst out laughing. He let go of the pillow he was holding to Narancia’s face and clutched his stomach, and Narancia shot up into a sitting position. “I’m sorry Fugo! Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, and it only took one look at him for Fugo to join Mista in laughing, but for a different reason. Narancia’s hair was sticking up everywhere from all the roughhousing. Fugo hadn’t even known his hair could get any messier than it usually was, but right now he looked like he got struck by lightning with how crazy it looked.

“What!?” Narancia loudly asked, and Fugo opened the camera app on his phone so Narancia could look at himself. When he saw his appearance, his friend’s eyes widened and he put his hands in his hair, trying to make it go back to normal. It wouldn’t fix no matter what he did, and eventually he gave up and started to laugh too. It wasn’t even funny anymore, but Mista was still laughing, which made Fugo keep laughing, which in turn made Narancia laugh too.

Mista lay back in the bed with them, laying on Narancia’s other side and facing both of them, and even though his stomach was beginning to hurt and they were all squished together on the mattress Fugo couldn’t help but think about just how nice this was. He hadn’t ever laughed this much until he became friends with Narancia and Mista. They may have pissed him off often, but spending time with them made him feel warm in a way he hadn’t experienced before. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t had real friends until now.

Another knock on the access door got the trio’s attention, and the three of them looked over in time to see Giorno poke his head inside the room. “Good morning,” he politely greeted, already looking polished and ready to tackle the long work day. “Bruno sent me to grab you three for breakfast since you kindly woke him and I both up early. Mista, please take care to not yell around the house at five in the morning next time.”

The other blond sounded tired, yet his eyes shone with curiosity. Narancia seemed to pick up on it too because he immediately sat up. “Sorry Giorno! If it makes you feel any better I was woken up early too by them…” he apologized sincerely, but his face quickly lit up in mischievousness. “Which reminds me! Did you know that Mista sings to his- mmph! ” He was cut off by Mista pushing another pillow into his face to keep his secret from getting out.

“Ignore him!” Mista exclaimed with a wide smile, but his expression grew sheepish under Giorno’s unamused gaze. “Don’t give me that look, man! Narancia’s fine; we do this all the time! But anyway, did you wanna hang out or something?”

Giorno seemed to consider the offer, but right before he let himself come in the room he stopped himself and shook his head. “We need to go get breakfast… so it’s best if we all head downstairs. Oh, Narancia, Bruno wants to talk to you by the way. Well, technically he wants to talk to all of us but he said it would especially interest you.”

“Bruno wants to talk to me?” Narancia parroted back after he sat up and pushed Mista away. He tilted his head in confusion, but Giorno didn’t elaborate and instead left the room entirely. “Ugh… Okay, okay, I’m coming down now!” he called out to Giorno’s retreating figure and hopped off of the bed to follow, Mista and Fugo trailing behind him down the stairs.

Breakfast meals usually weren’t anything special, so Fugo wasn’t surprised when he walked into the kitchen and was handed a plate with buttered toast and an egg on it. “Good morning, Bruno. Thank you for the plate,” he greeted with a smile. He always felt bad when Bruno cooked for them; the man already did far too much for them all. Thankfully he was keeping more of an eye on his health, though, so no one had to worry about him truly overworking himself again.

Fugo poured himself a glass of juice, but the second he went to close the cap on the container an empty cup was being shoved in his face. “Do me a solid and pour me some too, ‘kay?” Mista asked with a jovial grin, and the two of them locked eyes.

Never speak of that video again, Mista said with his expression, his mouth smiling but his eyes completely serious.

Keep your chickens away from me and we have a deal, is the reply Fugo tried to get across when he raised his eyebrows and momentarily widened his eyes.

They stared at each other in silence for a few more seconds. Mista lightly shook his empty glass and cleared his throat. Fugo poured him the drink. “Go sit down,” the blond said to him and nodded his head towards the door. “You’re too close all the time. Annoying…” he muttered and turned his back on him as he closed the container so he could roll his eyes.

But then Mista leaned in closer and cupped his ear, whispering, “By the way… don’t think I’ve forgotten our talk. I see you puttin’ the moves on my buddy; keep it up!”

Any thoughts that were running through Fugo’s head disappeared in a flash at the indirect mention of Narancia. “I’m not!” Fugo practically screeched and whipped around to face him, clutching the juice container to his chest. He then slapped a hand over his mouth when he saw Bruno turn and give him an exasperated look from where he was standing by the stove.

Putting… moves on Narancia? Is that what it seems like I’m doing? That hadn’t been Fugo’s intent at all. But if Mista of all people was able to catch onto Fugo’s feelings before the blond himself could, then what’s to say the others didn’t know too? … Has Narancia figured it out? Does he know?

Speak of the devil, Narancia took that moment to walk into the kitchen; he had taken a detour earlier to go stop in Giorno’s room to talk. The other boy was close behind him, and maybe it was Fugo’s worked up mind overthinking things but it felt like Giorno was able to read his thoughts when he stared at him. Fugo averted his eyes and took some calming breaths.

“Morning, Bruno!” Narancia greeted and bounded over to the older man, pulling him in for a quick hug. “Gio says you wanted to talk? It’s nothing bad, right?”

Bruno huffed amusedly and affectionately ruffled Narancia’s hair as he pulled away from the hug. “Quite the opposite, actually. Do you know what time of the year it is?” he asked, watching as the gears turned in Narancia’s head.

“Uh… it’s summer?” Narancia replied, but he seemed to know immediately that that wasn’t the answer Bruno was looking for. “Uh… it’s July? Almost August…”

Then it clicked and Narancia’s face brightened up. “Oh! The bonfire’s happening!”

Bonfire? This was the first time Fugo had heard of such an event going on. It was something he had only heard of on television or from classmates in passing.

“We’ll be having it at the end of the week, so it’ll be right at the end of the month. My father’s been doing a lot of planning, surprisingly; now that he’s not physically working so much I guess he’s been enjoying event planning,” Bruno explained, and as he turned away to butter up another slice of toast there was a light smile on his face. Bruno always spoke fondly of his father, and while it was nice to hear it also stirred up uncomfortable feelings for Fugo. He didn’t like the accidental reminder of his own parents. I wonder if they’ve missed me at all... They haven’t called, but maybe they contacted Bruno. They had to have talked to him at least once since they last called… right?

Someone lightly shouldered him, getting him out of his own head. “You good?” a voice murmured in his ear, quieter than when Mista had whispered to him. Even though Fugo nodded, a hand still reached out to hold his wrist, gently tugging the blond’s hands apart — Fugo didn’t realize he was squeezing his right hand too hard. But he didn't have to look over to know who was talking to him now.

“Thanks,” Fugo replied, giving Narancia an appreciative smile and nod. Narancia grinned back and let go, hopping back into the conversation with Bruno easily. Fugo tried to focus on what they were saying, but it felt like Narancia’s fingers had left tingling marks on him. He’s so observant when he wants to be… He sighed; it felt nice to have someone looking out for him in little ways.

“-and does that make sense, Fugo?”

What? “Uh… Yes?” he responded, more out of habit than anything, but it wasn’t very believable since Mista immediately began giggling into his juice and Bruno raised an unconvinced eyebrow at him. Giorno was staring at him intensely again, which made Fugo feel even more nervous, but thankfully Bruno didn’t allow to silence to fester too long.

“I can tell you’re tired today,” Bruno lightly teased. “But I was just explaining some general information about the bonfire. We usually have a bonfire party around the end of this month every year to sort of welcome in a good end to the summer for everyone, so we invite a lot of people who we know from town-“

“Are we inviting Proscuitto?” Narancia suddenly asked, cutting him off. The mention of that name made everyone grow tense, and Narancia especially looked uncomfortable.

“… Well, I understand you aren’t going to like this answer, but yes,” Bruno replied and ignored the way Narancia scrunched up his face in disgust. “He most likely won’t show up, but given how our last situation with him went it would be smart to send him an invite simply out of politeness. In a way it makes us even now. Does that make sense?”

Narancia sighed, unhappy with the response, but nodded anyway.

“Um, may I ask a question?” Giorno asked, half-raising his hand like a student would in a classroom. When Bruno gave him the go-ahead, he continued. “Is there any chance that Polnareff’s coming?”

Before Bruno could even open his mouth to answer, both Mista and Narancia were crowding around him excitedly. “Polnareff!? Is he gonna come?” Narancia loudly asked, rocking on his heels. “We haven’t seen him in ages, Bruno! I miss him!”

“Well, it’s not a guarantee…" Bruno answered slowly, thinking over his words carefully. "But I actually did speak to him a while ago about it and he said that he might be able to come by for a few days. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

Despite Bruno’s warning, both Mista and Narancia began whooping and hollering at the potential good news. “I wonder if he’s gonna bring us souvenirs again!” Mista wondered aloud.

“Or maybe he’ll bring his ‘totally-real-and-not-made-up’ husband!” Narancia exclaimed with a mischievous laugh and shook one of Mista’s arms. “Remember last time? He promised to bring him, so if he doesn’t bring him then we know he’s lying!”

Giorno, too, had brightened up at the news, but he was more reserved about showing it. “I’m glad he might be coming over. Did he… have any news?” he asked. When Bruno shook his head the blond frowned for a brief moment, but quickly schooled his expression back to neutrality.

“Uh…” Fugo hesitantly put a hand out to get anyone’s attention. “Can I ask who Polnareff is?” It felt weird not knowing what all the hype was about.

Immediately Narancia and Mista turned towards him, and Narancia ran forward to put his hands on Fugo’s shoulders. “I completely forgot that you haven’t met him yet!” Narancia exclaimed and then began to shake him. “He’s one of Bruno’s old friends, but he lives in France now? Or is he just from France…? I dunno; I can’t remember where exactly he lives now but he’s so fuckin’ cool! Back in college apparently he and a bunch of his friends went on a study abroad program together and then they just kept travelling around the world once they graduated, so whenever Pol comes here he always gives us gifts and food and stuff from the places he’s travelled! You’ll like him I think!”

Fugo was still trying to process the information, but Mista popped up beside Narancia with a wide grin on his face. “And if you wanna talk about blackmail then holy shit we could go on for days about the blackmail we have on that guy!” he added with a snicker. “Like, one time when he got drunk we convinced him to put on a turtle-“

Narancia swiftly elbowed Mista in the gut to shut him up. “Dude, you can’t tell him yet! The point of having blackmail is to use it against the person, but if Pol isn’t here then it’s pointless!” he hissed in faux-anger, and when Mista put his hands up in surrender the shorter boy’s head turned back to Fugo. “So yeah, he’s real fun to have around. I hope you get to meet him!” And with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, Narancia let go again.

Polanreff definitely sounded like a lively character based on the description he was given, that was for sure. Fugo genuinely hoped he would be able to meet him, but he was still worried about the bonfire itself. He had no idea how to act or what was expected of him, but by the time he worked up the courage to ask about it everyone else was hurrying to finish their breakfast so they could change and get started for work. Fugo decided that he would just ask Narancia about it later, maybe during a study session or in their downtime after work.

Narancia… He glanced over at his friend who was now loudly chatting with Giorno while eating his toast. The boy swallowed the bite of food he was eating, gulped down a drink of his orange juice, but then began to choke from the speed he was eating at. He sputtered and clumsily put his glass down so Giorno could pat his back while he coughed, and a few seconds later he stood up straight, whacked at his chest a few times, and announced that he was “totally A-OK.” While he spoke, Fugo noticed that Narancia still had crumbs on his cheek from the toast. His table manners leave a lot to be desired… Fugo couldn’t help but curl his lip at the scene. But then whatever little comment Giorno made must have been funny because Narancia burst out laughing, the sound of his voice easily filling up the small room. It made Fugo’s heart go out of rhythm for a few beats, or at least it felt like that.

“So, anyway, thanks for getting me that juice, man,” Mista suddenly said as he passed by, which snapped Fugo out of whatever trance he was in. It took all of the blond’s self-control to not smack the knowing grin off of Mista’s face. Instead he aggressively stepped on the other boy’s bare toes and then turned and stomped out of the room, ignoring the bright red flush of his cheeks. Stupid fucking Mista with his stupid fucking comments! And stupid fucking Narancia with his… his absolutely stupid everything! Why him of all people!?

As he slammed the door to his own bedroom he heard Mista laughing from the kitchen, which made his already tense emotions almost go into overdrive. Thankfully, all it took for him to calm down this time were a few good punches to the pillows on his bed. He lay on top of his covers once his adrenaline died down, and when he turned his head he caught sight of a little cartridge on his bedside table. He squinted his eyes and realized it was one of Narancia’s video games that he left in his room after hanging out a few days ago. I can’t escape him, can I…

Fugo immediately rolled so his back was to the table, and he grabbed one of his beaten up pillows. The blond hugged it to his chest and curled around it, letting out a frustrated groan into the soft material. He rolled around a few more times, growing frustrated all over again. To quash his aggressive emotions, he chucked the pillow against the wall and sat up, shaking his head as if he was trying to literally shake off any and all thoughts of his friend. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.

“Whatever. I’ll get over it soon enough…” Fugo murmured to himself. It wasn’t even 6am yet; he didn’t have time to think too deeply about it. So, with a sigh, he heaved himself off of his bed and got up to go prepare himself for the day.

---

Bruno had been kind enough to let them end work early on the night of the bonfire, so once Fugo had put his gloves and tools away with the others he let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Another work week completed; it was a rewarding feeling. Now, all he had to do was shower, change into some nice clothes for the bonfire, and then he could relax.

“Man, I gotta hop in the shower ASAP! I was sweating my ass off out here today!”

“No way, dude! I already called dibs on having shower time first! I’m not letting your shrimpy ass beat me to that!”

“Mista… did you forget that you need to go home to get new clothes? So it would be a time-saver for you to shower at home and then come back. If anyone should be showering first it’s me, since I always start working before you all. My work day is longer.”

“But Giorno-!”

Fugo heard the snippets of conversation around him and knew what he had to do. He didn’t know if he could stand being in these sweaty clothes any longer, so he tried to slip away from his friends and get inside the house without anyone noticing.

“Hey! No you don’t, Fugo! I’m not letting you run away again!”

Dammit.

Fugo took off in a sprint even though he knew he was no match for Mista or Narancia, but he was able to make it to the door before Mista grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him backwards. Narancia, meanwhile, tried to duck under them to dash through the door, so Fugo desperately stuck his leg out so Narancia could trip over it.

“Ow!” Narancia hissed when he accidentally stubbed his toe trying to right himself and immediately spun around so he could try and kick at Fugo’s foot as payback. Fugo squirmed out of Mista’s grip just in time to see Giorno trying to copy his original plan and sneak by all of them, so he risked it all and shoved the other blond out of the way so he could get inside.

A hush fell over everyone as Giorno stumbled backwards and Fugo was struck with the realization that Giorno never really did join in too much on any of Mista or Narancia’s roughhousing. His friends had both shuffled behind him and held their breaths, and now Fugo felt as though he should be afraid as well. Did Giorno not take well to this? Did I cross a line or something? I didn’t mean to; I thought we were just having fun. He felt frozen.

But then Giorno let out a laugh, the sound slicing through the thick silence that had surrounded them. Fugo felt relief for a brief moment, but fear shot through him again when Mista and Narancia began to yell and scramble away. When they pulled at Fugo to get him to run away with them, he willingly followed.

Fugo had severely underestimated just how fast Giorno was. Or how strong, for that matter. It didn’t take him too long to catch up with the three of them and take them all down, and it was surprising how he was able to tackle them all into a pile without getting dirty or breaking a sweat. The younger boy was now sitting on top of them with one leg crossed over the other and his hands folded in his lap.

“So,” Giorno began, looking down on Fugo, Narancia, and Mista with a small smile. “May I use the shower first?”

Narancia groaned, unfortunately stuck at the bottom of the pile. He spit out a few stray pieces of hay from his mouth and glared up at Giorno the best he could. “Okay, okay, whatever! Shower as long as you want, Gio, just move your ass so I can get up!” he whined and tried in vain to crawl out.

Giorno huffed another laugh again and finally stood up so they all could move. He dusted off his clothes and then reached out his hands, helping up Mista and Narancia. Fugo began to get up himself, but then all of a sudden a hand was in front of his face. He looked up and saw Giorno smiling at him with their other two friends slightly behind him. “Let me help you up,” Giorno offered, putting his hand out more, and Fugo reached out and took it.

Getting back inside the house was much smoother now that they weren’t all squabbling for the first shower like usual, and Fugo took the opportunity to pick out a change of clothes to wear while he waited for Giorno and Narancia to take their respective showers. Mista had left on his bike, claiming he was going to “speedrun” his trip home, so he was expected back in a half hour or less.

Of course, though, his indecisiveness caused him to not have anything picked out by the time it was his turn to shower, so when he got back to his room he threw on random clothes while he dried his hair and looked for his actual outfit for the night.

“Maybe… Black button up and white shorts?” Fugo murmured to himself as he held up the two articles of clothing. “No… that would look weird. Who wears white shorts to a bonfire?”

He paused. “What do people wear to a bonfire anyway?” He had never been to one. He couldn’t imagine this being a formal event to any degree, but if there truly were going to be many people he hadn’t met coming over to the farm then he had to give them a good first impression.

“Okay… maybe this green polo shirt? And khaki shorts?” he wondered aloud, but the second he pulled out the shorts from his drawer he put them away again. He wasn’t great at fashion, but he knew that his idea was a bad one.

Fugo was at a loss. He easily could put on regular work clothes and would be fine, but he wouldn’t let himself do that. It felt like there was some kind of mental wall stopping him whenever he considered keeping on his old t-shirt and gym shorts. It was starting to make him angry again.

“What the hell? Why can’t I just find something normal to wear!?” he complained, aggressively digging through his closet now to find anything that would work. He was losing his patience far too quickly. Why am I getting angry?

He stopped. His previously neat and organized closet was a mess. Clothes were scattered on his floor. And for what? “… It’s just a bonfire,” he mumbled. That’s what the others had said. It was just a bonfire to them, but it was completely new to him. He didn’t know what to expect, so it made him anxious and angry. Fugo sighed at the realization. “This always happens…”

It took him ten minutes to clean up the mess he made with his clothes. In doing so, he picked up a shirt that he had completely forgotten about. It was a loose, green shirt with a bunch of purposeful, hole-like slashes running down the arms. He remembered buying it in hopes that he could wear it around his parents in an act of rebellion, but the second he stepped out of his room in it one of his older brothers had teased him for wearing what he thought was a woman’s shirt. He never wore it again, but had packed it at the last second before he left for the farm.

He stared at the shirt for a little bit, debating over what to do in his head, and eventually put it on. Fugo then grabbed a pair of skinny, black shorts that had previously been thrown on the ground. “This’ll do, I suppose…”

When he looked in the mirror as he put his belt on over the shorts, he felt his heart race a bit. He could practically hear his brother’s sneers, but honestly he kind of liked how he looked. I mean… I suppose it is a little bit feminine. Is it bad that I don’t care? Does it matter? Maybe I should take it off.

There was a knock at his door. “Fugo, hurry it up! People are starting to come over! Can I come in?” That was Narancia’s voice. If anyone was going to judge him, it most definitely wouldn’t be him.

Fugo opened the door a little bit, peeking out to see his friend standing in the hallway with his arms crossed. He was wearing a black tank top tucked into purple cargo pants, and he held some small objects in his hands. “… I need your help,” Fugo whispered and then dragged Narancia into the room.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Narancia asked once Fugo shut the door again. He then took a look at Fugo’s outfit and his eyes widened. “Oh! I like your clothes by the way! You look cute.”

Cute!? Fugo could barely handle Narancia’s casual affectionate words; not anymore. “I… I… well... Thanks. I was actually about to ask if you thought it was too… girly,” he explained, refusing to look at neither Narancia nor the mirror.

Narancia moved closer and reached out, feeling the shirt’s material. “I mean does it really matter?” he asked. “Even if it was girly, if you like that shit then it’s fine. Do you like the shirt?”

Fugo nodded his head, and upon doing so Narancia smiled and stepped back. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. The look fits you, so wear it if you want. It’s boring to just wear polos every day, anyway,” he said simply, like it had always been obvious knowledge. Maybe it was.

There wasn’t much he could say against that, so he just shrugged in response. Narancia squinted his eyes and stared at him with a tilted head, and then silently reached out to move Fugo’s hair out of his eyes. The blond jumped in surprise and felt his heart try to escape from his chest, but Narancia only pulled back momentarily before reaching forward again and tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “Your hair’s getting a little long,” he commented. “Not that it’s a bad thing! But did you want it cut? I could get Abbacchio to cut it for you soon.”

“It’s alright… I don’t mind it,” Fugo replied, moving more of his hair behind his ear. “It gets in my face sometimes and that’s annoying, I suppose, but besides that it’s fine. My parents never let me grow my hair out this much before.”

A smile grew on Narancia’s face again. “Oh! Well can I try something with your hair? I promise I won’t do anything stupid! Please?” he pleaded, and Fugo found himself unable to say no when his friend gave him that look, so he hesitantly nodded. Narancia turned him around so he faced the mirror and then, with a surprising gentleness, pulled the blond locks on the back of Fugo’s head into a small, low ponytail. He tied it with a thin, red hairband, and then moved in front of him. He put the other objects he was holding onto Fugo’s bed and then grabbed two barrettes, clipping back the hair he had originally moved behind his ear. When Fugo looked at his reflection, he saw that one of the thin barrettes was red with a little strawberry on it and the other was a simple black.

