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Let’s just say, Pannacotta Fugo was becoming concerned. It seemed like ever since he’d rejoined Passione, someone (or something) was watching him. True, he was somewhat used to it. Being part of the mafia meant that there was always someone watching you, be it a higher up, an enemy, or even civilians. But this felt different. These eyes that were watching him felt like they bore into his soul. So yeah, he was a bit concerned.
But then he finally saw it.
At the time he was at Giorno’s “house”, if it could even be called that (he just took one of Passione’s old hideouts and claimed it as his). Fugo had been there before, many times, helping out with paperwork, talking with Giorno about business deals, even just hanging out sometimes whenever the young don wasn’t busy, which wasn’t often.
But this time he was here for the thing he was usually there for, paperwork. As far as Fugo knew, Giorno was in the room next door, grabbing something or another. Fugo wasn’t sure when exactly Giorno would get back either. But he needed him. He couldn’t remember whether or not the Alberos had paid their month’s dues, but Giorno would surely know. He had a knack for remembering little details like that. Well, Fugo would just have to wait.
The other papers he needed to work on were on the other side of the room.
He looked down at the pen in his hand, clicking it five times before setting it down. Mista’s avid hatred for the number four must have rubbed off on his subconscious somehow.
Stab yourself with it.
No. Stop.
He pushed his chair back, shaking his head, and stood. When he reached for the papers, he finally saw it. Fugo stumbled back, tripping, falling, and scattering the papers across the floor. It was an enemy stand.
It was humanoid, but unsettling. Fugo had seen plenty of unsettling stands in his time, but this bronze, arrowhead creature certainly shook him to the core.
Its purple, human-like eyes stared into his soul. It didn’t blink. It didn’t seem to be able to. Fugo wasn’t sure it even had eyelids.
What should he do? He couldn’t summon Purple Haze. Not in this cramped room with no sunlight save for the sparingly few rays coming through the curtained window on the far wall. Fugo would surely die. There was only one other option.
“GioGio! Giorno!” he yelled as loud as he could, his voice cracking a little from fear (though he’d never admit it).
He’d come, of course he would.
But what if he doesn’t. What if Giorno’s just waiting for the chance to get rid of you. He’s always hated you. Why would he-
“Panna! What’s wrong?” Giorno burst into the room, eyes scanning frantically until they landed on Fugo sprawled out on the floor, trying to push himself up. Giorno rushed to his side, helping him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”
See, he does care.
He’s just pretending.
Shut up.
“Don’t worry about me, there’s an enemy stand!” he pointed past Giorno’s shoulder, to where the stand had yet to move from. It was odd that it hadn’t tried to attack either of them yet.
Giorno looked confused. It took him a bit, but eventually he realized what Fugo was referring to. But for some reason, much to Fugo’s surprise and utter confusion, that seemed to relax Giorno.
“What are you waiting for? Summon Golden Experience!” Fugo snapped. “I can’t summon Purple Haze in here, so I’m counting on you!”
“Panna, this is Golden Experience.”
He must already be under the stand’s control. That’s why it hadn’t my attacked yet. It already had Giorno in its clutches. But Giorno continued.
“Well, Golden Experience Requiem. He upgraded, I suppose. It happened during the fight against Diavolo.”
That made sense, he guessed. Fugo’s own stand had recently gone through an upgrade itself. Fugo hadn’t known that kind of evolution could happen, but as far as Fugo knew, Giorno wouldn’t lie to him about something like this. But still, those eyes had not left him.
“He’s been staring at me.”
“Oh, has he?”
Fugo nodded. Several seconds passed before Giorno spoke again.
“Would you like him not to?”
Again, Fugo nodded, and just like that, Golden Experience Requiem had vanished.
You called him in for nothing, he probably hates you now.
“Sorry. I thought it was an enemy. I shouldn’t have called you.”
“It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah,” Fugo said, and an awkward silence filled the room. He felt the need to take Giorno’s hand. But that didn’t make sense to him, so he ignored it. He glanced around the room, looking for something, anything, to break the silence. Oh yeah!
“GioGio, do you know if the Alberos have paid their dues yet?”
The second time Fugo encountered Golden Experience (Requiem), it wasn’t so much the stand itself he encountered. More like, the stand’s byproduct. He kept finding flowers on his desk, sometimes small animals, well, mostly small animals, things like frogs, snails, he’d even found a possum once.
The animals were cute, and the flowers were nice, the only problem was that they were his papers. As in, paperwork. That he needed. So it was a tad inconvenient to have to chase down a frog to bring it to Giorno so he could change it back into this week’s financial report.
At this point, though Giorno still always had a confused look on his face whenever Fugo would hand him a frog or a handful of flowers, Fugo could say ‘paperwork’ and he would instantly understand what he meant.
Once, Fugo did manage to catch Golden Experience Requiem in the act.
He was tired that day, eyes nearly drooping shut, but he still had a few more papers to fill out. Just a few more and then he would let himself sleep.
Well, despite his best efforts, he fell asleep. Soon after, however, he was jolted awake by noises around his head. It was Golden Experience Requiem, hands full of papers recently turned into large yellow sunflowers.