“Do you like it?” Narancia asked curiously and picked up the other object from Fugo’s bed. It was a black choker with a silver hoop dangling off of it, and he easily clipped it around his own neck. Fugo watched him put the accessory on, but when Narancia looked back over at him he looked away to stare at his reflection again.

“I do… but why the strawberry?” he asked, lifting his hand up to touch the fruit-themed barrette.

Narancia looked surprised at the question, and maybe it was Fugo’s imagination but it seemed as though he even got a little embarrassed for a second before he answered. “Oh, uh, well… For my birthday I got these fruit barrettes as a gag gift because Trish said I needed a better way of keeping my hair out of my face, but I don’t really wear barrettes that often so I never used them. I just thought the strawberry might fit you since you like wearing red and green a lot is all,” he explained, but that just raised another question.

Fugo raised an eyebrow. “So you came over here with the intent of wanting to play with my hair?”

The blond hadn’t meant to phrase it exactly like that, but he wasn’t able to restate the question before Narancia was responding. “No no no! I swear I didn’t!” he denied, waving his hands in front of him. “I just noticed that your hair was getting long and I know you like to look good when you go out places that aren’t just to work and I didn’t want you getting all antsy because you think your hair is overgrown or something and then you would be all nervous and awkward during the bonfire and I just thought if I offered to help you with your hair then you-“

“Narancia,” Fugo cut him off from his rambling and Narancia’s mouth immediately snapped shut. Weird. Fugo cleared his throat to clear the awkward tension. “Uh. Thank you. I like what you did with my hair.”

Narancia’s eyes brightened at the praise and just like that, all the awkwardness was gone. “Good, good! When you were talking to me about what we were gonna study I had noticed you moving your hair out of your eyes a lot, so if just moving that much isn’t enough you can use more of my hairpins whenever you want!”

He was watching me that closely? Fugo smiled, amused. Yet again Narancia proved himself to somehow be both an extremely forgetful and extremely observant person. It was amazing, really, how someone could be both things at once. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” he said and boldly reached out, patting Narancia on the arm. “Are you ready to go? I don’t want you to miss out on anything going on outside.”

Narancia stared after Fugo with an oddly thoughtful expression, but then he flashed a wicked grin his way and grabbed his hand. “Yeah! There are tons of people I gotta introduce you to so let’s go!” he exclaimed, and as he led Fugo out the door the blond couldn’t help but grip his hand tighter. Narancia was surely going to let go once they got outside, but for now Fugo let himself enjoy the little moment they were sharing. He only stopped Narancia briefly so he could grab his non-work sneakers that had been placed by his bed, and then they were out the door.

Chapter Text

Spending time with Narancia on a normal day usually felt like a blur, but once the two of them made their way outside it was like time itself sped up. People who Fugo had never seen before were starting to gather on the property, hugging each other and chatting in groups. Music was blasting from that same direction, and when they ran closer Fugo saw Narancia’s boombox sitting on a table near some plates of snacks. Lawn chairs were placed in a circle around a campfire and a few younger teens were throwing beanbags around in a bad attempt at playing cornhole together. Fugo couldn’t help but feel just a bit overwhelmed. His experiences with parties and large group events were not the most positive, to say the least.

While Fugo tried to keep his breathing steady, Narancia dragged him around, weaving through the small crowd of people and greeting anyone who waved at him. He was practically radiating excited energy; he had clearly been looking forward to the bonfire for a while.

“Do you guys know where Mista is?” Narancia asked an older woman who stopped him to say hello. Fugo recognized her as one of the store’s regulars, but he fell short when he tried to recall her name. She’s the one who likes sunflower seeds, right? Or is she the one who usually comes to buy vegetables every other Sunday? I can’t remember…

“Oh, I think I saw him on his bike when I was driving over here,” the lady replied and fondly shook her head. “You boys are always running around with so much energy; I don’t know how you do it! Just don’t get hurt, alright?”

After giving Narancia a gentle pat on the cheek, she shooed the two of them away. Narancia didn’t waste any time continuing his search, but he had them make a quick pitstop at the snack table to poke at some of the finger foods. Fugo watched Narancia gobble up so many baby carrot sticks in a row that he became reminiscent of a chipmunk, but when he teased him for it the dark-haired boy picked up another carrot and shoved it into his mouth to shut him up. Fugo almost ended up choking, so once he chewed and swallowed the vegetable he reached out to whack Narancia in the arm. However, Narancia easily deflected the hit and grabbed his hand like he had earlier, this time interlacing their fingers to ensure the blond wouldn’t let go. He then started to tug Fugo along again, continuing their search.

“Oh, there they are!” Narancia exclaimed suddenly, moving quicker towards two men walking onto the grass from the street. They looked like they walked the entire way to the farm, so they must have lived in the neighborhood. “Tiziano, Squalo, over here!”

Narancia waved the two over with his free hand while simultaneously running towards them, which was entirely counterproductive in Fugo’s opinion, but the blond let himself be dragged over.

“Narancia, good to see you again!” one of the men greeted with a relaxed smile on his face. His hair was long and platinum blond, and despite the hot weather he still kept it down. The only thing keeping his hair out of his face was a thick, navy blue headband, which surprisingly looked quite good on him. After racking his brain for a few minutes, Fugo was sure he had never seen him before. The same couldn’t be said for the man beside him, though.

The other man was slightly taller with lighter skin and ginger hair, and he wore a matching headband of a lighter blue shade. Fugo knew he had never actually met him before, and yet he was strangely familiar. Where have I seen him before?

“Squalo! I need you to do something for me,” Narancia demanded, cutting straight to the point. His brows were already furrowed, and the hand holding Fugo’s squeezed tighter. “You need to tell Sale to quit his job!”

The ginger, now known to be Squalo, tilted his head in confusion. “Huh? What’d he do this time?” he asked, sounding slightly exasperated. Neither he or the other man, who Fugo assumed was Tiziano, sounded surprised at Narancia’s demand, so this sounded like a conversation that happened often.

“The fucker keeps smoking and shit behind the barn! Plus he still never apologized for trying to give Mista a black eye that one time! And he doesn’t listen to me when I tell him off. He always says shit about me too; that asshole Zucchero is a bad influence on him!” Narancia explained in an irritated tone, and as he spoke he waved his free hand and accidentally kept squeezing the hand that was holding Fugo’s.

When Narancia finished speaking, he put his hand on his hip and glared up at Squalo. Fugo recognized it as another imitation of The Bruno Glare, and the blond bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at him. Narancia’s imitations of Bruno were much better when he wasn’t trying so hard to be intimidating.

“Sheesh… I’m mean, not in charge of him. I don’t even live with him anymore now that Tiz and I got the house…” Squalo trailed off and glanced over in the direction he and Tiziano had walked from. “Whatever he’s doing has nothing to do with me.”

Narancia’s frown deepened and his hold on Fugo’s hand tightened a bit more. Fugo tried to give a squeeze back to remind him that he was still there, but it didn’t seem to do much. “Fine,” Narancia replied, staring down at the ground for a moment before looking back up. He had that familiar glint in his eyes now, which meant he was definitely up to no good. “If you don’t wanna talk to him then I’ll just wait until your mom swings by for some flowers or somethin’ and I’ll tell her all about how you didn’t care about the shit your brother’s getting into!”

The reaction was immediate. Squalo paled the mention of his mother and he started to shake his head frantically. “Fine, fine! Just don’t tell her, you little shit!”

Tiziano, on the other hand, just laughed and patted Squalo’s arm. “Don’t worry, Narancia, I’ll make sure it gets taken care of,” he reassured. His eyes then traveled from Narancia to Fugo and then down at their interlaced fingers. “Who’s your friend ?” he curiously asked, and the way he emphasized the last word made Fugo feel some kind of pang in his chest.

“Oh!” Narancia was back to his regular self now, so he tugged on Fugo’s hand to make him stand next to him and then beamed at Tiziano and Squalo as he gave the introduction. “This is my friend Fugo! He’s been living and working here for the summer!”

Tiziano nodded slowly and leaned against Squalo, holding onto the man’s arm. “Did you two know each other before or something?” he then asked. “You two seem awful close.”

“Nope!” Narancia responded with a quick shake of his head. “We met back in June, but it feels like he’s been here forever!” he explained and turned his head to grin at Fugo. It was impossible for Fugo to not smile back at him.

Fugo didn’t make much conversation with either of the men, but Narancia was easily able to chat with them for the next five minutes. In that time Fugo learned that Tiziano and Squalo were a young, engaged couple who lived about ten minutes away by foot, and Squalo was Sale’s older brother, which explained why he looked so familiar. Apparently the two of them also knew Trish’s family, or at least her father, but it sounded more like a business relationship than being family friends.

Right as Fugo started getting irritated by standing around with nothing to do, Narancia wrapped up the conversation and said goodbye. He was much calmer now that he had found who he was looking for, so the two of them walked side-by-side. Fugo knew he probably could let go of Narancia’s hand now, but he honestly didn’t really want to. My hands are probably clammy, though… can Narancia tell? Does he care if my hands are clammy? Probably not, considering he’s still holding my hand. Why is he still holding my hand? What if someone sees us holding hands and thinks we’re dating? God, what if Mista catches us holding hands? I’m never going to live that down. I should just let go. I absolutely should let go.

Fugo didn’t end up letting go of Narancia’s hand, not even when he caught sight of Mista riding up the street on his bike. He tried, but Narancia’s grip on his hand was too tight to escape from without causing a scene. So, he convinced himself that the situation was simply out of his control and once again let Narancia drag him around.

Mista had stopped back home by himself, but he apparently had picked up Trish on his way back to the farm because she was sitting on the bike’s handlebars. She used one hand to keep herself steady and the other to make sure her sunhat didn’t get blown away by the wind, and she seemed all too glad not have to do any of the pedaling. When she saw Fugo and Narancia waiting for them to pull up she waved at them, and it was only then did Fugo notice that there were people following behind them. There were three children riding on their own bikes or scooters, and they looked to be of varying ages.

“Come on, either you guys keep up or you go back home!” Fugo heard Mista call out them and then immediately sped up, and the kids tried their best to keep up. Trish looked like she began to say something to Mista, and Mista jokingly yelled about how he was going to throw her off the bike if she didn’t like how fast he was going.

Eventually they pulled up in front of the farm and Mista slowed down so Trish could hop off before he put his bike in its usual spot. He then instructed the children to put theirs in the same spot, but they disregarded what he said and threw them down wherever so they could go run around. Mista sighed and shook his head at them but didn’t call them back over, instead deciding to just put the bike and scooters in their proper place himself.

Once he finished that task, Mista and Trish made their way over to Fugo and Narancia to say hello. The moment he saw Mista look over, Fugo felt a wave of embarrassment course through him and he ripped his hand out of Narancia’s grasp. By the time their two friends got over to them, Fugo had crossed his arms over his chest and was staring at his shoes.

“Those brats never listen, I swear…” Mista grumbled, castling a glare in the direction of the kids.

“You sound like Abbacchio when you talk like that, you know,” Trish teased, earning her own personal glare from the young man. She put her hands into the pockets of her skirt and shrugged at him, unfazed by him. “Just saying.”

“Who are they?” Fugo asked, also deciding to take another look over at the kids. The oldest looked to be no older than eleven, so the age difference between them and Mista was surprising. “Are you related to them?”

Mista nodded and sighed. “Yeah, they’re my half-siblings. I was technically supposed to bring my cousins too, but the last time I did that the place was just overrun with kids so I decided not to,” he explained.

“Oh, wow. Are you the oldest of everyone?” Fugo then asked in response, not wanting to pry too much into his family situation but at the same time finding himself too curious to not ask.

A chuckle left Mista’s mouth at the question. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m the oldest of all my siblings and all my cousins. I like to call myself the oldest of twenty one, since that’s how many there are between me, my siblings, and my cousins. It’s a lot of work, but someone’s gotta be the role model.” It was weird to hear the words “Mista” and “role model” in the same sentence, but Fugo knew better than to say anything.

They all talked a bit as they walked towards the rest of the party, and Mista was halfway through explaining how he almost crashed the bike twice on their way down the road since Trish was blocking his view when Narancia cut him off. “Oh, Trish! Is your mom coming by?” he asked, ignoring Mista’s complaints about not getting to finish his story.

Trish glanced at her phone to check for any messages from her mother and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll come by soon. She just, um, had to talk to my father…” she trailed off and nervously glanced in the direction of her house. The air around them turned tense, and Fugo was suddenly reminded of his own family. He mentally shooed away his own thoughts, not wanting to damper his mood.

Narancia didn’t seem to notice the change in atmosphere and just frowned. “Why? Your mom doesn’t work with your dad, right?” he questioned. “They don’t really talk otherwise, right? That’s weird.”

“No, no, she doesn’t work with him,” Trish said and then paused. She looked like she considered leaving her response there, but then decided to continue. “He’s just feeling a bit sick, I think, and needed her to do something for him first. He hasn’t had a fever like this in years so he’s pretty useless right now.”

“Ohhh…” Narancia nodded in understanding. It was silent after that, and to break the awkward tension he lightly elbowed Trish in the side. “Heh, maybe this time he’ll finally kick the bucket and you can get your share of the will.”

For a moment Fugo wanted to metaphorically strangle Narancia for making such an insensitive joke when Trish already seemed uncomfortable, but to his surprise the pink-haired girl actually laughed. “Hm… I’ll make sure to wish for that tonight,” she replied with a teasing smile on her lips, and Fugo was reminded once again of how little he really knew about Trish.

To stop himself from overthinking, Fugo decided to interject himself into whatever they were talking about. “… I thought if you said a wish out loud then it wouldn’t come true? Like when you wish on stars?” he wondered, thinking back to when he last made a wish on a star. He wasn’t able to remember; it was probably too long ago.

Narancia fell into step beside Fugo and gave him a wide grin. “Ooh, do you believe in wishes?”

“What!? N-No! I was just saying-!” Fugo stammered, putting his hands up in defense. He didn’t believe in anything like that and he didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. But, knowing Narancia, he wasn’t going to believe anything he said now. “I… Nevermind!”

Thankfully all Narancia did was snicker at him and lightly knock their hips together, and the topic was dropped. Narancia looked like he was ready to launch into a completely different conversation, but right as he opened his mouth Mista stopped walking and groaned in annoyance. Everyone else stopped as well and looked over at him to see what the matter was, only to see that he was already starting to walk off.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered to himself, but briefly turned back to the others before he began to run. “I’ll be back; my siblings look like they’re about to get into some shit again. I can’t have them go missing a second year in a row. I’ll catch up with you guys later!”

“This has happened before?” Fugo asked the others once Mista had left, looking over at the group of boisterous kids in surprise. He could never imagine him and his brothers getting into trouble like that. Well, maybe they did act like that. I wouldn’t know; it’s not like they ever invited me to spend time with them out of the house… That didn’t matter now, though. He didn’t let himself get caught up on his childhood troubles anymore. He had better people to focus on, at least for the time being.

Narancia waved at him dismissively. “Uhh… it’s a long story. Anyway, I see Abbacchio already parked his truck here, so let’s go find him and pester him to let us pick the music. I’m gonna scream if I have to hear whatever shitty playlist he and Bruno put together this time,” he said to Fugo and Trish, and before either of them could protest he grabbed them both and ran with them to the crowd of their neighbors.

Fugo found himself surprised by how much he enjoyed Trish’s company. He stood beside her while they watched Narancia attempt to steal Abbacchio’s phone, and they made small talk as Abbacchio grabbed Narancia and threw him over his shoulder. Narancia called out for their help, but Trish just waggled her fingers at him and smiled innocently.

“You’re the one who came up with this plan!” Fugo reminded his friend when Narancia yelled out for his help. “You did this to yourself, dumbass.”

“Fugo! Trish! C’mon, you really are gonna regret not helping me when you have to listen to Take on Me for the third time in a night!” Narancia exclaimed as he squirmed in Abbacchio’s hold.

“Mista personally asked for that song, actually,” Abbacchio interjected. “And if I let you pick the music you would just put on that one Snoop Dogg album on repeat. Not good music for the kids.”

“You mean Doggystyle? ” Narancia asked, momentarily stopping his thrashing. “It’s good music! Whaddya mean it’s not good for the kids? I listened to it all the time as a kid!”

“That’s his point, I think!” Trish called out to him with a little bit of a laugh in her voice. Narancia stared at her with betrayal in his eyes and Fugo couldn’t help but laugh at that. Trish joined in on laughing, and they only laughed harder when Narancia frowned at Fugo, too.

After that exchange, Fugo found himself acting a lot less awkward around Trish. She still acted a little bossy, like when she shoved s’mores materials at Narancia so he could make the messy dessert for her, or when a little bug flew on one of the vegetables she had gotten and she claimed the whole plate was now contaminated and therefore ruined, but Fugo knew he probably didn’t act much different in the eyes of others so he couldn’t complain. For the most part she was actually fun to hang around, and he was happy to understand why Narancia and the others liked to spend time with her.

Mista rejoined them at one point and immediately stole one of Narancia’s s’mores, and while the two of them bickered Fugo let himself take a deep breath and really take in his surroundings. A bonfire party was a much different environment than any event he had ever been forced to go to before, but Fugo still found himself surprised at how relaxed he felt. He worried that he would be too awkward around all of the strangers from the neighborhood or that he would get too irritated at someone and snap at them, but the worst that happened was him getting mildly annoyed at getting dragged around. It was nice, but something felt off.

“Where’s Giorno?” Fugo asked about a minute later, looking over at the group. Now that he thought about it, he realized that the other blond had yet to make an appearance outside. Did something happen? Naturally, Fugo’s mind travelled to the worst case scenario, and he worried that there was a problem. Giorno wasn’t as extroverted at Mista or Narancia, but he always seemed to act well in front of people. So why was he suddenly M.I.A?

Narancia gave up his s’mores debate with Mista in order to turn his focus onto Fugo. His eyes momentarily shifted to their house, but then he looked at Fugo and smiled reassuringly. “He’s probably in his room getting ready. He wanted to dress up a bit more,” he explained, even though Fugo didn’t understand the importance of that. The bonfire had been going on for more than a half hour at this point, so it didn’t make sense for Giorno to be this late.

Sensing Fugo’s confusion, Mista decided to jump in to the conversation too. “He’ll be out soon; he’s just waiting for Bruno to come back from the airport with Polnareff. He hasn’t seen him in a while,” he said nonchalantly, and it was then that Fugo realized that Bruno’s car hadn’t been in the driveway the whole time. He didn’t even notice that Bruno hadn’t been among the rest of the crowd, so he must have left before the bonfire even started.

“Oh, I see…” Fugo murmured, even though he still didn’t truly understand. Isn’t everyone excited for Polnareff to show up though? He supposed this was probably another situation that he wouldn’t get because he had only come to the farm this year. It bothered him to not know what was going on, but he felt rude trying to press for more information.

Suddenly Narancia let out a cry of excitement, turning the group’s attention his way. He wasn’t looking at any of them though, his eyes focused on a car pulling into the driveway. “There they are!” he exclaimed gleefully, and he took a step towards the car before briefly hesitating to grab Fugo again. “C’mon, come with me and I’ll introduce you to Polnareff. He’s easy to get along with, so don’t worry!” he said, and without waiting for Fugo to respond he started to pull him towards the parked vehicle.

Bruno got out of the car first so he could assist the other man in the car with unloading his things. When he saw Narancia, followed by the rest of the group, heading his way, he quickly put a hand out to stop them in their tracks. “Relax, Narancia. Let him get out and stretch his legs. Mista, Trish, why don’t you two help bring the luggage in? You can tell Giorno that we’re here while you’re at it.”

A low whine left Narancia’s throat but he still stayed in place, watching Mista as the other man opened the car’s trunk. Narancia squirmed in place when the passenger side door opened, clearly struggling with the order to stay still.

A tall, well-built man stepped out of the car, dressed in a simple, black tank top and white pants. His most striking feature was his white hair, which was styled in such a way that it looked like it struck straight up. Fugo couldn’t help but wonder how many products the man used in his hair to get it to stay like that, but he honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

The man, Polnareff, stretched out his arms and let out a loud yawn, and when he opened his eyes he caught sight of everyone looking at him. “Ah, Narancia, Mista, Trish! Good to see you agai- oof!” he began to greet, but was cut off when Narancia practically launched himself at him, hugging him as tight as he could. Polnareff groaned, but still hugged back. “I forgot… just how strong you were, Narancia…”

Narancia didn’t seem to care too much about knocking the wind out of Polnareff, and he only pulled back so he could smile up at the much taller man. “Did you bring souvenirs for us again? Or food? And where’s your totally-real-and-not-fake-boyfriend? You said you would bring him over this time!” he asked, his mouth moving a mile a minute. He only stepped back and slowed down when Bruno physically pulled him back and reminded him to relax a bit.

“It’s husband, not boyfriend. And Avdol was busy with his job so he couldn’t come. We didn’t have anyone to watch the dog either,” Polnareff replied, and this time when he spoke Fugo could make out the evident French accent the man had.

“Aw, but you coulda just brought Iggy with you! I’m sure he would love all the open space!” Narancia told him and threw his arms out wide to emphasize the amount of land they had on the property.

However, Polnareff just shook his head, making his broken heart earrings shake around with the motion of his head. “He’d probably run off and never come back, actually. He’s not well-trained.”

Narancia dropped his arms and furrowed his brows with a frown, causing Polnareff to let out a loud belly laugh. He reached out and patted Narancia on the back to cheer him up. “Maybe you can meet him once we convince Bruno to take you on a vacation to France. But at least while I’m here I can try to set up a time for you to Skype with Avdol so you’ll finally believe me.”

This whole time Fugo had respectfully kept quiet, not wanting to intrude on their reunion, but he found himself too curious to not speak up now. “… Why don’t we think this Avdol guy is real?” he asked and internally cringed at his wording of the question. This Avdol guy? Why did I say it like that? I probably sounded so rude speaking about someone’s spouse in such a way. This is why I should have kept quiet…

No one batted an eye at Fugo’s phrasing, thankfully, and Narancia was all too happy to give his reasoning. “Because he’s too beautiful! Polnareff showed me pictures-“ he abruptly paused and then made air quotes with his fingers. “Y’know, ‘pictures’ of Avdol and him together but I’m convinced it’s photoshop! And he's told me so many stories of the travels they've gone on with their friends and he always makes Avdol sound so awesome and badass.” Narancia then turned to Polnareff and cheekily added, “He’s too cool to be dating you, Polnareff.”

Polnareff playfully glared down at Narancia and put a hand on his head so he could ruffle up his messy hair. “Married! We are not dating anymore!”

Narancia ducked and ran behind Polnareff to get to his other side. “That’s even more surprising! How did you get married and not invite us!?”

At this point Bruno decided to step forward and put an arm around Narancia’s shoulders to keep him from moving. “Narancia, we were invited. We just couldn’t go because of time constraints and money,” he reminded him, tightening his hold when the young man tried to get out of his grip.

“Oh… Well still!” Narancia responded, suddenly pointing a finger at Polnareff. “No one uses shit like Skype anymore though – we’re not a buncha old people – so you gotta figure out something on your phone so I can call him.”

While Bruno glared at Narancia for the rude remark, Polnareff grinned at him in amusement and put a hand up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I will figure something out for you,” he promised and then finally looked over at Fugo. “Now, who’s this?” he asked, gesturing over at the blond. “I don’t remember seeing you around before? Are you a friend of theirs from school?”

“Oh, um, no,” Fugo replied with a small shake of his head. He nervously glanced over at Narancia, who immediately caught onto what he wanted.

“This is Fugo!” Narancia exclaimed while he wiggled out of Bruno’s grip. Once he was free he bounded over to Fugo and stepped behind him so he could gently push him forward towards Polnareff. “He’s staying on the farm this summer but he actually lives way upstate. He’s like our best friend now!” he introduced, and Fugo wasn’t able to stop the weird feeling in his stomach upon hearing the affection in Narancia’s voice. He ignored the voice in his head that tried to remind him that it was almost the end of the summer.

Polnareff gave Fugo a wide smile and stuck his hand out for a handshake. “Oh, it’s nice to meet you, Fugo. I’m Jean-Pierre Polnareff; feel free to call me what you would like. If you are a friend to them, you are a friend to me.”

Fugo was taken aback by the man’s kind words, but he still made sure to reach out and shake his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he replied in greeting, trying not to let any pain show on his face from Polnareff’s unintentionally strong grip. Abbacchio, the strongest guy he had met thus far, seemed like nothing compared to him. How often does he have to work out to be this strong? That’s insane…

Polnareff let out another loud laugh and let go of Fugo’s hand. “Sir? Haven’t heard anyone here call me that in a long while! Please, no need to be so polite. Everyone here is family, right?”

Fugo felt his face heat up in embarrassment, this moment reminding him of his first day on the farm. He had done the same thing to Bruno that day and it was just as embarrassing as it was now. “I-I… okay. Thank you,” he replied quietly, unable to look him in the eye now. He was, however, able to glare at Narancia when he heard the other giggle at him.

If Polnareff noticed his embarrassment he definitely didn’t care to mention it, as he was now focused on the front door of the farmhouse. The door swung open and Trish stepped outside, followed by Mista and Giorno. When Polnareff saw the other blond he broke out into an even larger smile. “Ah, Giorno! There you are!”

Giorno’s facial expression remained as neutral as always, but he did give the tall man a little smile once he walked closer to him. “Polnareff… Hello. I hope your flight went well,” he replied politely.

“As easy as you can expect it to be. How have you been?” Polnareff replied to him, not put off in the slightest by Giorno’s distant nature.

“I’ve been alright. I’m starting university in a few months, but I’m just commuting this year. It’s financially better to not live on campus,” Giorno said, and he looked like he had more he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then stopped and slightly shook his head at himself.

“Jean, why don’t you go grab some food? You have plenty of time to catch up with everyone, so go relax. Giorno can go with you if he wants,” Bruno spoke up and gestured over at the set up they had on the grass. He briefly looked over at Giorno and nodded at him, silently communicating something to him that Fugo didn’t understand, and then Giorno began to lead Polnareff over to the party.

“Wait, Polnareff! What about the souvenirs?” Narancia called out as Polnareff followed behind Giorno and was about to run and catch up with them, but Bruno quickly was able to grab him and pull him back.

“Not now, Narancia. I need you to go ask my father if he needs any help at the grill," Bruno instructed, ignoring the way Narancia complained about being stopped so much.

Narancia quickly gave up his complaints and sighed in begrudging agreement. “Fine… You can come with me then, Fugo! We can go convince Abbacchio to help him out instead.”

“Why me again? Mista and Trish are here too!” Fugo yelled at him as he was dragged away from the group. “And can you stop dragging me around!? I’m not a doll!” In truth he didn’t really mind coming along, but the constant dragging was grating on his nerves. I wish Narancia would grab my hand without immediately forcing us to run around. Kind of like when we were walking earlier...

Fugo was extremely thankful that he was able to get rid of the blush that grew on his face by the time the two of them located and made it over to Abbacchio.

After they – or rather Narancia – convinced Abbacchio to go over to Mr. Bucciarati to help him out with the grill, Narancia left Fugo alone for a moment so he could go grab something. When he came back he had a blanked in his arms, which he explained was going to be laid on the ground so they all could have a spot to sit.

“Think of it like when you go to the beach and put the towel on the sand! Keeps the dirt and the bugs and the dew off’a you!” Narancia said as he spread the white and gray striped blanket on an empty patch of grass near the fire, and Fugo just nodded. He couldn’t remember having made an actual trip to the beach, as his parents weren’t big fans of it, but he at least knew what he was talking about.

When Trish and Mista arrived at their newly claimed spot with plates of food and some drinks, Trish was ecstatic to have a spot to sit at. She immediately picked out how own little area of the blanket and placed her sunhat down beside her once she took a seat. The rest of them arranged their own seating positions, and after a moment Narancia asked where Giorno was and if he was going to join them, too. No one else really had any idea, unfortunately, so they concluded that he was most likely still talking to Polnareff.

After they all had their fair share of food, Mista stood up from his spot. “I just had a good idea,” he announced, looking excited about whatever his thought was.

“Surprising,” both Fugo and Trish replied at the same time in deadpan voices. They immediately stared at each other in surprise, and Narancia broke the silence by laughing at what just happened. Both of them began to laugh with him, and Mista jokingly complained about all of them being rude to him all the time before he ran inside.

When Mista came back out, he was holding Bruno’s guitar case. “Bruno!” he called out as he made his way back over. “Let’s show everyone what you’ve learned. We can’t have a campfire without someone playing a song! ‘Bacchio, can you turn off the playlist?"

“Mista, I don’t know if I can do that… It would make more sense for you to play than me,” Bruno said in exasperation. He glanced around at all the people who were still around and sighed. “I don’t know if anyone wants to hear my bad attempt at guitar playing.”

“Give yourself some credit, Bucc’! You’ve made a lot of improvements lately!” Mista insisted and placed the guitar case in Bruno’s hands. “And trust me, I know bad guitar playing. My neighbor’s been trying to learn the guitar and he sucks major ass.”

Behind him there was a chorus of little voices.

“Yeah, he’s so bad!”

“I hate that guy!”

“Guido, why did you say ass? Can I say it too?“

Mista quickly turned on his heel to face his siblings, who now began to quarrel amongst themselves over his word choices and whether they were allowed to talk like that too. “Guys, enough! None of you can say bad words right now, okay?”

“Fine…” the kids collectively grumbled.

After shooing away his siblings, Mista turned back to Bruno. “Just play one song, Bruno! Please? What’s the point of learning to play the guitar if you never use it?”

Polnareff, who had just arrived back at his designated lawn chair with Giorno close behind him, decided to help Mista out. “Play a song! Play a song! Play a song!” he chanted, and once Mista joined in Bruno quickly gave in and sighed.

“… Alright, fine! Just one song.” Bruno agreed, causing the small crowd around him to cheer at his approval, and the excited energy in the air made Fugo’s heart begin to race. A paper plate with a freshly-made s’more was held out to him and he took it, glad that he didn’t have to get closer to the growing fire to make one himself. The combination of s’mores and lemonade normally would have sounded like a horrible combination, but in the moment the blond didn’t mind. It wasn’t as bad as eating one with orange soda, which was what Narancia was currently doing beside him. He wondered how long it would be before his friend began to complain about a stomach ache.

Fugo’s thoughts were forgotten as Bruno began to strum on the guitar. Mista sat beside him and tapped on the case to make a steady beat, and the two began to sing a song. Fugo hadn’t heard it before, but the tune was lighthearted and relaxing. He could hear Narancia humming along and tapping on his knees to the beat, and there were multiple conversations going on around him that added to the atmosphere. Trish was recording the scene on her phone, most likely to send to some of her school friends, and Giorno quietly moved towards the campfire so he could tend to the flames in place of Bruno. Even Abbacchio looked relaxed, though that was most likely due to his now borderline-drunken state.

“Fun, right?” Narancia murmured, and when Fugo turned his head he saw his friend already staring at him. His violet blue eyes flickered magenta when it caught the light of the fire, and for a moment Fugo forgot what he had been asked. It was hard to focus on talking when Narancia looked at him like that.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he eventually replied, trying to keep his voice down as well. “Bruno and Mista have nice voices.”

Narancia hummed in agreement and shuffled closer under their shoulders were brushing.

“You have a nice voice too,” Fugo continued, feeling both nervous and oddly confident in the moment. “You should sing with them.”

“Nah, I’ll let Mista have his bonding moment with Bruno,” Narancia said with a small shake of his head. He stayed quiet for a little while after that, seemingly focused on listening to the others play the music. Fugo felt himself relax and he grabbed his cup again to take another sip of his lemonade.

As he took a drink, he felt a light brush against the top of his hand. The touch felt hesitant, almost shy, but despite that Fugo felt his body stiffen from the surprise. He stayed completely still and peeked out of his peripheral vision, watching as Narancia hurriedly let go of his hand. They held hands so much during the evening already, so Fugo didn’t really understand Narancia was getting nervous now of all times. Maybe he just didn’t mean to touch my hand. We are sitting pretty close, after all.

Fugo was about to accept that explanation, but then Narancia adjusted his sitting position and began to lean against Fugo’s side. Once he got comfortable he reached his pinky out and slowly placed it over Fugo’s, loosely linking them together, and when Fugo looked down at it Narancia pointedly looked away from him and back at Bruno. Fugo couldn't help but smile, but he didn't say anything. He instead decided to take a bigger drink of his lemonade and watch the others as well.

Once the song was over and Mista made his way back to their group Narancia unlinked their pinkies, but he still stayed pressed against Fugo’s side. He let out a loud yawn while he squirmed around to give Mista room to sit on the blanket, and then he leaned his head against Fugo’s shoulder. His eyes were already drooping a bit, so Fugo patted his knee to wake him up a bit.

“Mm, thanks…” Narancia mumbled, still sounding like he was fighting back sleep. It was quite cute, but then Mista leaned over and pinched his arm, causing him to yelp and sit straight up so he could yell and smack at Mista.

Fugo leaned back a bit and watched them until Trish pulled him over to take a photo. It wasn’t on her phone this time; she had fished out a disposable camera from her bag at some point. “Smile, like a real smile,” she instructed, and Fugo tried his best to not look awkward as she snapped the photo.

The flash caught their other friends’ attention almost immediately. “Ooh, Trish! Can you take a photo of me and Fugo so I can hang it on my wall with my other pictures?” Narancia asked, his voice loud despite being no more than five feet away from her.

Narancia was back by his side again, and before Fugo could figure out what to do for the photo Narancia wrapped his arms around him and made a peace sign with his fingers. “Make sure to take two so Fugo can keep one with him, okay?”

Fugo froze, unsure of what to do now, but Narancia didn’t seem to care and smiled a toothy grin towards the camera. Fugo decided to put an arm around Narancia’s shoulders and hesitantly made a peace sign of his own to match, and a few seconds later Trish snapped the photo. A moment went by and then the camera shuttered again, taking the second photo.

Before either of them could pull away, a heavy weight crashed into them from behind, and Mista was suddenly throwing his arms around both of them. “One more photo!” Mista exclaimed, already grinning for the camera, and Trish rolled her eyes but agreed. There was another flash, and then Trish turned around to join them.

“Giorno, come here to take a photo with us! And get Bruno and Abbacchio too!” Trish called out to the other blond, who was still poking at the fire by himself.

Giorno stared at them all and for a second Fugo thought he would decline. His behavior during the past few hours had been odd, to say the least, and Fugo felt like he was somewhat responsible since he was the one hanging out with all of Giorno's friends. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, but Giorno was always so hard to read.

Thankfully Giorno ended up nodding his head in agreement and fetched Bruno and Abbacchio from their lawn chairs. The three then came over to them, sitting down wherever they would fit. Bruno snapped his fingers a few times and called out to Sticky Fingers, who almost immediately bounded over and made himself comfortable on his lap.

Once everyone was seated, Trish turned the camera around to face them. With it being a disposable camera without a screen, it was hard to figure out where to hold it so everyone was in the frame, but after snapping a few photos they decided that they got the best pictures that they could. Bruno and Abbacchio made their leave and everyone else scooted away to give each other space again, and while Mista tossed Giorno and Trish an unopened soda can Narancia went back to leaning against Fugo. Everything felt so normal. It was strange.

About a half hour later Trish’s mom came by, and Fugo was thankful that she didn’t recognize him when she came by to say hello and ask Trish if she was planning on staying the night. Trish had asked if she was going to stay for a bit too and looked uncomfortable when her mom informed her that she had to get back to taking care of her dad. Apparently his fever had gotten worse, so she felt obligated to take care of him instead of staying at the bonfire. Trish looked like she wanted to make a comment about that, but she bit her tongue and stayed quiet. Maybe she really will make that wish… I wouldn’t blame her.

They relocated their blanket to a more secluded location behind the house once the party began to die down. Bruno, Abbacchio, Polnareff, Mr. Bucciarati, and Mr. Pericolo were still seated by the dying fire and had started to drink, so that was their cue to leave. According to Narancia and Mista it was actually funny to talk with them when they got drunk, but it was still best if they left.

“Maybe I could sneak you guys some of their wine,” Mista offered, but he immediately dropped the topic when Giorno gave him a strange look. Fugo was secretly glad; the idea of drinking underaged for the first time wasn’t terribly appealing to him.

They ended up bringing over the rest of the lemonade and whatever snacks were leftover, splitting it as evenly as they could amongst themselves, and relaxed either on the blanket or on the grass. When Fugo checked his phone he saw that it was a little after midnight, so they still had five or six hours until the sun rose. Everyone looked to be more than a little tired, so the chances that they would actually stay awake that long were slim. Still, it was the first time the blond had intentionally pulled an all-nighter, so he felt a bit excited.

“So, how was your first summer party?” Mista asked as he sat beside Fugo. He offered him a piece of celery with ranch, which Fugo gladly took.

“Better than I thought,” Fugo replied honestly before he bit into the celery stick. “I didn’t realize parties could be relaxing.”

Narancia, who was sprawled out on the blanket on Fugo’s other side, rolled over onto his side so he could look at them. “Well duh, parties are supposed to be fun!” he said with a tired smile, and Fugo smiled back at him instinctively.

“I guess I hadn’t been to real parties, then,” Fugo responded. He was used to the ‘parties’ his family was forced to attend, and he would take this over those events any day.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, only broken by Mista lightly knocking shoulders with Fugo. “I’m glad you had fun, man,” he murmured. “It’s good to see you relaxing. You deserve it. Really.”

A lump formed in Fugo’s throat upon hearing the surprisingly sincere words, so he coughed and took another swig of lemonade until the feeling went away. He knew people tended to get more emotional at night, but he wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable in front of everybody. That was too embarrassing to him.

Still, he wanted to say something nice to everyone to thank them for their continued hospitality. “I’m glad to be here. If I can be honest, I think this is the most fun I’ve had in, well, ever. Thank you all for being, um… open and kind to me these past few months. I feel more comfortable here than I have with most other people.”

“Aww, Fugo!” Narancia cooed and scrambled up so he could hug him rightly. Mista wrapped an arm around his shoulders, too, and both Trish and Giorno gave him warm smiles from their seats on the other side of the blanket.

“I get what you mean,” Mista said after a moment of thought and took a glance at everyone. “I think I speak for everyone when I say the farm’s become home for us, even if we don’t live here. There’s just something about it here, y’know? Bruno’s got that way about him that makes you feel welcomed one way or another.”

Everyone made varying sounds of agreement to Mista’s statement, and Fugo understood exactly what he was saying. He wanted to agree with them all. He wanted to call it home, but he found himself holding back. I… can’t say that. I’m leaving. I only have one more month here until it’s all over and I go back to my normal life. I’m not allowed to call this place home; that would be unfair of me.

His mind repeated Mista’s words and his own thoughts over and over, even well after everyone had inevitably fallen asleep. Narancia was using his lap as a pillow, Trish was curled up on the blanket without any part of her touching the dewy grass, Mista was pressed against his other side and snoring, and Giorno was leaning against the trunk of the tree they were all seated under. Fugo wanted to close his eyes as well, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.

A sudden, shuffling sound from behind him alerted his attention, and Fugo held his breath as he turned his head to see who or what was approaching him. He briefly worried it was a coyote, but thankfully he was easily able to see that it was a person.

“Bruno, is that you?” Fugo called out to the figure. He tried to stay relatively quiet in hopes that the others wouldn’t wake up.

“Oh, you’re still awake. Is everything alright?” Bruno asked as he stepped into view. In his hands he carried a half-full trash bag, and as he came closer he paused to pick up any trash that had been dropped onto the grass. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be much litter around; their guests had mostly been kind and deposited their trash into the right places when they left.

“… Yeah, I’m fine,” Fugo responded and tried his best to turn his body without disturbing his friends. “I’m just surprised you’re still up, considering everything.”

Bruno gave him a tired smile and held out his hand, gesturing at the paper plates stacked on the blanket. “Mm. Well, someone has to put everything away. If it’s all left until the morning then it’ll never get done… Plus, I’ve been keeping an eye on Leone,” he explained while Fugo handed him the trash.

“Abbacchio? How come?” Fugo asked, furrowing his brows. The other man only lived a few minutes down the road, so he didn’t understand why he didn’t just go home like everyone else.

“He drank a bit too much is all, nothing to worry about though. He’s asleep, so besides a headache in the morning he’ll be fine,” Bruno replied with a sigh. As he tied up the trash bag his eyes scanned over everyone before focusing on Fugo again. “I just wanted to check on you all before I tried to get some rest myself. Mrs. Una would slaughter me if I let anything happen to Trish while she stayed the night here. Seems like everything’s okay, though… but since you’re up, why don’t you help me clean up? I could use a hand.”

Fugo immediately nodded, always willing to help out. He, along with everyone else, tried their best to pitch in more often so Bruno wouldn’t have so much work to deal with, and it looked like the other man was tired out of his mind. He deserved to rest as soon as possible. “Um, sure. What do you need help with?”

“Just carrying some things inside; it won’t take long. C’mon, I don’t want to wake the others up,” Bruno told him and began to walk back to the house.

After he carefully extracted himself from his spot in between Mista and Narancia, he slipped on his shoes and followed after Bruno. His task was actually quite simple; all he had to do was carry inside a few of the lawn chairs and put them away in a certain closet. Bruno already had mostly everything put back to normal, though he claimed that was only because Polnareff had helped out until he got too tired.

Once the lawn chairs were successfully stored away in the closet, Fugo made his way back down the hall and into the kitchen where Bruno was. He was still cleaning some pots and containers that had been used to hold the food, so Fugo hung around just in case he was needed for any other tasks. After a few minutes, though, it seemed clear that Bruno wasn’t expecting Fugo to do anymore work.

Fugo was about to ask if he was okay to head back over to the others, but there was a nagging thought that he needed to ask about first. He hadn’t gotten the proper chance to ask until now, and if he didn’t do it the question would drive him mad for the rest of the month.

“Hey, Bruno?” he eventually called out, trying to keep his voice low since he knew both Polnareff and Abbacchio, as well as Sticky Fingers most likely, were asleep somewhere in the house. When Bruno acknowledged him with a curious hum, he continued. “Can I… can I ask you something?” he asked.