“Hey! I need those!”
Golden Experience Requiem stared into his eyes, still unblinking. He was going to have to call Giorno again, wasn’t he?
But then the stand did something strange. It dropped the flowers and they turned back into papers, some flying off his desk and onto the floor. The stand lifted its hands to Fugo’s face, cupping his cheeks. Then it spoke, its voice rather similar to Giorno’s.
“Pannacotta Fugo, I would like you to know that you are important.”
The stand brushed his hair out of his face, then disappeared as Giorno stepped into the room.
Fugo felt his face flush red as Giorno greeted him calmly.
“You dropped your papers.” Giorno sat down at the room’s other desk, grabbing his own papers and a pen.
Fugo cleared his throat and gathered his papers from the ground. It wasn’t really necessary to tell Giorno about what just happened, was it? Did he already know? No, he couldn’t…right? Fugo wasn’t aware of what Purple Haze did when he was separated from it, he’d learned that much from the mirror world incident, so he suspected Giorno and his stand worked similarly.
He’s trying to scare you away. He doesn’t want you here. No one does.
That’s not true. He’s not that type of person. He wouldn’t do that. I trust him more than I trust myself.
Giorno spoke up, breaking up Fugo’s internal battle.
“Fugo.”
“Yes?”
“You work very hard. You should take a break. Would you like to go with me to eat somewhere?”
That…was not what Fugo expected him to say. Was he? No, he couldn’t have been. This was just friendly hanging out, nothing else. Did Fugo want it to be something else? He felt his face go warm again, flushing as red as his suit. No. No no no. Curse you Golden Experience Requiem. Making him have all these confusing feelings.
“I- sure.” It sounded more like he was asking a question, but Giorno nodded and grabbed Fugo’s hand. “Wait, now?”
“GioGio, can I ask you a question?”
In a moment of visible humanity for the golden boy, his mouth was full. Swallowing his bite of salad, he quickly said “Of course, what is it?”
Fugo picked at his cotoletta with his fork, watching Giorno continue to eat his octopus salad from across the table. When he ordered it he had told Fugo it was one of his favorites. He’d then explained to Fugo all the different possible types and his personal preferences between different restaurants. It was a good thing Fugo had ordered first, otherwise he was sure he wouldn’t be able to focus on the food when Giorno was like this. Fugo was sure he had never seen Giorno so at ease before. Sure, he always looked like everything came so easily to him, like for a perfect man there was no need to worry. But now he looked not just unworried, but happy.
“Well, your stand, it said something to me.”
This intrigued Giorno, who set down his fork to listen.
“What did it say?” he asked, curiously leaning forward. The table was suddenly a bit too small for Fugo. When had Giorno’s face gotten so close? Fugo’s eyes couldn’t help but drift down to Giorno’s lips. They looked so soft as they curved up ever so slightly into the smallest smile.
What was he doing?! He should not be thinking about his boss this way. He suddenly found himself unable to say what he meant to.
“Oh, uh, just my name. I just didn’t know it could talk. Purple Haze barely talks.”
“Do you think he ever wants to speak?”
That caught him off guard. Of all the questions to ask, why that one? It was just a stand right? Did they have feelings? It seemed like Mista’s did, at least.
While he was lost in thought, his eyes wandered down to Giorno’s hand rested on the table next to his fork. Fugo’s own hand was mere inches away and he had to resist the temptation to reach out and hold it.
You should grab his hand and twist his wrist until it breaks.
Fugo pulled his hand away, into his lap.
Break your own wrist. Sit on it and twist. Wouldn’t it make a terrible sound if that happened?
He put his hand back on the table after brushing his hair away from his face.
“I’m not sure,” he finally answered.
Another break of silence came as Giorno returned his attention to his salad (after acknowledging Fugo’s reply with a short nod, of course).
Fugo didn’t know what to think anymore. Looking up at Giorno and seeing him happily eating, Fugo wished he could stay like that forever. And when Giorno noticed Fugo was staring and flashed him the most radiant smile, Fugo felt like he could die right there on the spot. The sunlight shone off of Giorno’s golden hair nearly perfectly, which made Fugo feel as if he were staring at the very sun itself. He was beautiful and bright, but Fugo knew if he looked for too long it would only bring pain.
Fugo was suddenly reminded of an old story he once learned. Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun. At the time, he saw it as just another story from a long forgotten time, but now? Now Fugo thought he understood Icarus. The sun was so enticing that you couldn’t help but draw near when given the opportunity. If you could fly to the sun, why wouldn’t you? But you could never get too close to the sun. Get too close and he melts away at your very being, leaving you vulnerable and unable to do anything but bask in his light.
The sun has always been Fugo’s safety. Purple Haze’s virus disappeared in the sunlight. With the sun watching your every move, you start to rethink. The sun watches you from above and peers into your soul.
Is it any wonder the worst of acts are always hidden? Under cover of night, with no one around to see, an empty classroom where you can’t get caught. The sun gives no protection then. The sun leaves. Fugo could not lose his sun again.