Hearing the nervousness in the blond’s voice, Bruno paused what he was doing to look directly at Fugo. “Of course, Fugo. Ask away.”

Fugo hesitated, wondering if it was okay for him to even ask the question. He wasn’t sure if he would even get an answer, but eventually he decided he had to just ask. “Have you spoken with my parents at all lately?”

“… I have not,” Bruno answered after a long silence. “Why, have they said anything to you?” He looked more concerned now, almost certainly remembering that last phone call Fugo had shared with his parents earlier in the summer.

“No,” Fugo shook his head and stared down at the hardwood floor. “Um, they haven’t contacted me at all in a while… I just thought that they would have been speaking with you on the side, though. Like I know they’re punishing me and all, but I assumed they would still want updates on how I’m doing,” he explained.

Bruno gave him a long look, his expression unreadable. He then suddenly grabbed a small towel to dry off his hands, deciding to take a break from cleaning. “Punishing you? What do you mean, Fugo?” he questioned and leaned against the counter. His attention was now fully on the blond.

Part of Fugo immediately wanted to just say goodnight and run off now that he had gotten the simple answer, but he knew that Bruno would eventually start the conversation back up later; he was persistent like that. It was better to get it over with now. “Remember that night a while ago where my parents called and I, uh, lost my cool a bit? They haven’t spoken to me since on purpose. It’s a punishment; they do things like that to me all the time. It’s supposed to me more appreciative of their time or something, but it really just makes me anxious.” It felt weird being so honest, but his tiredness definitely was helping keep his lips loose.

The older man nodded thoughtfully and mulled over his words, eventually replying with, “I see. Well, they haven’t talked to me in a while either. Were you hoping that they asked about you?”

The question took Fugo aback a bit. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that. Have I been hoping for that? He couldn’t tell. “It’s better that I don’t have to deal with them,” he settled on saying. It was technically an answer, even if he knew he was avoiding the real question.

Naturally Bruno saw right through it, because of course he did, and raised an eyebrow. “You know that’s not what I asked,” he replied coolly and waited for the blond to give a different answer. “Fugo?” he called out to the younger man when he received no response.

Fugo’s gaze went back down to the floor and his hands gripped the fabric of his black shorts. “… I don’t know,” he replied in a small voice. “I shouldn’t want that; I don’t like them.”

Bruno smiled, looking a little sad, and reached out to pat Fugo’s arm in comfort. “Still, it’s okay to want your family to care about you. It’s a natural desire,” he soothed.

Even though he knew the words to be true, Fugo started to shake his head before Bruno had even finished talking. “But I don’t… I don’t know what I really want. I wish I never had to see them again, so I shouldn’t want them to care about me. If they didn’t care then everything would be easier, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t have to go back to my house or be forced into law. But… I don’t know,” he murmured, not sure if he was talking to himself or to Bruno anymore. He moved his arms to wrap around his own torso in an attempt to squeeze away the strange pit he suddenly felt in his stomach.

Bruno took a cautious step closer and continued to rub Fugo’s upper arm. “Usually people still want family even if their original one hasn’t been kind to them. Not always, but usually. It’s human nature to want connections, though I’m sure you know that.”

Fugo finally looked up to meet Bruno’s gaze. “Are you speaking from your own experience?”

“… Partially yes, partially from others’ experiences. I’ve had similar conversations with the others,” Bruno responded, looking as though he was trying to carefully pick out his words.

“All of them?” Fugo asked. He tried to imagine what kinds of situations Bruno had found himself in with the others in the past. It wasn’t the first time Bruno had said something like this to him; he vaguely remembered Bruno mention it at the beginning of the summer when Fugo had almost broken down in front of him. Whatever memory he had of that night still embarrassed him to think about, so he mentally tried to shake it away before he started to get upset again.

Bruno hummed again and gave him a nod. “At one point or another. There’s a reason they either live here or spend much of their time here,” he reminded him. It made sense; of course the others had something going on at home if they preferred to be at work than with their biological family. It also reminded Fugo of that thought he couldn’t get out of his head, the one from a few hours ago when Mista had made that comment.

“… You know, I was talking with the others earlier,” Fugo found himself saying to Bruno. He hadn’t meant to continue talking, but once the words escaped his mouth there was no going back.

“Mhm?”

Fugo took a deep breath and continued. “And, um, they said something. They said that they thought of this place as their home even if they don’t actually live here,” he said, waiting for Bruno’s response. The man smiled, but said nothing. He probably already knew how they felt.

Nervousness crept up Fugo’s body, making his limbs feel weak, but he just wrapped his arms tighter around his body and ignored it. “And I was just thinking, well, a-am I… allowed to think of here like that too?” As soon as the words left his mouth he immediately felt uncomfortable by his own question. I stepped out of line. Why did I say that? “… Sorry, I’m just tired. I know my situation is different because I’m just temporary, and-“

Bruno began to talk then, stopping the blond from rambling. “Fugo, it’s alright. Look at me. Are you comfortable here?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and gentle in an attempt to keep Fugo calm as well.

Fugo nodded his head but didn’t speak.

A small smile grew on Bruno’s face. “Good. You absolutely can think of here like home. The fact that you like it here means I’m doing a good job. You aren’t temporary, so don’t treat yourself as an other.”

The words made another lump form in Fugo’s throat, but this time it didn’t go away. It was hard to hear someone like Bruno talk to him in such a kind way, even after knowing him for months. “But- but I’m leaving,” he insisted, trying to prove him wrong. He didn’t really know why he was doing that, but Bruno seemed to have been anticipating a response like that since he didn’t look surprised in the slightest.

“That’s alright; that’s your decision. You’re allowed to stay as long as you’d like, but you can leave when you want. It’s the same with the others,” Bruno reassured him.

Once again Fugo found himself trying to fight back against his words. “But it’s not my decision, though.”

“… Do you want to stay?” Bruno asked, still calm as ever.

“I can’t.”

“Not what I asked. Do you want to?”

“I… I…”

Bruno stared at him intensely. “Tell me what you want, Fugo. Not what you think you’re allowed or not allowed to do.”

The dam broke and Fugo fell forward, wrapping his arms around Bruno before he clammed up again and tried to end the conversation. He buried his face into the crook of the older man's neck and gripped his shirt as tightly as he could. When arms enveloped him in a loose hold Fugo began to shake, trying to hold back the emotions that were spilling over. He hadn't realized how much he had been holding his emotions back throughout the evening despite having felt like he was relaxed the whole time.

Bruno began to rub his back and for a moment Fugo was brought back to a memory he had all but forgotten, one of his long-past grandmother holding him as she helped him sort through his emotions after a fit of anger. She was the only one who had been able to calm him down as a child, and she was the only one who had treated him like a regular kid. He missed her. He wished his parents hadn't forbade him from seeing her for the last years of her life. “I don’t want to go, Bruno,” he murmured once he let go of the memory, his voice muffled. “I like it here. I like everyone here. I don’t wanna go. Please, Bruno, I don’t wanna go back to my house.”

He knew his begging would be in vain no matter what Bruno said, but some part of his brain was pleading for someone else to just take the reins and tell him that everything would be alright. Bruno was the only authority figure who he truly felt he could trust now, and he wanted the man to make the decision for him. Just tell me you’re forcing me to stay for my own wellbeing. Tell me that I have no choice. I don’t know how to go against what I feel like I’m supposed to do. He didn’t know what to do. It made him want to cry.

Bruno said nothing, deciding to keep quiet while Fugo let out his emotions. There was nothing else to say that hadn’t already been said, so the best thing for him to do was just provide quiet stability.

Eventually Fugo’s panic subsided, leaving him feeling worn out and drained. At one point Bruno had begun rubbing his back in slow circles, and Fugo let out a long sigh at the comforting feeling. If he hadn’t been standing up he honestly believed he would have fallen asleep due to how tired he suddenly felt, but a sudden knock on the entryway wall sent a shot through his system, jolting him into alertness. He jumped out of Bruno’s hold and whipped around to face the direction of the sound, finding Giorno standing just outside of the room with an unreadable expression on his face. “Is Fugo alright?” the other blond asked, voice quiet. By the tone of his voice, it was hard to tell whether he was worried or just curious.

Fugo straightened his back and cleared his throat as he tried to make himself look more presentable. “I’m fine.”

“I thought you were asleep with the others?” Bruno asked right after, though he only looked moderately surprised.

“I couldn’t sleep again,” was Giorno’s simple answer, an excuse he gave almost every time someone found him up in the quiet hours of the night. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking over at the kitchen window before giving Fugo a long glance. “Plus, Narancia had wanted to watch the sunrise… I wanted to make sure someone would wake him up on time to see it. He had mentioned to me that he wanted you to see it too, Fugo.” His tone and expression were completely unreadable as he spoke, so Fugo couldn’t tell if he was supposed to feel unnerved or not.

“How long were you standing there?” Fugo asked, sneaking a quick glance over at Bruno before looking back at Giorno. The last thing he wanted was for someone to have overheard him during that conversation.

“Most likely less than a minute; I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on you. I was only planning on making myself tea,” Giorno replied nonchalantly as he stepped into the kitchen. He made his way over to the counter and pulled out a mug from the cabinet above. He went to close it after, but stopped himself and turned his head back at Fugo. “Would you like some?

Fugo hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded. “I… sure. Thank you.”

As Giorno prepared the tea, he attempted to make light conversation. “Bruno, where’s Abbacchio? Did he get driven home?” he asked while at the same time holding out different kinds of tea bags for Fugo to choose from. Fugo pointed at his right hand, the one holding the English Breakfast tea bag. Giorno nodded and then chose chamomile for himself.

“No, no, I wasn’t going to be able to drive him back myself so I’m just letting him sleep in my room tonight,” Bruno replied, now leaning against the wall near the room’s entryway. He had moved to give Giorno room and now seemed interested in watching the two of them.

Giorno placed Fugo’s mug under the brewing system, pressed a few buttons, and the small machine started heating up the water inside. “Where will you be sleeping then?” he questioned and turned around to lean against the counter while he waited for the water to pour into the mug. “Polnareff’s in the leftover guest room and we’re going to put Trish and Mista in the living room,” he reminded Bruno.

The older man was silent. He eventually turned his head and coughed into his fisted hand, looking oddly embarrassed for a reason Fugo couldn’t understand. “I’ll figure something out. Why don’t you two make the tea while I go wash up?” he responded and quickly made his exit. Fugo was too tired to really wonder what that was all about.

The two of them stood in a silence that Fugo couldn’t tell if it was comfortable or not. Giorno busied himself with finishing the tea’s preparation, having somehow remembered how Fugo liked his drink despite only having made him tea a few times. “Here,” Giorno said once he was done and gently slid the hot mug over to him. Fugo murmured his thanks and took it from him, but didn’t take a sip yet. Instead, he blew on the beverage while Giorno made his own; he felt rude drinking his tea before Giorno had even finished his yet.

“Are you okay?” Fugo asked, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure why he asked that question, but he just felt bad staying quiet.

“I’ll be alright, thank you,” Giorno replied politely. Both of them knew that Giorno had been acting strange the whole evening, but Fugo understood that he clearly didn’t feel like discussing it. He couldn’t blame him; it wasn’t like Fugo was about to go venting to Giorno about the problems that he was obviously having either.

Giorno sat down on one of the stools by the counter and Fugo wordlessly walked over to the one beside him, taking a seat as well. He tried to take a sip of his tea, but he found that it was still much too hot. Giorno was able to start drinking his, though. Fugo blew more on the drink in hopes that it would help cool it down faster so he could drink too.

“You’re leaving next month,” Giorno said suddenly, emphasizing that he was making a statement and not asking a question. He already seemed to understand the situation exactly, and Fugo wondered how long that topic had been on his mind.

“I am,” Fugo replied, but felt uncomfortable by the thought. He tried to drink his tea again, but it was still too hot. The blond sighed and placed the mug onto the counter in frustration.

“You don’t want to though.”

“… No, I don’t,” Fugo agreed with a sigh, furrowing his brow.

Giorno stared at the liquid in his mug and then placed it beside Fugo’s. “Then stay,” he said simply.

Fugo automatically shook his head like he had done when talking with Bruno. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Giorno immediately responded, calmly challenging him.

Fugo blinked a few times, finding himself confused. “What?”

The younger man stared at him coolly. “I don’t need to say it again,” he said, and Fugo had no idea how to respond to him.

Giorno sighed at Fugo's silence and decided to continue speaking. “Your decisions in life are yours to make. Every decision had consequences… some are small, but sometimes you lose everything. It’s up to you to figure out what you’re willing to lose in order to continue down your path.”

Fugo stared at the two mugs placed side-by-side, steam still rising off of them. He still didn’t know what to say to Giorno, not having expected such deep talk right now. He honestly didn’t even know if Giorno was expecting a reply.

“What will you lose if you stay? What will you lose if you leave? What will you gain? Reflections like that are helpful,” Giorno wisely told him and then looked Fugo's way, somehow looking even more serious than he had before. “… I’ve been in a similar situation to you. I know it’s difficult and complex to navigate.”

Giorno then stood up, keeping the stool sturdy so it wouldn’t loudly scrape against the floor. “Unfortunately I don’t think we’ll be watching the sunset tonight… it wouldn’t be good for me to pull an all-nighter again this week, so it’ll have to happen another time. I’ll go back out and bring the others to bed. You should get some rest now.” He then picked up his mug and began to leave the room, but then paused in the entryway, deciding to say one last thing on the topic. “Fear only holds people back, Fugo. It would do you good to remember the fears you’ve overcome while staying here and how that felt… you have people here who are willing to help you. Goodnight.”

Fugo was then left alone with his thoughts in the kitchen. He grabbed his mug again and began to drink his tea, mulling over Giorno’s words. He doesn’t get it, though. My parents practically own me… I can’t just not go back to my house. It’s not about fear. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he was just telling himself that to make himself feel better about having to leave.

He didn’t move from his spot on the stool until his tea was finished and the mug was cleaned, but as he walked back to his room and got himself ready for bed he found that despite the tea making his body warm, he still felt cold. It’s not my decision… I can’t go against my parents. Who knows what they’ll do if I try to fight back any more than I already have? I just have to do as I’m told.

His mind couldn’t wrap itself around any other answer no matter how long Fugo lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. After a long while his eyes grew tired, beginning to droop without him even noticing. I want to stay… I don’t want to leave. It’s not my choice though, right?

… Right?

Chapter Text

Narancia groaned as he fully came into consciousness. He rolled onto his stomach and smushed his face into his pillow in an attempt to fall back asleep, but it was no use.

“And I was having such a killer dream, too…” Narancia grumbled as he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist. He had been dreaming about being some kind of cool superhero or something along with the others. Bruno was their leader, of course, and they all followed his lead. The actual contents of his dream were quickly slipping away from his memory, but he remembered that he was able to blow things up and that meant the dream must have been awesome. “Ugh, oh well I guess…”

He hopped out of bed and then almost immediately fell back onto it when he felt a sudden rush of dizziness. He didn’t know why that always happened to him; he wasn’t even anemic anymore! Or at least he assumed he wasn’t since Bruno didn’t force him to take those disgusting iron supplement pills anymore. If Bruno wasn’t worried then it probably wasn’t a big deal, so Narancia just decided to ignore it and continue about his day.

He ‘made’ his bed by throwing his blanket onto the mattress and picking up his stuffed bear off the floor to put it back with his pillows. “You can’t keep falling like this, dude. I’m sure the floor’s not comfortable at all, is it?” he said to the stuffed animal as he put it down. It just stared back at him, but that was okay. His mom had rented a copy of Toy Story for them to watch back when Narancia was little, and even though he slept through most of it the idea that maybe his toys and stuffed animals came to life when he wasn’t looking stuck with him. It was childish, but he was never able to break the habit.

He unplugged his phone from its charger and checked the time, angrily sighing when he saw that it was barely seven o’clock in the morning. “Too damn early for my day off…” he grumbled to himself, but still opened up the access door and climbed down the steps.

He dragged himself down the hall in hopes that eating a good breakfast would shake off the leftover sleepiness clinging to him, but he was so unfocused that he didn’t even see where he was really going. As he turned into the kitchen he bumped into something and stumbled back, but a large hand reached out and grabbed him so he wouldn’t fall. “Oh, watch out!” a voice said to him. It took Narancia a few seconds to realize he was speaking to Polnareff.

“Oh, sorry Pol, g’morning,” Narancia greeted with a yawn. “Why’re you already up?”

“I still haven’t adjusted to the timezone here yet,” the tall man replied simply. “Do you drink coffee? I’m making myself some right now.”

Narancia scrunched up his face and shook his head at the idea of drinking coffee. He liked coffee-flavored desserts, but the actual drink was just bitter and gross to him. Polnareff laughed at his childish response and ruffled his already messy hair before walking back over to the pot of coffee on the counter. Narancia was about to follow, but he heard the telltale clicking of Sticky Finger’s claws from down the hall and remembered that he had to feed him first.

“Talk to you later, Pol!” Narancia waved goodbye and then dashed out of the room to find the dog. He passed by the living room and peeked in, seeing Trish curled up on the couch and Mista snoring in the loveseat. He kept walking, but tried to be quieter so no one else woke up. Everyone had a long night, after all. He wouldn't be surprised if a few of the others acted a bit grumpy once they got up.

Sticky Fingers was sitting in front of Giorno’s door when he found him, and he wouldn’t move when Narancia patted his thigh for him to come. “Sticky, what’s up? You leave one of your toys in his room again?” he asked, but the dog just whined and kept glancing at the door.

“C’mon buddy, you got tons of other toys in your toy bin to play with. Giorno’s sleeping right now, so I don’t wanna wake him up,” Narancia told him, but the dog stayed put. “Sticky. Come on. I gotta feed you and let you out first, so come here. I promise I’ll go in Giorno’s room after breakfast. Deal?” he offered, and like magic Sticky Fingers got up and padded over to him. Sometimes Narancia really believed that the dog could actually comprehend what he was saying.

He opened up the pantry to grab the bag of kibble, and after pouring it in Sticky Fingers’s food dish he made sure to fill up the dish next to it with some fresh water. “There you go, boy. Don’t eat to fast now,” Narancia gently reprimanded, but the dog ignored him and continued to scarf down his food. Maybe he was just a regular dog after all.

Sticky Fingers tried to walk back over to Giorno’s door once he was done eating, but Narancia lured him away and out the front door by shaking the border collie’s favorite treat bag a few times. “What’s up with you today, bud? Maybe you gotta just run around a bit or somethin’,” he said as he shut the front door behind him. He hadn’t planned on following him outside, but it looked like it might rain later so he wanted to get his few chores out of the way now.

It was easy to go through the motions of it all by now. There weren’t any sticks to pick up that morning and thankfully the yard didn’t need to be mowed yet, so Narancia had about a week to figure out a way to convince Mista to do the mowing for him. When he made his way down the dirt path toward the barn he was relieved to find that Mr. Bucciarati, along with some of the other workers, were already awake and busy with their own tasks. The animals were already taken care of, so Narancia checked that off his list. “Mr. Bucciarati, do you need me to do anything?” he decided to ask instead of trying to figure out what still needed to be done.

“Mista get the chickens yet?” Mr. Bucciarati asked in response, and when Narancia shook his head then he told him that he could either get that out of the way, do some weeding, or take out the trash in both houses.

Narancia figured that Mista would be up within the next ten minutes, so he chose to do the weeding and getting the trash. It wasn’t too annoying to deal with the trash in both the main house and Mr. Bucciarati’s house, but the weeding in the gardens was just plain annoying. He complained about it the entire time to Sticky Fingers, who loyally sat nearby to keep an eye out on him, and by the time he was done he was sure everyone else was already awake.

He was rewarded for all his hard work when Mr. Bucciarati gave him a fatherly pat on the head and two caramel candies – one for him and one to pass on to Bruno. It was a small gesture, but it still gave Narancia a spring in his step when he went back inside for breakfast.

“Bruno! Your dad wanted me to give you something!” he called out from the breezeway, no longer caring about waking anyone up. He kicked off his dirty shoes and ran down the hall to get to the kitchen where Bruno most likely was, and he held up the caramel like it was a rare gold coin.

Instead of finding Bruno, however, he found himself face-to-face with a pissed off Abbacchio who was also walking into the kitchen. Narancia shrieked out of surprise, almost dropping the candy onto the floor. “What the fuck are you doing here!?” he asked incredulously. I don’t remember seeing him anywhere this morning!

Abbacchio squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed the side of his head with one of his hands. “Why do you always need to be so damn loud, kid? Quiet the fuck down!” he groaned and shoved by him to get through the entryway.

Narancia stared at his back for a few seconds as he processed what just happened, but then he huffed in annoyance and followed him inside the room. “Why are you in my house?” he asked again, making sure to not be completely yelling this time. “You hungover or somethin’?”

“This isn’t your house; it’s Bruno’s. But yes. Now where do you keep your meds?” Abbacchio responded in a clipped tone as he rummaged through all the cupboards in search of some pills to help his headache. He paused for a moment to eye the pot of coffee Polnareff left on the counter and then grabbed himself a mug so he could pour himself some.

Now, Narancia knew how he was supposed to act in this situation. But, he decided it was simply more fun to be a little shit instead. “I dunno, it’s not my house so why’re you asking me where the meds are?” he asked, and when Abbacchio shot him a murderous glare he wasn’t able to keep a cheeky grin from growing on his face.

Abbacchio sighed but didn’t seem surprised by Narancia’s uncooperative nature. “Not the fucking time, brat. I’ll kill you.”

“What!? With your headache, all I gotta do is bang some pans together and you’re down for the count, dude. Don’t flatter yourself,” Narancia quipped, deciding that it sounded fun to step even further into dangerous territory.

“The fuck you just say? You wanna die?” Abbacchio hissed through gritted teeth.

“You’re the one who seems like you got a death wish,” Narancia replied without thinking. The second the words came out of his mouth he knew he probably just crossed a line, and he became more worried when Abbacchio put his mug of coffee down and fixed him with a stone-cold stare. Narancia had meant it as a joke, but they both knew there was probably more truth in his statement than they would like to admit. Narancia really didn’t want to think about it.

They just stared at each other, locked in a stand-off, but then something about Abbacchio’s gaze shifted. Maybe he wasn’t upset after all. After what felt like years they finally decided to move, and at the same moment Abbacchio lunged forward and Narancia scurried back to get away from him. The taller man used his larger frame to his advantage and grabbed the back of Narancia’s shirt to yank him back in the room. Narancia was put into a rough headlock, and when he tried to yell about wanting to be let go Abbacchio clamped a hand over his mouth. There was a small spark of anger between the two of them, but Narancia had seen the older man truly angry before so he knew this was still nothing more than roughhousing. With that in mind, he decided to bite down on Abbacchio’s hand to make him let go. If Abbacchio wanted to fight him, then he would play dirty.

The noise inevitably alerted those still awake, and before long both Polnareff and Bruno poked their heads into the kitchen to see what was going on.

Bruno took a few seconds to process what he was seeing. “Why are you two… Narancia, why are you biting Leone’s hand?” he finally asked. “It isn’t even eight in the morning, how do you both have so much energy already anyway?”

“I don’t,” Abbacchio immediately replied, and the second Narancia let go of his hand he released the hold he had on the boy. He did, however, wipe his hand on Narancia’s shirt to get the saliva off it. “Gross… Narancia apparently woke up today and decided to terrorize me. Little shit.” The insdulting name at the end was just Abbacchio Code for “He’s annoying but I don’t mind.”

“Bruno! Your dad wanted me to give you this!” Narancia exclaimed, completely ignoring anything Abbacchio said about him on purpose. He held out the little caramel and grinned widely when Bruno took it from him. “He gave me one too while I was out doing chores,” he explained as the older man examined the candy.

“Oh, you already went out? Good job, that’s really helpful,” Bruno replied and took the caramel out of its wrapper and popped it in his mouth. The praise made him feel absolutely elated – that was, until Bruno said, “But Narancia, really. You know better than to bully Leone when he’s hungover. Just give him a break, alright?”

“Ugh, fine… Where did he even sleep last night anyway? He wasn’t in the living room or anything when I let Sticky Fingers out.”

“Oh, didn’t he sleep in your room, Bruno?” Polnareff, who had just been curiously watching the exchange thus far, asked. For some reason he had a grin on his face, which made Bruno roll his eyes.

“Hush, Jean… But yes, he did,” Bruno replied.

Before Narancia could question how on earth that worked out, he heard the front door shut and someone make their way down the hall. “Woah, ‘s there a party in the kitchen or something?” Mista asked as he, too, stopped to stand at the kitchen entryway. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently Abbacchio stayed the night with Bruno,” Narancia replied, but he had already grown bored of the conversation and was instead raiding the fridge for a drink and a bite to eat.

Mista confusedly peeked into the kitchen at the mention of Abbacchio’s name, but then when he put two-and-two together he snickered and nudged Bruno with his elbow. “Haha, nice job,” he said to the other man as he passed by him and narrowly avoided the frustrated shove Bruno tried to give him.

“Nice job for what?” Narancia asked while he poured himself some orange juice, but Mista found his question funny for whatever reason and told him not to worry about it. Weirdo… All in all, it was pretty much a regular morning, save for the extra people in the house.

He was about to ask Polnareff about when he was going to plan that call with Avdol when Mista grabbed him and leaned close to his ear to whisper something. “Dude, by the way, why’s SF standing guard by Giorno’s door?” he asked, and when Narancia just shrugged he added, “You think it might be… you know.”

Narancia’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh shit. Code red?”

Mista nodded and the two shared a look of worry and then bolted out the door, ignoring the confused questions from the others. Sticky Fingers seemed happy when they stopped in front of Giorno’s door, looking glad that someone was finally acknowledging why he was sitting in the doorway in the first place. He was a smart dog; Narancia should have listened to him earlier.

Now, usually whenever Narancia tried to bother Giorno in the morning of their days off he was met with resistance from the other young man. Giorno hated being bothered when he was tired, and even though he tried to be polite about it he tended to be cranky. It wasn’t unusual for him to kick Narancia out whenever he tried to come in, so Narancia expected to be told to go away when he knocked on his door.

This time, however, no matter how loud and obnoxious he was about it there was no response. Either Giorno was sleeping like a rock, which would be amazing but was highly unlikely, or he was in his bed upset. There was only one way to find out. “Okay Giorno I’m coming in!” Narancia yelled through the door, and when he didn’t hear the blond yell back for him to leave him be he opened the door and stepped inside.

As expected, Giorno’s room was busy but organized. The blinds were closed, but light still filtered into the room and shined onto his bed and the multitude of plants that Narancia couldn’t remember the names of. On his desk was a large tank that housed his pet snake, a yellow ball python, and beside it was a little handmade sign with the snake’s name, Goldie. The sign was a gift from Narancia himself when Giorno first got the pet, and he was surprised that the blond actually kept it. The sign was pretty badly made, after all.

Sticky Fingers squeezed past the two of them and dashed into the room, hopping up onto Giorno’s bed and nudging his nose against the lump under the covers until it began to stir. Giorno poked his head out from under his heavy blanket to see what was going on. His hair looked messier than it usually did when he woke up and his curls were completely undone, leaving him with long hair in his face. It was weird to see him like that. Surprised he let anyone see him without his curls. Bad sign number two…

“Oh… Good morning Narancia, Mista,” he greeted as he pet the border collie’s fur, though his voice lacked the usual steadiness. He tried to sit up some more, but the movement was sluggish and he gave up half way, deciding to just prop himself up on one of his elbows instead. That was bad sign number three, and that was all Narancia or Mista needed to see for them to get spurred into action.

“What’s goin’ on, Gio? You okay?” Mista asked as he shut the door behind him. If Giorno thought someone else could overhear him then he was less likely to say anything.

“I haven’t slept well is all,” Giorno replied, but he refused to look them in the eye.

“Again? That’s two nights in a row... Did you even sleep at all last night?” Narancia questioned and stepped closer.

“I did,” Giorno affirmed, but then paused for a moment. “Well, somewhat… maybe two hours?”

“Giorno…” That was horrible news. Narancia furrowed his brows and briefly glanced at the beside table’s drawer, which was where Giorno kept his sleep medication. Maybe he’s been forgetting…?

“I’ve been taking the medication if that’s what you’re about to ask. I don’t know why it hasn’t been working,” Giorno informed him as if he had just read his mind.

Narancia took a moment to recover from his surprise, but bounced back quickly. “… Are you sure you’re alright? Did something happen yesterday?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re shaking, Giorno. Is it…” Mista trailed off, but they all knew what he left out.

Giorno’s eyes widened slightly as he realized his mistake. He pulled the covers up to cover himself more and then shook his head. “You two don’t need to worry about me.” He didn’t deny the question, though.

“Did Polnareff tell you something bad or somethin’?” Narancia asked, deciding to just cut to the chase.

Giorno’s silence was enough of an answer.

Mista let out a little sigh, but not one of frustration. “Hey, bud, I think I know something that’ll cheer you up. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?” He and Narancia shared a look after he spoke, and when Narancia nodded in understanding he took his leave. He made sure to affectionately ruffle Giorno’s hair first, though. They both knew Giorno liked affection but would never actually ask for it. It was one of the reasons he clung so much to the animals on the farm; he didn’t need to verbally ask for those kinds of things.

Once Mista shut the door, it was up to Narancia to assess the situation and figure out what was wrong while he was gone. “Talk to me, Giorno.”

“It isn’t anything major,” Giorno insisted, still trying to pretend like he hadn’t been shaking in his bed because of whatever had happened. Narancia knew what it meant when he shook like that. “I didn’t mean to make you and Mista worry, so I apologize for that.”

“Is it about your dad?” Narancia asked, once again not wanting to beat around the bush.

For a second Narancia was worried that Giorno wasn’t going to respond, but eventually the blond sighed. “… Yes. But it’s nothing, really. I’m overthinking. Polnareff just told me that they still haven’t been able to contact the man they believe is my father.”

Narancia mulled over how to respond for a few seconds. He knew the topic of his biological father was a sore spot, almost as bad as the topic of his step-father. “… Oh. Have you asked Polnareff if you can contact him yourself?”

Giorno didn’t reply for some time. He often closed up right before he allowed himself to be vulnerable, even to someone he trusted like Narancia. From experience, the black-haired boy knew to just sit next to him and wait. If he wanted to talk then he would talk. His patience paid off when Giorno leaned closer to him but just barely wasn’t touching his side. Narancia pulled him down until his head rested against his shoulder.

“Polnareff said it was best for me if I didn’t,” Giorno explained. “Or, well, that’s what Jotaro told him to say. They know each other from family issues in the past, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I can find out more if I talk to Jotaro directly, but I’m not sure if I want to know anymore.”

Narancia wasn’t super aware of who Jotaro really was, but he had heard the name from time to time. All he knew was that Jotaro was college friends with Polnareff and the two of them had helped Giorno out of his bad situation at home. He moved to Florida a few years back, so Giorno didn’t see him much anymore. That was all he knew. “Family issues? Is Jotaro related to your dad?”

“… I suppose that would be the case. From what I understand it’s too complicated for Polnareff to explain to me himself,” Giorno replied. It seemed like he didn’t know much about Jotaro, either.

“I always thought that my dad just didn’t know I existed, but if he did then he would jump at the chance to come find me. I’m starting to wonder if that’s not the case…” he continued, but then stopped himself and sighed. “It’s useless to think about that, though. I’m not going to get answers by just thinking.”

“Well- um…” Narancia wanted to try and lift his spirits, so he tried to figure out something to say. “Maybe it’s not what you think! Maybe it’s just that your dad doesn’t trust Jotaro and stuff? You said there were family issues, so it might just be that.”

“Maybe.”

They both went silent after that. Narancia waited for his friend to say something else, but Giorno just continued to pet the dog in silence. His mood hadn’t seemed to have improved, though.

“Hey, Giorno, you know it’s okay to be up-“ Narancia paused when the shaking started back up. The blond’s eyes glistened and sirens immediately went off in Narancia’s head. Giorno rarely cried, so seeing him get anywhere close to it was a bad sign. Uh oh. Real code red time now. Where the fuck is Mista!? “Hey, hey, it’s okay! Why don’t you rest until Mista comes back? Let me help you get comfy,” he soothed and gently moved Giorno back into a laying position. His blanket was moved back over him fully and Sticky Fingers crawled underneath so he could lay by Giorno’s side.

Narancia smiled once he got Giorno situated. “There! Just rest your eyes; Sticky will stay with you until you feel better. I’ll go see what’s up with Mista, but if you need me you know where I’ll be. I’ll make sure the others know not to bother you, too.”

“Thank you, Narancia.” That seemed like the last thing he was going to say, but when Narancia got off the bed he reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Narancia… speaking of the others. Don’t take this the wrong way, but be careful with Fugo, okay?” Giorno told him, which expectedly made Narancia give him a strange look. Giorno had never shown any indication that he didn’t like Fugo. If anything, he seemed to consider Fugo a friend.

Sensing Narancia’s immediate confusion, he tried to explain himself the best he could in his tired state. “I don’t mean he’s a bad person, but just remember that it’s August now. He’s leaving, so you need to prepare for that. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I mean, he might stay. You never know,” Narancia replied with a frown. I haven’t even asked him about staying… I should probably do that today.

“Ah… maybe,” Giorno relented, too exhausted to properly go over his reasonings for his worry. “Just be careful. I doubt he’ll be staying.”

Narancia didn’t really want to agree with him, but he also didn’t want to argue with him. Giorno was just looking out for him, so he decided to just nod and pat his hand. “… Okay. I’ll be careful. Rest up, alright?”

When he stepped out of the room he saw Mista making his way down the hall while trying to juggle a plate of pancakes, chocolate pudding, and a cup of tea without spilling or dropping anything. It was a funny sight to see and it made Narancia want to point and laugh at him, but since the chocolatey breakfast was meant as the Make Giorno Feel Better part of their code red plan he decided to be helpful and open the door for him.

Narancia was confident that Mista could handle the rest of the plan without him, so he made his way down the hall to finally grab his own food. The others were understandably worried about what happened, but when he said the words “Code Red,” they understood. Narancia had come up with the term years ago, so even Polnareff knew that it meant Giorno was having a rough day and needed some extra TLC.

“Does he need me?” Bruno asked, but Narancia shook his head.

“Nah, if he needs you he’ll come find you,” Narancia responded while he poured himself some cereal from the cupboards. He knew Giorno didn’t want it to be made into a big deal today, so he tried to change the subject. “Is Fugo up yet?”

“Yeah, the kid came in about five minutes ago and stole the leftover pancakes Mista made,” Abbacchio replied from the other side of the room. He was still sipping coffee, which meant it was probably his second or third cup. “He seemed pretty tired too, so I wouldn’t bother him right now. Your energy is a bit much for anyone but Polnareff and Mista right now.”

“Hey!” Narancia stuck his tongue out at the man. He knew the jab was payback for earlier, but he still played his role. “Fine, I’m gonna go wake up Trish and watch tv with her. At least she would appreciate my company.”

“I doubt it. Wake her up from her beauty sleep and you might not live to see tomorrow.”

Narancia rolled his eyes. “Ugh, whatever! You’re mean and a loser. I’m leaving.” He wasn’t mad at all, but he still swiftly left so he could go wake Trish up anyway. He paused in the hallway, though, just to see if he could hear anything coming from Giorno’s room. There was muffled music coming from inside, which meant Mista was actually getting Giorno to finally fall asleep. That was a really good sign, but Narancia still mentally told himself to check on his friend later.

--

Both Mista and Trish left for their houses by noon, but Abbacchio had stuck around so he and Bruno could hang out more. Narancia tried to hang out with them, too, but wound up heading back up to his room when they decided to watch some shitty movie with Polnareff. Narancia was not in the mood to watch some boring love story.

He was more than fine with just chilling alone in his room for a while. He went back and forth between reading some of the Spiderman comics he owned and playing video games, and at one point had gotten so engrossed in beating a Mario level that the knock on the access door spooked him.

“Coming!” he called out and put his game down. He half expected it to be Giorno wanting the extra company, but was surprised to see Fugo waiting on the steps, book in hand.

“Good afternoon,” Fugo said and was about to ask to be let in, but Narancia reached out to pull him in before he could even get the words out.

“Fugo! I haven’t seen you in forever; let’s chill!” Narancia excitedly greeted and shut the access door once Fugo had fully come in.

“Ah, yes, I was feeling a bit lazy today,” Fugo explained as he sat on the edge of Narancia’s bed. He stared at the mess still on the wooden floor but thankfully didn’t comment on it. “I was catching up with some of my reading. It was relaxing, but I figured it would be nice to spend time with you.”

Narancia got comfortable on the bed beside him and turned his game off. Hearing that Fugo was reading gave him the perfect idea for how they could spend some time. “Ooh, Fugo, do ya’ think you could do the teaching thing with me?” he asked. He didn’t understand why Fugo looked at him with such surprise.

“Oh, well, I suppose we can,” Fugo responded after he got over his brief moment of confusion. He thought over what they could study, but then frowned at Narancia. “Well, I don’t have any of the math materials with me. To be completely honest, I didn’t think you would want to spend your day off doing studying… I’m not complaining, though! Just unprepared.”

“Then don’t teach me math!” Narancia easily said. There was no rule saying that they could only study one subject, and Fugo seemed like he was smart with all different topics. The only question now was what they should study. “Why not, uh… Oh! You brought a book with you, so tell me ‘bout that!” he suggested, nodding at the book placed on his friend’s lap.

Fugo looked down at it in surprise, looking like he had forgotten that he even brought it with him. But then, instead of agreeing like Narancia expected, he frowned at the book before holding it up to show the cover. “Oh, this is just a book on Italian art history,” he said and then opened it up to quickly flip through the pages. His eyes narrowed as he scanned bits of the text in search of something, but once he flipped to the last page he sighed and closed it again. “I don’t know how interesting you would find this… or how much it would help you in studying so you can get your high school diploma. I have literature books in my room that would be better suited for that. You probably should try to read something like Of Mice and Men or The Great Gatsby, or even Lord of the-”

Narancia was quick to cut him off, dismissively waving his hand in the air. “Psh, we got time for that. Tell me about the art stuff! It sounds fun.” He was half-lying about what he said, but it was for a good cause. He didn’t give a shit about history, but this was a rare opportunity to see what Fugo was like when ‘in the zone’ and talking about his favorite things.

Fugo hadn’t been as willing to talk about the things he liked with him unfortunately, and in all honestly Narancia got a bit jealous when he saw Fugo and Giorno having long conversations about books and their other smart people things. It wasn’t that Narancia was trying to be possessive – he was the one who had encouraged Fugo to make other friends besides him, after all – but he wished he was smart like Giorno so Fugo would talk to him about that stuff, too.

Narancia mentally sighed. Jeez, I gotta stop thinking like that, ‘specially with Giorno… thought I was over that. I bet Abbacchio would be disappointed if he knew I was comparing the two of us again like that. He didn’t like thinking so negatively, so he did his best to ignore those worries and keep his relaxed persona. He wanted to just have fun with Fugo more than anything, and he couldn’t do that if he was stuck in his own head, now could he? Plus, he had to be in a good mood if he wanted to go through with his plan to talk to him about staying.

It didn’t seem like Fugo noticed Narancia’s brief moment of worry, as he was more focused on whether he should read to Narancia or not. “… If you insist,” he eventually said, though he didn’t seem too confident in the idea that Narancia would actually enjoy the subject matter.

Narancia tried so hard to pay attention; he really did! But Narancia overestimated his ability to focus while only running on four hours of sleep, so his mind started to wander not long after Fugo started explaining what a fresco was and why an artist got famous for painting a picture of some guy named Judas macking on Jesus. So was Jesus gay or something? Why else would someone kissing him even be so important?

Never one to keep his thoughts to himself, Narancia decided then and there to cut off Fugo and ask him that exact question. However, when the blond simply stared at him in shock Narancia began to wonder if maybe he missed the mark.

“No, Jesus wasn’t gay!” Fugo insisted incredulously. “Where on earth did you get that idea from!?”

“Uh, you just said that he made out with that Judas dude,” Narancia replied and decided to sit up so he could focus more on his friend.

“I did not say that he made out with Judas! Judas kissed him to identify him so he could be arrested! It was an act of betrayal!” Fugo exclaimed. “What part of that screams ‘romance’ to you?”

Narancia shrugged. “I mean they kissed, what was I supposed to think? And why does that mean Jesus isn’t gay? Did he say that the kiss was gross or somethin’?”

After taking a moment to consider the question, Fugo shook his head. “Well, no-“

“Did he even date any women?” Narancia questioned as a smile grew on his face. He felt like he was about to win this debate.

“I don’t believe so, but that doesn’t mean-“ Fugo replied, but before he could properly explain himself Narancia pointed a finger in his face.

“So he could be gay!”

Fugo’s eye twitched in annoyance, but he took deep breaths to keep himself calm. “Ugh… Fine, whatever, maybe he was. I don’t know! Were you even paying attention to anything else I was saying?” he asked, sounding moderately annoyed but not completely pissed off.

“Well. Um…” Narancia lowered his hand and brought it close to his chest. He felt kind of bad for annoying the blond and he knew that what he was about to say would piss him off more, so he didn’t really want to answer his question. He tried to just stay quiet, but when Fugo purposely cleared his throat he decided to just talk. “I, uh, kinda got distracted by thinking about Gay Jesus. Sorry.”

To his surprise, Fugo didn’t blow up at him or anything. The blond had to close his eyes and do some kind of mental relaxation thing or whatever it was he did, but he didn’t get outwardly mad. And that was good! Fugo seemed to be getting really good at keeping himself calm, and the progress always made Narancia happy. Maybe if he keeps getting better then he’ll realize that he’s better off staying here than going back to his parents… Gotta figure out how to bring that up with him.

When Fugo opened his eyes again he looked down at the book, opening it back up again. “… Of course you did,” he finally replied, but just sounded a bit tired. He then looked over at Narancia and gave him a small smile. “Listen, no more talking about Gay Jesus, okay? You wanted me to talk about what was in this book, so the least you could do is actually pay attention.”

Fugo switched between reading pages of the book aloud and explaining the different artists and their work. He would let Narancia hold onto the book to look at the scattered pictures when he started going into detail on a topic, and even though Narancia understood less than half of the things the blond was saying he still enjoyed himself. Seeing Fugo talking so passionately about anything was a rare sight, so it felt like a victory to see Fugo curled up in his bed and rambling to him about his interests. He knew that it was a good idea to have Fugo talk about the book! He’s so fuckin’ cute… Oh, I should be paying attention, shouldn’t I?