When Giorno had finished his food and paid the bill (which he insisted he covered, despite Fugo’s many protests), he got up from his seat, extending a hand towards Fugo.
“There’s a park nearby. Would you like to go, Fugo?”
Fugo didn’t think he knew of a park near here, though perhaps Giorno had lived in Napoli longer than he had (the university Fugo had attended was located in Casoria, a nearby comune, and Fugo never took many visits to the city anyway).
“I- sure…” Fugo was hesitant to take Giorno’s hand to stand, but once Fugo’s fingertips ever so lightly found Giorno’s palm, Giorno took the opportunity to link his fingers through Fugo’s. Fugo once again cursed his extremely pale complexion for making him look like a ripe strawberry. He was sure his hand was sweaty, but Giorno didn’t seem to mind. At the very least he didn’t pull away until they arrived at the park.
“I need to tell you something GioGio.”
Tell him you love him.
No! Idiota! Asino! Stolto! Scimunito! You can’t say that! Shut up shut up shut up!
Fugo didn’t necessarily mean to break the silence with such a mood killing line, but he had never been the best at conversation.
Giorno stared at Fugo with a doe-eyed expression of worry and Fugo was hit with a wave of guilt.
“I lied to you…earlier.” Giorno’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. “When you asked what your stand said to me.”
Giorno kept his gaze until realizing he should say something to continue the conversation.
“What…was it that you lied about?”
Fugo’s heart would not stop beating a mile a minute as Giorno’s big blue eyes stared him down. There was no malice behind them, only deep pools of concern.
“It- he- it- didn’t just say my name.”
Fugo was really struggling now. Why did this have to be so difficult? It’s just words. It really didn’t matter at all. It wasn’t as if this was going to have any life-changing effects.
But it might.
It would not. The only person it really affected was Giorno.
But Giorno mattered an awful lot. At least to Fugo.
“It said that I was important and I…I don’t know what that means.”
Fugo didn’t think Giorno’s eyes could get any wider, but clearly they could.
“How could you not know what that means?”
Well, okay then Giorno. If that’s how it is.
Fugo had expected Giorno to be upset with him, but not for that. Like, I don’t know, the fact that he lied. But no, it was the fact that he couldn’t understand what Giorno’s dumb cryptic stand was trying to tell him. You know maybe, if it just explained itself instead of ditching the second Giorno walked in the room-
Shut up! You are not doing yourself any good acting like this! Giorno especially doesn’t deserve this! Maybe if you would stop being such a massive jerk to everyone, they wouldn’t leave you!
Fugo stopped walking.
“Are you alright, Fugo? I said something wrong didn’t I? Did you think I thought you were stupid for not knowing?” He paused to let Fugo answer. He didn’t. “That is not what I meant at all. It’s just, I don’t see-“ Giorno fiddled with his suit, straightening the collar, tugging at the edge of the fabric, and messing with his golden broaches.
Don’t lash out, Fugo, it’s not helping anyone. At least hear him out.
“How do you not understand that you’re important?”
“Because I’m not, Giorno. Every single you’ve accomplished you’ve done without me. And that’s great for you, but I’m of no use to anyone. The first mission I go on with you, you and A- Abbacchio are fighting for you lives all while I am so helpfully stuck in a mirror as my stupid stand goes rabid.”
“He’s not stupid,” Giorno interjected.
“When you defeated the former don, I wasn’t there. I gave you no help, no aid, no support. When my friends were suffering, dying, where was I? Playing piano in some hole in the wall. The only thing I’m good at is being gone and hurting people. Not very useful, is it?”
Giorno looked like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t, as an elderly couple passed through and the two stared at each other from opposite sides of the path.
Finally the couple passed.
“GioGio, I know I pledged myself you and your dream, body, soul, and heart, but it’s not enough. And I never will be.”
Giorno placed a hand on Fugo’s shoulder, bringing it down his arm to hold his hand.
“Pannacotta Fugo, do you remember what I said to you that day? Half a step means I’ll meet you in the middle. No matter how much you think you are, you are never alone.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Giorno ignored him.
“You don’t have to be useful in order to be important.”
Giorno took Fugo’s other hand.
“But that does not mean you are not useful. I could barely count the things you do for me. But even without that, there are still people who truly care about you, I perhaps the greatest of all. I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself in any such manner from now on.” Giorno smirked mischievously. “And that’s an order.”
Fugo didn’t know what had come over him. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Giorno really was true to his word. The grief that anchored him wasn’t only his to bear, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was.
Giorno had let go of one of Fugo’s hands but held tight to the other.
“I promise you Pannacotta, you are worth more than you know.” In a similar fashion to how Fugo had done, all those months ago, Giorno raised Fugo’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.
It was like lightning had struck Fugo in the heart. And all at once everything came crashing down upon him, and he finally made sense of at least a few of Giorno’s actions.
“Wait, GioGio, is this a date?”
Giorno laughed, a genuine, sunny sound of surprise.
“Yes, I thought you knew! Or at least, it was supposed to be, if you’d like.”
For once, Fugo smiled.
“I would like that very much.”