Narancia turned his head to look over at Fugo, finding that the young man was still talking, practically rambling now. His carefree and happy expression made him look a bit like a kid would when talking about an exciting day they had. “So the way Caravaggio painted is known as chiaroscuro, which is basically an artistic technique where you use strong light and dark contrasts to get a sense of volume in your painting. He was quite the master at it; you can see an example on this page right here. This is his painting Narcissus, which was done in… I believe between 1597 and 1599? Is that right?”

Fugo briefly paused his explanation to peek over Narancia’s shoulder to look at the book he had let him hold. His deep blue eyes scanned over the page, finding what he was looking for almost immediately, and he nodded to himself before leaning back. “… Okay, yeah, it is. But you can see the dark, black background and how the figure is almost illuminated because of it, right? That violent contrast is tenebrism, which is a form of chiaroscuro. Caravaggio was so well known for his specific use of tenebrism that a word was created to describe it: Caravaggism. He even got followers who wanted to mimic his style of painting called the Caravaggisti. It’s quite interesting what a profound influence he had on baroque painting at the time, especially considering he didn’t even establish a workshop like most artists of the time and never had a school to-”

The room went silent then, and when Narancia looked over again he saw that Fugo was staring down at his hands, watching them pick at the fabric of the mattress sheet. He had an embarrassed flush on his face and surprisingly looked to be ashamed, though Narancia wasn’t sure if that was the right word.

“Why’d you stop?” Narancia asked as he sat up more. Fugo just shook his head and turned his head away.

“Sorry… I just realized that I was rambling a bit. I appreciate that you were trying to humor me and all, but I doubt you really care all too much about something like this,” Fugo explained in a quiet, mumbled voice. “I’m admittedly not quite used to talking much about my own interests outside of an academic setting, and I’ve been told I can be, well, excessive. I’m supposed to be telling you the basics, not boring you with the details.” That last line sounded suspiciously rehearsed, like he was just repeating what he had been told. That absolutely wouldn’t do, not on Narancia’s watch.

“Hey, dude, I didn’t want you to stop,” Narancia tried to reassure him, but only received an unconvinced glare. “I mean it! You always give my interests a shot, so of course I’m gonna try to listen to you! If I really was bored and didn’t wanna hear you talk about it then I would just tell you. I’m bein’ honest!”

Fugo sighed at that and curled up into himself more. “But you don’t even know what I’m taking about. Can you repeat to me about people I talked about? What was this painter’s name, the one on this page? And don’t look at the book,” he questioned. His voice was growing louder and sterner with each sentence, but Narancia knew better than to match that energy right now. If he did, then they would surely just get into an argument. Instead he just had to try and prove Fugo wrong, but calmly.

“Uh, well…” Narancia tried to will his brain to release a memory of anything Fugo had said in the past five-to-ten minutes that could be of any use, but unfortunately came up almost empty handed. All he could think of was the stupid Gay Jesus conversation they had, along with some vague memory of Fugo saying that the other artist’s name began with a C. “The last guy was, um, Cara… Caravancel?”

When Fugo just sighed again Narancia knew he was wrong. “Caravaggio. And I also talked about Giotto, the one who you thought drew Gay Jesus.”

“Oh,” Narancia replied for lack of better response. He then frowned as he tried to salvage the situation, trying to think of anything good to say. "Uh, at least I got the first two syllables right!"

Fugo didn’t even care to respond to his statement. “I’m not a good teacher,” the blond decided then, sounding absolutely defeated. He clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to keep himself stable and Narancia worried that he was going to cry from frustration or something. That’s what he did when he was upset, at least.

“Maybe I would be an okay lecture professor at some university, but that wouldn’t help you right now. It’s taking everything in me at the moment to not get all- all worked up and angry over my mistake,” Fugo explained with a wobbly voice as he stared down at his now tightly clenched fists. It sounded like he was trying incredibly hard to keep a level head, which in turn made Narancia immediately feel horrible too. He hated seeing other people upset, especially someone like Fugo. He was always too hard on himself for everything; it reminded him of how Giorno was when they first really got to know each other. But, at least Fugo was communicating his frustrations instead of just getting angry. That was something Narancia himself struggled with, so he knew how important it was.

Just then, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. He wasn’t always good at saying the right words, but he did consider himself pretty good at making people feel better. Someone like Fugo probably needed logic over just comfort, so he would try to use that to get him to calm down. “Mistake?” Narancia parroted, tilting his head. “You didn’t make a mistake, though. You were talking about the book and I was listening. Or, well, trying to listen. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you didn’t even learn anything!” Fugo angrily exclaimed, pounding his fist onto the mattress in a brief fit of rage. His breath hitched when he realized what he was doing and quickly held his hand close to his chest, holding it as if he was worried he would lash out again if he let go. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and then opened his mouth to continue. “… I talked and talked for no reason at all. It was stupid of me and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for yelling, I really didn’t mean to. I can go, um, if you want. I’m sorry.”

Narancia naturally felt himself want to raise his voice as well at first, not because he was angry at Fugo but because he was angry that he was made to think like that. But he kept his mouth shut until Fugo was completely done and then made the decision to not respond to anything he said right away. Instead, he waited a moment before asking him a seemingly random question. “… Hey, Fugo, let me ask you something. What’s the name of the main villain from Fist of the North Star?”

“Why are you… I don’t remember. R-something-or-other. Why?” Fugo replied, sounding a bit less upset than before, but only because he was now confused.

Narancia wanted to smile at him, but forced his face to stay neutral while he explained. “I told you all about him the last time we watched some episodes together. Was I stupid to talk to you about it if you didn’t remember?”

Fugo’s eyes immediately widened and he rapidly shook his head. “Of course not! I wasn’t trying to imply that, I swear! I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend you,” he said, unfortunately taking what he was trying to say in the wrong way. Damn… gotta explain it better. How do I say this…

“You didn’t,” Narancia reassured him, but when Fugo’s anxious and upset expression didn’t relax at all he continued talking, hoping that Fugo would finally get the message. “I’m trying to tell you that if I’m not stupid, you’re not stupid. And you’ve already told me before that I’m not stupid, remember? Plus, you already know the stuff in the book isn’t gonna help me out much right now… I just asked you to talk to me about it because I wanted to hear about what you were interested in.” Bruno always told him that when you don’t know what to say then to just be honest, and Bruno’s advice was almost never was wrong.

Fugo stared at him, taking in his words with wide eyes and his mouth open in a small ‘o’ shape. Then, his expression slowly shifted from surprise to a thankful happiness. The corners of his mouth curled up a bit, causing his eyes to crinkle as he gently smiled at him. “Thank you, Narancia. You’re right, I think. I’m sorry for getting upset so randomly like that; I guess I’m just overthinking again. It’s nice to hear that you want to listen to my interests… I appreciate it,” he said with genuine sincerity, and even though he might have not been able to drop his polite way of speaking Narancia could tell that he felt comfortable. It made the black-haired boy want to yell or roll around, but not in a bad way! It was absolutely, one-hundred-percent in a good way. He wanted Fugo to always feel comfortable around him.

“No problem, Panna,” Narancia replied as sweetly as he could, even throwing in the nickname just because he knew Fugo would get flustered. It made him nervously look away like always, but he never told him to stop saying it so he probably liked it. Panna was a really cute nickname for him. God, he’s so fuckin’ cute… I wonder if he really does like me... I mean, think he likes me; maybe him realizing I like him too would make him wanna stay more. He wished he could just ask him, but he knew that was a bad idea. Giorno's words from earlier popped up in his head, holding him back. … Maybe another time.

Narancia offered to let Fugo keep talking about the book, but the blonde just shook his head. “No, it’s alright… I’m realizing now that I really am quite tired from last night. I don’t usually stay up late like that unless it’s for school,” he admitted sheepishly. He covered up a yawn immediately after, and Narancia could really tell that he was tired because he didn’t even try to jab him under the ribs when Narancia snickered at him.

“If you’re tired then you should take a nap!” Narancia suggested. Even though he didn’t get the worst sleep ever last night, he could honestly go for a rest as well. Naps on gloomy days were the best, in his opinion. “You’re not the only one acting a bit off from being tired; Giorno and Abbacchio are also a bit, uh… irritable? No, that’s not the right word. Stressed? Ah, you know what I mean!”

Fugo hesitated, but ended up nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense…” he murmured and moved to get off the bed. “Thanks for letting me spend time with you, and sorry again for getting a little worked up. I know you said it’s fine, but I still wanted to apologize again.”

Fugo leaving was not part of Narancia’s plan, so before Fugo could stand up he reached out and snatched his wrist. He almost tried to yank him into a laying position, but that probably would be a really brash and rude thing to do to someone who just calmed down from being upset so he held back at the last second. “Just stay here!” Narancia told him, staring up at him earnestly. “My bed’s comfy, right? Plus, uhhh… the atmosphere of being in an attic room in the rain is better than in the other rooms because you can hear the rain on the roof! Wouldn’t that be better for sleeping? I don’t mind sharing!” he told him, all the words pouring out of his mouth without much thought. He didn’t know if listening to rain actually helped people sleep since he personally wasn’t a huge fan of the actual sound, but Fugo seemed like the kind of guy to like that stuff.

And, just as he expected, Fugo moved back to his original position on the bed. “Oh, um, I mean, if it’s not a problem with you,” the blond replied as a light pink color dusted his cheeks. “You won’t be uncomfortable?” he then asked, gesturing to the rest of his bed.

“Nope! Are you comfortable with it?” Narancia asked in response while he pulled the covers over him. “It’s not like we haven’t slept together before or anything,” he added on casually with a shrug.

When Fugo’s face went completely red, Narancia tilted his head and gave him a confused look. “What? Did you forget about it? We slept in the hammock together a little while ago… on the lake? Remember?”

“No, no, I remember!” Fugo insisted and rapidly waved his hands in front of himself. “I- I just… nevermind! I don’t have a problem sleeping here,” he said and then tossed the blanket over himself as well. It didn’t fully cover his face since he pulled at it too quickly, so he struggled with it until his entire body was under the blanket from head to toe. He then rolled onto his side so he was facing the other side of the room and curled into a fetal position. Whatever Narancia had said must have embarrassed him more than expected.

It took Narancia a few more seconds to realize why, but when he did he let out a loud laugh. “Oh, dude, no! No, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that! Jeez, you must be hanging out with Mista too much or something… But sorry Fugo, I wasn’t trying to make it sound weird or anything!” he apologized even though he was still laughing. It was funny, but it also was more than a little embarrassing for him. Shit, I made it so awkward… now he’s gonna think I’m a weirdo! He cursed at himself more in his head and flopped down onto the mattress. The only positive thing was that Fugo most likely wasn’t thinking about how he got upset earlier, so Narancia supposed that was good.

“Fugo?” Narancia called out to him after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He hoped the other hadn’t fallen asleep just yet; he didn’t want to end their conversation on that note.

Thankfully, he saw Fugo roll around under the covers before peeking out at him. He didn’t say anything and waited for Narancia to continue talking.

“Uh…” Narancia frowned when he realized that he didn’t know what exactly to say. Bruno’s advice popped in his head again, so he decided to go with it. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I really didn’t mean to…” he trailed off at the end and nervously bit at his lip.

Fugo let out a little sigh and pushed the blanket off of his face. He still looked moderately embarrassed, but he shook his head to answer the question. “No, I’m… I’m fine. You didn’t make me uncomfortable; don’t worry! It’s my fault for, you know, getting embarrassed. But it’s fine. I’m fine,” he tried to reassure him. To help prove his statement, he didn’t hide under the covers after or turn around again and instead let himself face Narancia.

“Oh, okay! It’s totally fine. If you’re fine then I’m fine!” Narancia replied and smiled, hoping Fugo would smile back and the awkward air would finally disappear. To his relief, the corner’s of Fugo’s mouth twitched up into a brief smile. It was small, but still counted!

Unfortunately, though, things still felt a little awkward because now they were laying side by side on the bed and facing each other. Well, it was at least awkward on Narancia’s end. He wasn’t sure what exactly to do. Should they just go to sleep and pretend their exchange never happened? Who should close their eyes first? Is the space between them too awkward? Narancia found himself worrying about all of those things, and when he looked at Fugo he saw that the blond also looked deep in thought. There was a chance that maybe Fugo was worrying about the same things too, and the idea of that made Narancia feel just a bit better.

He slowly began to scoot himself closer, closing the gap between them just a little bit. He knew he had to exercise caution when it came to getting this much into Fugo’s space; he wasn’t like Mista or Trish or even Giorno when it came to receiving a lot of physical affection at once. Narancia believed he actually liked it, but there was always a chance he would end up just getting too nervous and fidgety and that wasn’t a good time for everyone.

“Fugo, is this okay?” Narancia made sure to ask as he moved closer, and once Fugo nodded he finally let himself press up against him. Mission success! Well, technically it was only a partial success since he never even talked to Fugo about him maybe staying for good, but this was still good progress. “Sorry, you’re just comfy. You have to deal with this now,” he apologized, but he wasn’t really sorry.

“It’s okay. I don’t really mind,” Fugo replied and adjusted their positions so he was laying on his back and Narancia was pressed against his side. “I do have to say it’s a little warm though. It’s the middle of summer, after all,” he added on after, but didn’t seem like he really wanted to do anything about it.

Narancia was ready to just drift off after that, but right as he felt his consciousness slipping away from him a thought popped into his brain that woke him right back up. This always happened to him, but for once it wasn’t annoying because the thought was actually useful. He mentioned it was summertime, so that’s my segue into asking him to stay! Ooh, I’m such a genius sometimes! The question now, as it always was, was what to say.

“You still awake?” Narancia asked, figuring that he couldn’t have the conversation if Fugo was currently dead to the world. The blond opened his eyes and hummed in response, proving that he was very much still awake, so now Narancia had to move onto step two. “Uh, yeah, I guess my room does get pretty warm sometimes in the summer… but that’s just because I don’t have my own AC! But I get a portable heater in the winter, so it’s actually pretty cozy in here.”

Fugo just tiredly nodded, not sure of where exactly Narancia was going with all of this. Honestly, Narancia himself wasn’t really sure of where to go with this, either.

“Uh… and, uh, speaking of winter! We do a lot of things for the holidays here. Like we decorate the store and the house and some of the big trees, do a lot of charity stuff, and we have a big Christmas party with all our friends and family! And um…” he continued, and he was about to just ask the big question on his mind but found himself unable to finish. Fugo looked a bit solemn as he listened to Narancia talk about all the fun winter activities that happened on the farm, and for some reason that made Narancia feel like his plan already failed. Maybe… Giorno really was right. Maybe he really is just gonna leave and never come back... What am I even doing, then?

“And what, Narancia?” Fugo asked after Narancia’s sudden quietness.

Narancia didn’t really feel like asking the question anymore; he couldn’t shake that sinking feeling that he didn’t want to hear the answer. But maybe if he kept taking Bruno’s advice and was honest again then it would work out like it had before. “Um… I want you to stay. Like, after the summer ends and stuff. And I want you to experience winter here! And fall and spring! I just don’t want you to leave next month… none of us do. So you should just stay here!”

“Narancia… I…” Fugo looked like he was at a loss for words.

Narancia’s face fell as he realized what was happening.“… You’re not gonna stay, are you. Giorno was right.”

Fugo pointedly refused to respond to that first part, instead deciding to just look away with a guilty expression. “Did he tell you about our conversation?” he instead asked.

“No, not really,” Narancia replied and sighed. “But he’s good at figuring out that stuff, he probably already knew what you were gonna say when he talked with you. He told me about what he was thinking, and I told him that he was wrong… but I should’a known he was right.”

“I’m sorry, Narancia. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t stay. There’s more to it than what everyone apparently is assuming… please believe me," Fugo explained.

“I believe you and all, but like… it just sucks!" Narancia replied, frustrated now. "Aren’t you going to be miserable when you’re back with your family?”

“Probably, yes.”

Narancia grit his teeth at that reply. “… I just- it’s not- I dunno! You shouldn’t just let yourself be used like that!”

“It’s not my decision. I don’t get my own decisions.” Fugo's voice was starting to sound robotic. It didn't sound right. Is that how he talks when he's at his house?

“You do here!”

“Not for much longer.”

Fugo sighed while Narancia was trying to come up with some retort. “Narancia… I don’t really want to fight about this. I’m here now, at least.”

Narancia's own anger deflated at those words, but words still tumbled out of his mouth. “Yeah, sorry… I don’t wanna fight either. I’m just gonna miss you a lot. You know that you’re kind of my best friend, right?”

“Me? What about Mista and Giorno? And Trish?” Fugo asked, completely shocked by his words.

“Well of course!" Narancia exclaimed. "Mista’s my other best friend and Giorno and Trish are my friends too, don’t get me wrong… and I know we only met at the beginning of the summer, but I dunno. You’re just different; I can’t explain it.” He tried to come up with a better way to put it, but decided to just leave it at that.

Fugo mulled over his words, but then smiled sadly at him. “Oh… well, you’re my best friend too, I think. I’m going to miss you.”

“… Me too.”

They stared at each other for a little while until Fugo let out a yawn. Narancia smiled at him and asked, “Did you still wanna take a nap?” but Fugo shook his head.

Narancia tried to come up with something else they could do, preferably something fun so he didn't have to think about Fugo leaving. It was hard to get the thought out of his head, but he tried his best. “Did you… wanna go bully Abbacchio and slash or Polnareff with me?”

That got Fugo to smile again. “Sounds like fun,” he agreed.

Narancia was quick to climb over Fugo and out of the bed, but he got caught up in the covers and wound up tumbling right onto the floor. He wasn’t hurt, but he didn’t get up immediately. Fugo had gotten up as well and was kneeling over him now, asking if he was alright. But he was laughing at him too, and he just looked so pretty that Narancia didn’t know what to do. He hated that he couldn't keep this string of thoughts from running through his mind, but all he could think about was how shitty it was that he only had a short period of time left to experience moments like this. He hated when the people he cared about left out of nowhere, but somehow knowing when exactly someone was going to leave his life for good made it so much worse. Please don’t leave me too. Please…

“Uh, Narancia, you okay? Did you get hurt?” Fugo asked, his laugher having died down when Narancia didn’t say anything. “Did you hit your head? I can check it for any bumps or injuries. Do you need me to get Bruno? I can go- Ack !”

Fugo fell backwards, not having expected Narancia to completely launch himself at him, but he was able to hold himself up with one of his arms while the other returned the hug. “It’s okay, Narancia, you’ll be okay,” Fugo tried to reassure him, but Narancia just held on tighter.

“Mista, Trish, and Giorno are gonna leave soon and I just gotta watch because I don’t have a future outside of here,” Narancia confided, pressing his face into the crook of Fugo’s neck. “And I love Bruno and Leone, but I know they have each other in a way I don’t so I’m gonna be alone again soon... Can’t you just stay?” He already knew this wouldn’t change anything, but he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe his tiredness was just making him more emotional too. Today seemed like one of those days where mostly everyone was in an off mood, and he apparently wasn't exempt from that.

Fugo began to consolingly rub his back, moving his hand up and down his spine slowly and gently. “I’m sorry,” he replied, voice quiet. There was simply nothing else to be said.

They stayed like that for a while, neither of them wanting to let go. It was starting to get late and Narancia knew he probably should check on Giorno soon to make sure he was doing alright, but he didn’t want to move.

Eventually, Fugo spoke. “Narancia, let me show you how to use the cash register,” he offered and lightly tapped at Narancia so he would move off of him. “You feel stuck? Then let’s get you unstuck. You’re never going to get back to school if you don’t feel fully confident here and I think that’s what’s holding you back.”

“But I’ve tried to learn before and I can’t,” Narancia retorted and stared at the floor. He felt embarrassed just thinking about it.

“Maybe before you couldn’t, but I think now you’ve just convinced yourself you can’t. I was too harsh on you the last time we tried, so let me make that up to you. I have full faith that you’ll be able to do it and that you’ll eventually go back to school, too,” Fugo confidently stated. He then stood up and looked down at Narancia, his eyes filled with determination. “Come on, let’s grab the umbrella and the store keys. I’m sure Bruno won’t mind, so let me at least help you while I’m here.”

A hand was held out for him to take, and for some reason that was what made Narancia want to cry. He came to the realization that Fugo felt just as stuck in his own situation as Narancia did, so he was trying to make sure that at least one of them got out of it.

As he took the blond’s hand and stood up he realized that his plan had completely failed just like Giorno said it would. All Narancia could do now was hope that Fugo would come to the right decision himself before it was too late for him.

Chapter Text

According to the weather channel, the next week was supposed to be bright and sunny but not too hot, claiming the heat wave was finally dissipating. Usually Fugo didn’t trust what those people said because meteorologists were typically wrong, but Mista claimed that this one particular guy who gave the morning weather on the news channel Bruno always put on was “the one trustworthy weather guy that existed in the world.” And, since it was Mista making the statement, his reasoning was completely outlandish and stupid.

“The guy always wears the coolest hat when he gives the weather!” Mista had explained as if that had to do with the guy’s skills at reading the weather. “Like, the hat has spikes and everything! I trust a guy who likes to wear a good hat. They’re trustworthy people!”

Fugo had just rolled his eyes and let his silence speak for him, but while he did his morning work he found himself thinking about it. It was still only Monday, but the weather was bright and sunny… and it wasn’t too hot. Even if the weather stayed this way all week, though, Fugo would refuse to say anything about it. It would only make Mista even more insufferable.

A plane flew overhead, as they did every now and then, and Fugo paused his work to look up at it. Was Polnareff on that plane? The older man had unfortunately left early that morning, not having been able to stay more than a couple days. He had promised that the next time he came that he would be sure to bring Avdol with him and maybe even their dog Iggy, and Fugo had actually been excited before he remembered that he wouldn’t be around to meet them.

Instead of drowning himself in those thoughts, though, he forced himself to focus just on his work until his lunch break came. He was glad for the break, but as he passed by the farm store he internally cringed. He was working at the register all afternoon with Bruno and he was absolutely not looking forward to dealing with all of those customers and the problems they were inevitably going to bring with them.

Fugo shook his head of those negative thoughts. Well, maybe life will give me a break for once and let there be less customers when my shift starts. He held onto that thought as he stepped inside and took off his sneakers. He was on lunch, which meant he was going to enjoy his thirty minutes and not let his work bother him.

Unfortunately, the world had to remind Fugo that it did, in fact, hate him and wasn’t going to ever give him a break. Fugo was halfway through eating when his phone rang, breaking him out of his blissful silence. The only people who ever called his number were annoying telemarketers, so he picked up his phone expecting to ignore whoever was trying to reach him. When the name “Mother” flashed on the screen, though, he almost choked on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he was eating. His heart began to race and his eyes flicked from the phone screen to the calendar on the kitchen wall. It’s only the beginning of August… why is she calling me now? Did something happen?

With a shaky hand, Fugo pressed the answer button and put the phone to his ear. He also stood up from his stool so he could leave and head to his bedroom, not wanting anyone else to potentially overhear him. His half-eaten sandwich was left on the counter, but he tried to mentally keep a note to at least go back and wrap it in aluminum foil before the bread went stale.

“Hello? This is Fu- Pannacotta speaking,” Fugo said into the phone, thankfully catching his slip-up before his mother commented on it. He tried to shut his bedroom door behind him as softly as he could, but since his bedroom window was open it wound up being shut a bit too loudly. He cringed at the slam and then mentally sighed in relief when his mother didn’t reprimand him for the sound.

“I have something I need to discuss,” Fugo’s mother replied, immediately cutting to the chase. Fugo wondered why she was calling him now in the middle of the day; it was a weekday so she almost certainly was at work like he was, but maybe she was on lunch break too? Whatever the reason, she must not have a lot of time to call him and for that Fugo was thankful. He wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible. “You remember when your semester begins at school, right?”

It took a few seconds for Fugo to remember the exact date. “Um, yes… September 3rd, I believe, and move-in day is August 28th.”

“Correct. And as you know, your father and I are very busy people. We don’t have the time to travel all the way to your campus and deal with all of that busyness and craziness just to help you move in. We’ve already dealt with that when your older brothers went off to college; it takes too long,” his mother explained, speaking formally like she was giving a presentation. Fugo pretended that her words weren’t already starting to sting. “So, I had your father contact your school last week and he convinced them to let you move in a week and a half early.”

Fugo froze. I’m moving in… early? What? He doubted that his parents would help him move into his dorm no matter when it was happening, so he didn’t understand why the move-in date mattered. The only thing moving in early would change was, well…

“I’ve arranged for a driver to come and pick you up at the end of the week, so I figured you would need to be told now so you can start packing. I would hate for you to make Mr. Rossi wait for you after he drove all that way to come pick you up.”

Fugo swallowed around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “Um, well, usually with jobs you need to give your boss a… uh, a two-week notice…” Fugo weakly countered, grasping at straws to find anything that would give him more time on the farm. He used his free hand to wipe at the beads of nervous sweat forming on his forehead.

“Maybe with more professional jobs that would be the case, but for crying out loud Pannacotta it’s a little dinky farm! Don’t act like you need to go by the same standards as you would somewhere else,” his mother responded and Fugo could practically hear her rolling her eyes as she spoke. The snarky way she spoke down upon the farm made his blood boil and he had to tightly grab a fistful of his shirt material to keep himself in check. She doesn’t understand anything...

“With that out of the way, I’m assuming there aren’t any other concerns?” his mother asked, but there was really only one answer to that question that she would allow.

“No…” Fugo forced himself to reply. “That works.”

“Good. Make sure you’re ready by 11am on Sunday,” his mother said, and when she paused after talking Fugo thought she would just say goodbye and hang up. He briefly moved the phone away from his ear and checked the time; his lunch break was almost over.

When he put his ear back to the phone he didn’t expect to hear her say, “Your father and I have missed you, Pannacotta.” He hated that a small smile unintentionally played on his lips, so he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep his expression neutral. He tasted copper after a few seconds but kept biting down.

On the other side of the line, his mother continued to talk. “I understand that we sometimes have our… differences, but we really do care about you. I know you have a bad habit of exaggerating things in your head, but despite that I hope you know that we’re just looking out for your future. I can tell you that I wasn’t always happy when my parents made me do things I didn’t want when I was younger, but nowadays I understand that they wanted me to have a happy future more than just a happy present. We want you to be happy, too, Pannacotta, and that means-“

“Um, s-sorry to cut you off but my lunch break is actually ending now! We’re in our busiest hours at the store right now and that’s my next shift, so I have to go!” Fugo hurriedly said into the phone and pressed the “end call” button, ignoring whatever his mother had tried to say to him in return. He chucked his phone onto his bed like it burned him and took a few steps backwards until his back hit the door. If he had to hear one more word out of his mother’s mouth then he was going to lose his cool and do something he regretted, and it wasn’t like she was physically there to reprimand him or anything for his impoliteness.

His breaths were coming out fast and shallow, so he tried closing his eyes to see if that would help. In for six… hold for three… out for nine, he kept repeating in his head. It took a few minutes to slow his breathing down. When he opened his eyes again he felt less like he was about to scream, but he began to realize the reality of the situation. He had been preparing himself for about three more weeks on the farm, but now his plans were completely turned on its head. He didn’t know how he was supposed to focus on work with this new information looming over him.

Fugo made it back out the front door ten minutes later, still feeling shaken from his conversation, but was almost immediately stopped by Sticky Fingers. The border collie bounded up to him and hopped up on his hind legs, demanding attention, and Fugo flinched in surprise before hesitantly petting the dog on his head. “Hey, buddy… Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he asked, knowing that Sticky Fingers was a working dog during the day.

Sticky Fingers tilted his head, as if he was asking the same question back. It made Fugo huff out a small laugh. “Okay, that’s true. Are you lonely? I have to go back to work, but I can… ah! I can throw this stick for you?” he offered as he picked up a small branch that had fallen off of one of the nearby trees. He ignored the part of his brain that was reminding him that he was, in fact, trying to have a conversation with a dog. But Sticky Fingers looked excited at getting to play fetch, so clearly he could at least somewhat understand him, and it wasn’t like he was ever going to become like Mista, who treated his hens like they were actual people half the time.

Fugo tossed the stick across the front yard and watched it land a decent ways away. A few months ago it probably wouldn’t have gotten very far at all, so that at least made him feel a little better about himself. Sticky Fingers practically flew by him and chased after the stick, grabbing it and whipping around so he could bring it back. When the dog dropped the stick by his feet Fugo hesitated, knowing that he was already late to his shift and really had to get to the store... but Sticky Fingers was waiting for him and he didn’t want to make him sad, so he picked up the stick and threw it again.

By the time he finally decided to stop and gave Sticky Fingers a goodbye pat, Fugo had almost forgotten his conversation with his mother. He paused as he went to leave and looked down at the border collie, who stared back at him silently. Fugo wondered if the dog had been able to tell that he was upset and had been trying to distract him, but he shook his head at the thought. I’m not about to anthropomorphize a dog like that. He was just bored and I was the only one around... I need to get to work.

Fugo didn’t bother walking into the store through the back and instead peeked into the store through the open front doors. He almost immediately caught eyes with Bruno, who stopped what he was doing to talk to him. “Ah, there you are,” he greeted, looking a bit relieved. “I was wondering where you had gone off to. You’ve almost always been punctual when it came to your shifts.”

Fugo was ready with an apology as well as a full explanation for his tardiness, but before he could talk a loud voice cut him off.

“Fugo, Fugo! Look! I’ve been workin’ this thing all day like you showed me!” Narancia exclaimed, waving at him from behind the counter. He had just finished helping out a customer with buying some plants, and once the man had left the store he bounded over the counter and scooped Fugo up in a crushing hug. “I only messed up like, twice! But I caught myself the second time before I gave the guy the wrong change so it’s all good!” His voice was overflowing with pride and excitement, and any of the words Fugo had wanted to say died in his throat.

“You taught him how to do that, Fugo?” Bruno asked with a quirked eyebrow. “I mean, I figured Narancia didn’t magically figure it out on his own, but he refused to tell me how he learned to work the cash register.”

Both Fugo and Narancia flushed in embarrassment for different reasons. “I, um, yeah. I was the one who helped him,” Fugo explained while Narancia decided to use him as a shield so he didn’t have to face Bruno. “He wanted to learn, so I stayed up late showing him how the machine worked and tricks to count the money better. But I didn’t want him to end up having to cover for my shifts or anything... sorry about that.”

Bruno shook his head, a pleased expression on his face. “It’s quite alright; Narancia offered to work himself. You’ve been doing great by the way, Nara. You can go on lunch now if you want.”

When Narancia finally sneaked a glance at Bruno his face was red. He always clammed up when Bruno complimented him, but as embarrassed as he was he still smiled and replied with, “Really? You really mean it, Bruno?” Clearly he wanted to hear the words again, but Bruno just silently nodded.

“I’m glad you’re already starting to actually work the register alone,” Fugo replied instead, wanting to give Narancia the extra praise he craved from Bruno. “It’s always good to put new skills to work as soon as possible so they become muscle memory. Good job.”

Narancia beamed at him and finally let him go. “Heh, thanks. I’m glad you stayed up to show me,” he responded, sounding more serious now. He stared at the cash register for a few seconds, looking a little lost in thought, but in a flash all his seriousness went away and he was smiling again. “Now I’m just one step closer to proving Mista wrong! I’ll be third-in-command material in no time!” he confidently stated and threw up a peace sign by his face.

“Narancia, if you’re on lunch break then you can’t be interrupting us at work,” Bruno called out from his position restocking some food on their shelves. He didn’t sound mad in the slightest, but he gave them both a look that made Fugo book it over to the counter so he could be ready for any possible customers coming in. Narancia, seemingly uncaring about Bruno’s words, followed Fugo and leaned against the countertop.

“Oh yeah, what took you so long anyway?” Narancia asked with a tilt of his head. It was an innocent question but it still made Fugo immediately feel uncomfortable all over again. He had meant to talk to Bruno about what his mother had just told him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it with Narancia around. He looked happy and relaxed, and their conversation from the night before played back in Fugo’s mind. If Narancia finds out now then his whole day will be ruined… I can’t do that to him. The least I can do is to let him have a good rest of the day. I can tell everyone tonight at dinner.

“Sticky Fingers looked lonely when I was leaving the house, so I kind of got distracted by playing fetch with him…” Fugo trailed off, unable to meet Narancia’s gaze even though he wasn’t exactly telling a lie; it just wasn’t the full truth. A lie of omission is still a lie of its own, his mind unhelpfully supplied, but he ignored the thought. This wasn’t like the situation with Bruno getting sick because he was going to tell everyone at the same time later. It was fine. He was fine.

Narancia seemed pretty convinced by his explanation, so he pushed himself back from the counter at the same time a new customer walked into the store. “Alright, guess you gotta get back to work,” he said and quickly greeted the man walking in. He hesitated by the doorway, looking like he didn’t really want to leave, but then he grinned and waved goodbye. “Later Bruno, later Fugo! I’m gonna go bother Giorno and see if he’s still feeling better. See ya!” he called out and then scampered away to the greenhouses.

At first it felt like the day was going to trickle by at a snail’s pace, but once the first rush of customers came in it seemed like the hours began to fly by. It was unfortunate, since Fugo barely had any time to come up with how he wanted to tell everyone that his mother was practically forcing him to leave earlier than they all expected, so when he finally got off his shift he showered and decided to sneak over to his bedroom before Mista or Narancia grabbed him to hang out in the dining room together.

“This is a pain…” Fugo muttered to himself, pacing around on the hardwood floors. All he wanted was to enjoy the time he had left on the farm, but it seemed like even that plan was a bust. He had no idea how to tell them the news. “Ugh, if only I was able to tell Bruno about it earlier. Maybe he could’ve given me some suggestions on how to tell the others.”

He knew in his head that it should be a pretty simple explanation. All he had to do was paraphrase what his mother told him, tell them there was nothing he could do about it, and then apologize for causing an inconvenience. He had all the information, so it should be easy. “Why am I having such a hard time with this!?” he groaned and pulled at his hair a bit. He didn’t know what to do.

Fugo spent the next few minutes trying to come up with different ways the start the conversation, hoping that if he repeated it to himself enough then it would become easier to say when it was time to talk to the others. However, despite eventually coming up with what he deemed was the best way to explain the situation, he still froze when he left his room and started to head to the dining room. He could hear them all talking and laughing and bickering with each other. It was another sound of the house that he had grown fond of over the past few months, but right now it was just another reminder that he was about to ruin things again. I don’t want to do this…

He found himself unable to move, so he stood against the wall and instead just listened to what they were talking about until he calmed down again.

“-And then I clocked the guy right in the jaw!” Mista was saying, his voice loud as it always was when he recounted one of his stories.

However, Narancia’s voice was somehow even louder. “What!? No fuckin’ way! And you didn’t get beat up?”

“Nope! Beat his ass instead. Give me more credit, dude, I’m a tough guy,” Mista replied, and Fugo could hear the smile in his voice.

Giorno then huffed out something like a laugh. “You’re something, alright.”

“Aw, Giorno, come on!” Mista whined, probably shaking Giorno’s shoulder now. “I was so nice to you yesterday when you weren’t feeling good and now you’re mocking me? So rude! You should be nicer to me.”

“I don’t recall asking you to do anything for me yesterday. You did that of your own volition, so I owe you nothing,” Giorno reminded him in his typical polite-but-somehow-still-teasing tone of voice. It was nice to hear that Giorno seemed to be feeling better than he was before, at least.

Mista slammed one of his hands down on the table, almost certainly gaining him a glare from Bruno. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m a damn good friend! Be nice to me! ”

“Alright, fine,” Giorno relented. “But only because you make good pancakes. I’d hate to lose such a good chef.”

“Oh fuck you, Giorno Giovanna!”

Narancia snickered at Mista’s growing frustration. “How’s it feel to be the one bein’ made fun of now? Gettin’ a taste of your own medicine!”

“Sorry, pipsqueak. You’re a little too low to the ground; I can’t really hear you. What’d ya say?” Mista retorted, never one to let Narancia get away with making fun of him.

“Fuck off! We’re literally sitting in chairs right now!” Narancia exclaimed.

“Not for long!”

There was a squeaking sound, most likely from someone standing up from their seat, and Fugo decided this was probably the best time to enter the room. If he let them start fighting now then he probably would chicken out and head back to his room before Bruno broke them up. So, he peeked inside and cleared his throat to make himself known. “Um, hey everyone.”

Narancia, who looked seconds away from jumping at Mista, immediately shifted his attention from him to Fugo. He excitedly patted the wooden chair separating him from Mista and waved the blond over. “Fugo, I saved your seat! But you’re late again... You okay?”

“Yes… I’m alright,” Fugo replied politely and took a seat in between Mista and Narancia. He couldn’t remember when their seating arrangements changed, but Narancia had been insisting they sit next to each other for a while. Maybe it was to prevent him and Mista from tipping each other’s chairs over while they bickered, but he wasn’t about to complain. It was nice, even if it meant bits and pieces of his meals got stolen by both of his friends.

“Something on your mind, Fugo?” Giorno asked, and from the look in his eyes Fugo worried that maybe the other blond had overheard his conversation with his mother. Giorno always seemed to know everything, so it was absolutely possible that he had somehow found out. But even if he did actually know something, he at least had the decency to act like he was simply curious about how Fugo was acting.

Fugo desperately wanted to just shake his head and let them go back to having fun, but he knew this was the best time to tell them what was going on. “Well, actually yes. I just wanted to tell you something, if that’s alright. All of you.”

“… Of course. Go right ahead,” Bruno replied, focusing all of his attention on him. He looked a tad worried, so Fugo stared down at the table instead.

“Thank you,” he replied and subconsciously moved one of his hands over the other to start scratching, but he realized what he was doing at the last second and moved his hands away from each other. Don’t do that, he mentally scolded himself, but was a little proud that he actually caught onto his bad habit this time. “Um, how do I put this… I got a call from my mother during my lunch break today. I-“

“Your mom called you again!? Are you okay?” Narancia immediately asked with wide eyes. There was a certain kind of intensity in his gaze when Fugo lifted his head up to look at him, and the blond could almost feel the worry and anger radiating off of the other boy. It was nice to know that Narancia cared so much, but it made it harder for him to answer.

“Narancia, don’t interrupt him,” Bruno chided, fixing him with a pointed look. Narancia’s mouth snapped shut and he sat back in his seat, but didn’t look any less worried.

“Yes, I’m fine now… Thank you for asking,” Fugo finally responded, trying to reassure him with a forced smile. It didn’t work, but he decided to just move on and get the conversation done with. “The reason I’m telling you all this now is because, well, she gave me some bad news. I was supposed to move into my dorm back at my university at the very end of the month, but for whatever reason my parents decided to schedule me a private move-in date a week and a half earlier. And I’m sure you can guess what that means for me...”

He really didn’t want to have to say it, but the others’ silence forced him to continue. “I was told that I’m leaving on Sunday. So… um. I just thought you all deserved to know now. I tried to convince her to let me stay longer, but she didn’t budge.”

Still, no one spoke. The air in the room felt so dense and suffocating that he felt the need to apologize. “I’m… really sorry.”

Unsurprisingly, Mista was the one who eventually broke the uncomfortable silence. “You’re leaving on Sunday!? That’s less than a week from now, right?”

Narancia quickly jumped back into the conversation, spurred into motion when Mista’s words finally hit him. “Wait! But-! But we haven’t done all of the things I wanted to do together yet! The annual carnival’s happening next weekend, and- and we never went back to the park to go down to the beach!” He sounded just as upset and Fugo had feared. He even stood up from his chair, unable to stay seated any longer.

Bruno, for the most part, stayed calm, but when he spoke there was a sharpness to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Narancia… Remember that this is about Fugo, not about you.”

“I know that!” Narancia exclaimed, and then he fumbled over his words a bit as his brain was moving faster than his mouth could. “But I just- I… That’s not- it’s not fair! It already wasn’t fair before, but now it’s just-“

“You’re absolutely right. How everything is turning out isn’t fair, but it’s his decision to make, Nara. You unfortunately just have to accept that this is what he chose,” Giorno interrupted, using a rare nickname for Narancia in an attempt to relax him. Despite the softer way he spoke to the black-haired boy, his eyes were sharp when he stared at Fugo. It was intimidating, to say the least, and Fugo decided to instead pick up his fork and start poking at the dinner that had been left out for him.

“Giorno…” Bruno murmured, voice low and warning as he sensed the tension building between the two blonds.

“… Sorry, Bruno. I’m not trying to be rude,” Giorno eventually replied, looking a bit offput but not wanting to anger the older man any further.

“It’s alright,” Bruno nodded with a sigh and left it at that, instead turning his head towards Fugo. “Fugo, are you sure this is the best decision though? My offer to you is still open; it always will be.”

“It’s the only decision. Any other decision I could try to make won’t work... I know it won’t. I know how my family is,” Fugo explained, forcing every word out of his mouth. There was another silence after that as everyone digested the conversation, and Fugo shrunk back in his seat. I knew this was going to happen… I ruined the good mood. Good fucking going, Fugo.

“Well… you should try to go to the soccer and basketball games at your university!” Mista suggested seemingly out of the blue. Everyone turned their heads to look at him and Fugo furrowed his brows quizzically, but Mista’s grin only widened at the attention. “I’m on the basketball team at my school and one of my good friends on campus is on the soccer team, so if you go to your school’s games then you might see me! I’ll keep an eye out for you and we could meet up after the game and grab a bite to eat or somethin’. Maybe I can even sneak you out for the weekend and you can see everyone again. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Surprisingly, hearing those words made Fugo feel just a bit better about the situation. It felt almost like a compromise, one that actually seemed plausible. Everyone else was just telling him to figure out a way to stay, but Mista was the only one actually looking beyond that to come up with another solution. He was grateful for his ability to go with the flow; his point of view was a needed one in this situation.

“Oh, that’s… actually the first time I’ve ever heard you come up with a good plan,” Fugo said after a moment of shock, accidentally falling back on his sarcastic way of speaking to his friend. When Mista narrowed his eyes in an annoyed way, he immediately tried to retract his words. “Sorry! I just mean, uh, it’s a good idea! I’ll be sure to remember that. I… want to see you all again. I really do. It’s hard to make you all understand why everything’s happening the way it is, but please know I wish it wasn’t like this.”

Giorno looked for a second like he wanted to protest, but decided against it and wiped his face with his napkin, staying silent. Bruno sighed again, looking like he finally was admitting defeat, but Narancia still didn’t look happy in the slightest.

Even though the two of them had spoken about it separately yesterday, Narancia seemed to still be caught up on the sudden change in the date that Fugo was leaving. He glared down at his half-eaten food before stepping away and pushing in his chair. “I’m full,” he announced and roughly grabbed his plate, ignoring how his knife fell and clattered onto the floor. No one tried to stop him or make him come back, instead letting silence grow after they distantly heard the attic’s access door shut.

Fugo refused to look at any of his friends, instead letting an emotion he couldn’t recognize sweep over him. Why does it feel like I’m already saying goodbye? He knew he still had the rest of the week, but everything felt so heavy now. Maybe I should try to talk to Narancia? The last thing I want is for him to ignore me until I go.

Bruno seemed to sense Fugo’s worries, so as he moved to go clean off his empty plate he placed a comforting hand on Fugo’s shoulder. “Narancia understands the situation; he’s just not good with sudden surprises like that,” he explained. “He’ll come around once he takes time to process what you said, so don’t worry. Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

“No, I’m fine I think. I’m not very hungry though… Sorry if I’m wasting your food,” Fugo replied as he poked at his meal some more. There was no response, but Bruno gently took the plate and carried it with him into the kitchen to wrap up.

“Hey man, don’t look so sad! It’s not like you’re leaving now or anything,” Mista told him and give him a hearty pat on the back, trying to stay cheerful despite the generally low mood of everyone else. “Like Bruno said, Narancia’s fine. He gets it even if he seemed kinda pissed; that’s just how he is. He was like that when Trish told him she wanted to go to school in Los Angeles or somewhere in Italy, and back when I started living at school and stuff during the year too. But he’s chill about all that now, so don’t worry! We can just go into the living room and watch a movie or somethin’ until he comes looking for us.”

Fugo nodded, pretending that Narancia hadn’t cried over those exact topics the night before. Mista… really has no idea, does he? The blond just hoped Narancia didn’t end up crying over him, too, after he was gone. He knew it was probably inevitable, but the idea made his chest feel tight in an almost painful way. Narancia didn’t deserve to get hurt again.

Giorno stared at him again as he and Mista got up to leave, but this time Fugo wanted to glare back. Giorno’s bothered by me leaving and hurting Narancia, but maybe he should focus on how he’s going to be doing the same thing soon. Well… not literally, I guess, but it’s going to have a similar effect when he eventually moves away too.

Instead of potentially starting something between him and Giorno, though, he let Mista drag him into the living room and pop whatever movie he wanted to watch into the DVD player. Giorno wound up joining them a few minutes later, but preferred to sit in a chair with Sticky Fingers instead of on the couch with Fugo and Mista. The awkwardness between the two blonds lingered until Bruno heard them playing a movie and sat in the loveseat to watch it, too. The atmosphere slowly lightened, and Fugo even grew tired enough to lean against Mista and let his eyes droop. Today had been mentally draining even if he hadn’t realized it until now.

“Feeling tired?” Mista murmured as he shifted to make Fugo more comfortable. When the blond quietly nodded, he chucked in amusement. “You can sleep if you want. I guess you’re not too into romance movies, but that’s alright. I’ll wake you up later.”

Fugo scrunched his nose when Mista said “romance movies,” but easily was able to drift off. For as much as Mista purposely tried to get on his nerves, at the end of the day the other man was his second closest friend here; he appreciated him more than he knew how to say. With that thought, he let himself slip into unconsciousness.

When Fugo opened his eyes again the room was much dimmer, only being lit by the lamp near the loveseat. Mista was still awake, now watching the local news along with Bruno, and Giorno had grabbed a book to read at some point. There was a pressure against his other side, and when Fugo looked over he saw that there was someone curled up under a thin, brown blanket and pressed against him. Fugo figured out who it was right away by the telltale locks of black hair peeking out from under the blanket.

He moved the blanket down some so he could see Narancia’s face and found that even in his sleep Narancia looked like he was pouting. It normally would be cute, but Fugo couldn’t help but feel like he was somehow at fault for making Narancia not able to sleep well. I hope I didn’t ruin his night too much…

Narancia’s eyes fluttered open after being exposed to the warm light and he immediately squinted, peering up at Fugo’s face. “Oh… hi,” he greeted with a voice still laden with sleep. “Was waitin’ f’you to get up… musta fallen asleep too.” He yawned after he spoke but then sat up straight, trying to wake himself up. He glanced around the room, and once he decided that whatever was going on wasn’t interesting enough for him, stood up to leave.

He kept the blanket wrapped around himself like a cloak, using his right hand to hold onto the ends of the blanket, and then he reached a hand out towards Fugo. “I’m goin’ to my room. Come with me, Fugo; I wanna hang out,” he said simply, and Fugo couldn’t find any reason to refuse.

-

When Narancia had said “hang out,” he apparently had meant to force Fugo to watch tv with him in his bed for the entire night. They had kept the light on at first, but at some point Narancia had decided to reach over and turn his lamp off. The bedroom was dark now, with the only illumination coming from the tv at the other end of the room, the stars on the ceiling, and from the window overlooking the farmstead. It caused a light to shine onto the bed they were laying on, but everything else around them was pitch black. Narancia had put on some episode of Fist of the North Star again, and if he was in a better mood Fugo might have teased him about how many times the other could put on the same show over and over.

The volume was on low so Bruno and Giorno downstairs wouldn’t be woken up, and Narancia was seated beside him, his quiet breathing the only other noise in the room. It should have been comfortable, as things usually were with the two of them at this hour. But tonight, Fugo’s mind was stuck wandering as he switched between staring at the tv and staring out the window next to him. He had no idea what was happening in the episode, and that usually wouldn’t be a problem since Narancia tended to start and stop the show every few minutes to discuss each little scene and go off on tangents about it. However, right now the boy next to him was uncharacteristically quiet; he had been ever since he dragged Fugo up the stairs and into his bed. When the blond sneaked a glance at him, he saw that while his eyes were almost glued to the screen he was fiddling with his tv remote nonstop. He must have been lost in thought too; Narancia tended to play around with anything he was holding when he was nervous.

Fugo knew that they were both thinking about the same thing. It was hard to process that he was actually leaving and that they only had a week left together. It was strange, at least in Fugo’s mind, how close they had gotten over the course of the summer. It felt like just yesterday that Narancia was hellbent on making Fugo’s daily life on the farm as difficult as possible and would argue with him at every turn. But somehow over these past few months he had become the closest thing to a best friend that Fugo had ever had.

Sure, back at school there were some people who he technically was friendly with, but were they really friends? They didn’t hang out or do fun things, and the most interaction outside of class that they had was sometimes getting lunch together just so they wouldn’t have to be seen sitting alone. Before, Fugo might have considered that a friend since he simply had nothing better to base friendship on. But now he believed he knew what it was really like; not just with Narancia, but with Mista, Giorno, Bruno, Abbacchio, and even Trish. His grades and his family’s name didn’t mean anything here, and he was able to simply live without feeling shackled down by names and numbers. It was freeing, and he was happy. And all that’s going to disappear by the end of the week.

There was a clock ticking in his head, constantly repeating the days, hours, minutes, and seconds he had left before he had to stuff his luggage in a private car sent by his parents and go back to his old life. Would he ever be able to come back? Most likely not, even though Mista had sounded genuine when he made that offer to meet up at a sports game. Soon he’d be surrounded by oceans of papers and assignments, stuck staring at nameless and faceless people, and living in fear of the two pairs of scrutinizing eyes who were always there watching him, waiting for him to mess up, even when he knew his parents couldn’t possibly be around to see him. Even though he’d be moving into a dorm room this fall he knew better than to naively believe that he could actually relax there. His phone would still be tracked, his parents would demand daily progress reports as always, and he would have to come home every other week to have meetings with them regarding how all his classes were going. He wouldn’t be allowed to even think about doing any normal, fun college things. He had less than a week before that would be his reality again.

Fugo didn't even know what time it was anymore. How long had he been lost in thought? How much of the little time that he had left had he already wasted? He knew that he always thought too much, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing. He checked his phone briefly to see the time. He had five days, eight hours, and… twenty four minutes left until he had to leave. No, twenty three minutes now. How many seconds had ticked by as he tried to calculate his time left? Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen-

A gentle hand covering his own snapped Fugo out of his thoughts. The touch disappeared as quickly as it came, and Fugo looked down and could tell, even in the low light, that he had been doing his bad habit again. Narancia didn’t say a word, still staring at the tv, so it was almost like Fugo had imagined the touch. He hadn’t even realized that Narancia was paying attention to him, but he was thankful that the other had gotten him out of his own head. He was going to miss being able to rely on him like that. He was going to miss him a lot.

Fugo couldn’t help but sigh as he sunk more into the fluffy pillows behind him, taking another look at the tv screen. The characters were… fighting now? He still didn’t really know who was who, but he supposed it didn’t really matter at this point. He heard the blankets covering them move and felt Narancia shuffle closer to him. They still didn’t say a word to each other.

After a few more minutes of silence Fugo almost believed that Narancia had passed out before him like he usually did. However, when he glanced to where he expected his friend to be asleep, he was surprised to find them locking eyes instead. They stared at each other for a long moment before Fugo broke their eye contact, looking straight ahead once again. Now he could practically feel Narancia staring at him, and he was about to ask what was wrong when the other decided to finally speak.

“Why don’t you just run away once you get to your house?” The shorter boy asked, his voice unusually quiet even given the hour. At the confused look sent his way, he frowned but continued. “We’ve been over this, but you’re old enough to live on your own and you don’t even wanna do the thing you’re at school studying for… so why don’t you run away? Like, what’s your real reason. Don’t just tell me that it’s not up to you; tell me why it’s not up to you. I wanna understand.”

After the silence between them dragged on for more than a minute, it seemed like Narancia concluded that Fugo just wasn’t in the mood to talk so he went back to watching the show, inching ever so slightly closer.

Fugo debated answering for some time, but finally found his voice after another minute. “... It would look bad if I did that. My parents... they've done so much for me and they’ve paid for my entire life. I can’t just do that to them.” He paused, trying to figure out how best to phrase the next part. Narancia’s attention was back on him again, and Fugo was thankful for the patience the other was giving him. “I hate them, but I suppose in some way they must care about me. They just want what’s best for me, right? And I don’t necessarily hate what I’m studying, I just don’t want to do it as a job. But it could be worse, I guess. There are many worse jobs than being a lawyer.” He knew he didn’t believe half of what he was saying, but he didn’t know what else to do in this situation.

“Like a farmer?” Narancia asked with a forced smile.

Fugo gave a short, quiet laugh at that even though neither of them found it funny at all. “Yeah, that’s what my parents are hoping that I think.”

He didn’t know when Narancia had gotten closer, but suddenly the other boy was fully leaning on him, his head resting against his shoulder. Fugo didn’t mind; he had gotten used to Narancia’s clinginess by now. In fact, he quite enjoyed it despite being typically more averse to touch.

“I think we both know that your parents don’t really care about you,” Narancia stated suddenly, his tone trying to be gentle but with thinly veiled anger behind it. “They care about themselves. Don’t lie to yourself like that… it’s only gonna hurt you.”

It was obvious that his parents treated him like a trophy; he was sure that everyone could see it even back at his house and at school. They dolled him up and micromanaged every part of his life so their other rich friends would “ooh ” and “ahh ” at them when they heard his lengthy list of accomplishments. But he just wanted so badly to believe that it came from a place of love and not one of narcissism. Thinking about the truth of the situation just made him angry beyond control, so he thought he was justified in lying to himself sometimes.

“… I know,” He eventually began, already feeling his next sentences getting stuck in his mouth. His earlier conversation with his mother flashed in his head, but he just swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued. “I know they don’t, but if I tell myself that they actually care about me then it makes it easier… Listen, I'll try to talk to them again about school and all of that once I’m home, but I highly doubt it'll change anything. They're going to call me ungrateful, or selfish, or immature, and they’re going to tell me that I need to listen to them because they’re my parents who know what’s best.”

His voice sounded clipped and almost robotic, but if he let himself think about it for any longer then he worried that he would start getting upset. Fugo had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t cry over his family situation anymore – it simply wasn’t worth it.

The conversation seemed to end there as the two of them went back to staring at the tv, though neither of them was actually watching it. When the episode ended, Narancia fiddled with his remote before starting the next one but couldn’t even get through the opening song. He aggressively paused the video, sighed loudly, and his eyes were shinier than they had been before when he looked back up at Fugo. “Panna, this sucks! Am I really never gonna see you again?” His voice was louder than before but somehow smaller at the same time, and there was some emotion behind Narancia’s eyes that Fugo couldn’t make out.

“I don’t know,” was the only answer Fugo could give. He knew Narancia had a problem with any kind of abandonment, so Fugo didn’t want to make his friend cling to a promise and then get hurt when he realized that promise got broken. However, when he saw Narancia’s face fall, words began tumbling out of his mouth in an attempt to somehow reassure him. “But I promise you that I want to. I can’t promise you anything else, but I can try to see if I can find some time before I leave next summer to come by, or maybe when I come back from my internship I can visit before I go home again. And, well, maybe Mista’s plan actually will work and I can see you once or twice during the school year.”

Fugo could feel more than hear Narancia grumbling into his shoulder. Clearly that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but he didn’t seem like he was about to cry anymore so Fugo counted that as a win.

Suddenly, Narancia lifted his face from Fugo’s shoulder and cast a glare in his direction. “Yeah... you better come back; I didn’t open up to you just for you to disappear, asshole! I’ve dealt with enough of that shit to last me a lifetime already!” He spat the words out at Fugo but didn’t seem truly mad at him, or at least Fugo hoped. His thought was proven right when, just a second later, Narancia’s angry expression morphed into a more desperate, sad one, and his lip wobbled dangerously. Fugo barely even had time to frown at him before Narancia was burying his face into the crook of Fugo’s neck, making his heart begin to race from the contact. But now wasn’t the time to let his feelings for his friend start up again, so he squashed any and all thoughts about how nice it felt to have Narancia practically cuddled up against him, or how feeling Narancia’s breath on his neck made him shiver, or how he wondered if Narancia could feel Fugo’s heart wildly beating against his chest, or how- No, enough of that.

Fugo could tell that Narancia still wasn’t crying, which was a major relief. Fugo still felt helpless whenever someone got upset, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle Narancia crying right now without breaking down a little bit himself. But he tried his best, rubbing gentle circles into his back with one hand and running his other hand through his dark hair. Was this okay? He had been able to comfort Narancia before, but Fugo still felt like he was lost in foreign territory.

“This isn’t fair. I don’t want you to go...” Narancia whined, his voice muffled and the vibrations tingling against Fugo’s skin. The shorter boy turned his head slightly so he could be heard better, and Fugo could tell that he was pouting without even having to look at him. “We can say you died on your way to college and then you can secretly just live here. How about that? We can pull it off, I know we can! You don’t like your first name anyway so then you could finally come up with a new name that you actually like!”

A laugh shook Fugo’s shoulders at Narancia’s idea, and he was rewarded with a jab right under his ribs. Fugo hissed at the acute pain, and for the briefest moment a flash of anger clouded his vision. It dissipated immediately, though, when he felt Narancia curl his arms around his midsection in an apologetic hug, and Fugo took a deep breath before reciprocating it. His other hand still carded through Narancia’s hair, and he stared at the paused tv as he spoke.

“Trust me, I'd love to just run away and stay here, maybe commute to a different college nearby or something.” Fugo could imagine it too, how nice it would be to drive to class, come back to do work around the farm and have dinner, and maybe even help Narancia with studying if he was still open to it… “But I can’t. At least not right now. I’ll try to figure something out though, and I'll do whatever I can to come back, okay?”

Fugo hoped his words were reassuring, but Narancia still didn’t seem satisfied by the way he made an irritated “mmh ” sound into his neck. Narancia was practically on top of him at this point, having slung one of his legs over Fugo’s sometime when they were talking, and it looked like he was in no mood to get up. Not that Fugo minded, though. He knew if he was truly uncomfortable then he could just say so, but he didn’t know if he would be able to have a moment like this with him again after this week. He subconsciously brought Narancia a little closer to him and heard a confused and tired mumble come from his friend. It sounded like he finally was ready to fall asleep, which made sense considering the time of night. Fugo briefly wondered if it was okay for him and Narancia to sleep like this, but then again this wasn’t the first time Narancia had clung to him in his sleep. It was probably fine.

Fugo worried at his lip as he tried to figure out what to do. Should I turn off the tv? Bruno would get mad if he found out we left it on all night again. But Narancia finally looked comfortable and possibly was already asleep, he didn’t want to wake him up. Should I just try to sleep too? He didn’t even want to sleep, though. He wanted to appreciate what was probably one of his last nights with his best friend, so falling asleep now felt like a waste.

“I can practically hear you thinking. We’ll talk more in the morning. Sleep, Panna, it’s okay.”

So he was awake after all. Fugo felt his face heat up from the soft tone in which Narancia said his nickname, and he mumbled a quiet “sorry,” into the black hair pressing against his face. He shuffled down a little bit so they were both more under the covers, but Narancia suddenly lifted his head up to stare at him and looked like he wanted to say something else. Fugo stared back nervously, not sure what was happening, and wasn’t able to stop himself from talking.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked and then almost immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh my God. Did I just say that? Why did I just say that? What the fuck. What the fuck! I’m so idiotic. I should never speak again.

Narancia looked frozen at his question, but then frowned at him.

“… What the fuck? No.”

He… said no? For some reason Fugo found himself surprised by the rejection. He said no… Oh shit, he said no! I just ruined everything, didn’t I. Is he going to kick me out of the room? He’s absolutely going to kick me out. I should’ve known he didn’t actually feel the same and I was just imagining it all. Why am I being such a fuck up today. I should apologize and leave and-

“Fugo, if you fucking kiss me right now and then you still leave on Sunday then I’m never gonna recover from that. Are you a sadist or something? That’s so mean! You don’t just kiss someone and then- then… just fuckin’ dip from their lives for some unknown period of time! What the hell, man!”

Narancia then whacked him on the side of the head and sat up, crossing his arms. He looked quite pissed off, but Fugo just found himself confused by his response. Oh… huh? What?

With a huff, Narancia continued his rant. “You’re the actual worst! I was totally fine with just pretending like I didn’t know you liked me back! But now you had to go and actually tell me and I can’t act stupid about it anymore!” He then let himself fall backwards onto the mattress with his arms spread out. “So no, you absolutely can not kiss me, you fuckin’ dick! Fuck you!”

Fugo cautiously sat up so he could look down at his friend. He was in completely unknown territory and had no idea what to say. “Um… sorry?” he responded, but Narancia just grabbed his stuffed bear and threw it at his face. “Ow… um. Does that mean you like me back? Or no?”

“No, Fugo, I totally haven’t had the hots for you all summer and I’ve just been treating you like a one-hundred-percent platonic friend. Yeah. That’s what’s going on. You are so very smart,” Narancia sneered at him with sarcasm dripping from each word, but when he saw that Fugo didn’t look any less confused he huffed in annoyance and sat back up, looking at the blond with an exasperated expression. “Yes, Fugo, I like you back. You’re a lot more dense than I thought you’d be.”

Neither of them knew what to do now, so they just sat there and looked at each other. After what was probably the longest thirty seconds Fugo had ever endured, Narancia figured out something to say. “… Y’know, let’s make a deal. If you promise to stay then I’ll kiss you right now. You wanna kiss me so bad, don’t you? Don’t answer; I already know you do! So just make the promise and you’ll get what you want. C’mon, Panna!”

“I… can’t promise that. I already told you,” Fugo replied with a frown.

“Sucks for you. If you stayed you’d have free lodging, a guaranteed job, and a super cute and loyal boyfriend. That’s, like, the complete package, and you’re not gonna take it? Man, you’re cold,” Narancia teased and then intensely stared at his friend, raising his eyebrows. When Fugo didn’t reply, Narancia’s look turned into a glare, dropping his teasing tone. “You suck.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Fugo responded, keeping his voice serious.

“… Ugh! Whatever. You’re the super worst and I hate you so much right now. Lay back down. We’re going to sleep now,” Narancia demanded and grabbed him by the shoulders so he could shove him down on the bed again. Fugo let himself be pushed and didn’t dare move, instead just dumbly watching as Narancia grabbed the remote that had almost completely fallen off the bed so he could turn the tv off. He then leaned over so he could place the remote next to the tv without falling off the bed himself, and then crawled back up the bed and under the covers. Without a word he invaded Fugo’s personal space again and grabbed him like he was just another one of his stuffed animals. Once again, Fugo just allowed it to happen.

Now that there was almost no light and Narancia had made it clear that they were not going to talk anymore, Fugo could feel his own eyelids drooping. He finally let himself move and get comfortable, and Narancia’s breathing eventually evened out against his neck, having finally been lulled into sleep by the hand Fugo had begun petting his black hair with. The repetition of his breath coupled with the quiet darkness enveloping them had Fugo’s eyes also shutting in mere minutes, losing himself to the temptation of sleep as well.