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Fugo’s desperately trying to remember how cool kids in movies lean up against their lockers when Mista finds him. The other boy has half a worried look tucked under the band of his beanie, and Fugo is frustrated at the way that Mista puts his weight against the locker next to him so effortlessly.
“You alright, man?” Mista asks, clasping a hand against Fugo’s shoulder. “You look like you're about to tip over.”
With a sigh, Fugo abandons ship and lets his other foot down on the ground. “I’m great,” he grumbles, twisting to peer around Mista into the hallway. “Are you — you haven't seen Giorno, have you?”
Mista raises his eyebrows. “Giorno Giovanna?” he asks. “No, but it’s not even homeroom yet. What do you need with him first thing in the morning?”
There’s something weirdly defensive in that question, which Fugo decides not to examine. “He’s my lab partner,” Fugo answers, and it’s not a lie, technically — just an avoidant truth. “Is that so weird?”
With an unreadable look in his eye, Mista puts his hands up innocently. “Alright, alright,” he says, turning to head further down the hall, “no need for the death glare; I’m going.”
Fugo’s staring awkwardly after him when he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“Good morning,” Giorno greets; his hair’s in a low ponytail today, a textbook clasped in his hands. He’s so unbearably cute. “Is it still alright for me to come over to work on the lab today?”
The lab, right. That’s his in. Be cool, Pannacotta.
“Yeah,” he says.
Before he can berate himself for being a distinctly uncool idiot, Giorno’s eyes crinkle warm into a smile. “Okay,” he responds, “I’ll — should we just leave together from class, then, since chem is last period?”
His cheeks feel warm. His cheeks should not feel this warm. “Yeah,” he repeats dumbly.
Giorno’s smile is almost shy when he puts a hand on Fugo’s forearm, just for a second. “Okay,” he echoes, “then I’ll see you last period.” He takes a couple steps into the hall, then turns. “Bye, Fugo,” he calls out. “See you later.”
Fugo weakly brings his hand up in a wave, and watches the back of Giorno’s head as the other boy disappears down the hall.
—
Having people over is something Fugo’s only just getting used to, now that he lives with his grandma and not his parents. If he could always have his way, his grandmother maybe wouldn't be home as often, and wouldn't offer Giorno homemade muffins and three different types of marmalade before the other boy can get his shoes off, but it can’t be helped.
Plus, Giorno looks so happy with his blueberry muffin. Fugo watches him at the kitchen table with a helpless flutter in his chest.
The lab doesn't take long, which Fugo had counted on. He’s halfway to embarrassed for how much he’d talked, but Giorno had been all wide-eyed and attentive, and Fugo isn't used to being listened to like that.
He’s stalling at the table while Giorno packs up his books, trying to work up an excuse for the other boy to stay longer. The excuse, it turns out, is his older brother.
Ricciarelli bursts into the door loud and sudden, two of his dumb jock friends at his heels. Fugo sees Giorno jump at the noise out of the corner of his eye and swears sudden, certain vengeance.
The three older boys bop into the kitchen, and Fugo watches with a wince as his brother drinks a swig of milk right out of the jug. “Richie,” he starts, as evenly as he can manage, “aren’t you supposed to be at mom and dad’s tonight?”
Richie waves an absent hand as he puts the milk haphazardly back in the fridge. On the other end of the kitchen, one of his friends is sticking an entire muffin directly in his hoodie pocket. “I’ll head over in a few hours, Panini; don’t worry about it,” he replies, heading back over to his friends. “Hope you two weren't planning to use the living room, because we’re taking it.”
Giorno’s already starting to his feet, “Actually, I was just — ”, and Fugo stands to hover a hand over Giorno’s back.
“Sure,” he says tightly, “we’ll just go to my room.”
One of Richie’s dumb friends whoops at them, “Yeah, get it, little man!”, causing Richie to elbow him in the ribs even as he chimes in, “Alright, hop along, Panni Cottontail!”
The walk upstairs to Fugo’s bedroom is entirely silent, which makes his nerves shoot up about three stages, but when he gets the door closed behind them and says, “Sorry about that, I didn't know he’d be home — ”, Giorno smiles small and soft behind a hand.
“Your house is so lively,” he says quietly. “It must be very nice.”
Fugo thinks of the frigid, silent expanse of his parents’ house. “It is,” he admits, and then, “Have you ever played Zelda?”
It turns out that Giorno has not ever played Zelda. Fugo boots up his GameCube with nervous giddiness bursting in his chest, rambling through the basics of the lore as Giorno sets his bag down and neatly folds himself onto the ground in front of Fugo’s bed. He doesn't even realize how long he’s been speaking until Ocarina’s title theme comes on.
The tiny smile playing at the corners of Giorno’s mouth flickers when Fugo stutters to a stop. “No, keep going,” Giorno encourages. “What was that about the Fire Temple?”
He’s way too pretty. “The figure on the statues all over the temple might be some sort of patron deity,” Fugo continues weakly.
Giorno is so bad at Zelda. He’s ridiculously bad at Zelda. He loses half his health against a deku scrub on his way to the first dungeon, and Fugo learns what true despair is.
“I don’t think I’m very good at this,” Giorno says mildly as he runs face-first into a skulltula.
“You just haven't played enough,” Fugo offers, wincing as Giorno accidentally runs off the ramp and loses another heart. “It’s mostly practice.”
On the screen, Giorno’s Link stalls; at Fugo’s side, Giorno pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on his arm. “I would be willing to practice,” he says, looking off to the side.
“Oh,” Fugo responds, eyes wide, and then, “Oh.”
If Giorno’s shoulders go any tenser they’ll be taller than him. “I’m sorry,” he starts, “I didn't mean to invite myself over. I could always get my own — ”
“No, no,” Fugo rushes, “I’d love — it’d be great for you to come over again. I’d really like that.”
Giorno hasn’t responded; why hasn't he responded? “And I’m sure my grandma would love to see you again, too,” he tacks on hurriedly.
“Your grandma,” Giorno echoes, shoulders slumping down. “Right.”
Fugo runs the interaction through his head over and over again later, when Giorno’s left and he’s in the middle of his daily ritual of lying down belly up on his bed and listening to music and overthinking. Morrissey’s warbling at him from his laptop speaker when his phone buzzes at his side with a text from Giorno (“Thanks for having me over. Give your grandma my thanks too, please”). Fugo stares at it for a long moment, throws his arm over his eyes.
“Fuck,” he says to his empty room.
—
“Giorno hasn’t made any progress at all,” Fugo complains at lunch the next week. “He came over for a half hour, solved one puzzle, and left. Does this mean he hates me?”
Narancia says, “Yes,” at the same time that Mista says, “No, he’s just like that.” Trish hurriedly shoos Narancia out of the cafeteria and back to gym where he’s supposed to be, but Fugo carries both answers around in his head all day.
Until Giorno walks into chemistry with a spark in his eye and puts a hand on Fugo’s arm when he asks, “Could I come over today?” While Fugo’s recovering from the boy he likes touching him, Giorno shifts his eyes to the side and adds, “Or another day. I’ve been looking up tips. For the game.”
“For Zelda,” Fugo supplies, and then, automatically, “That’s cheating.”
“Yes, for the Zelda,” Giorno agrees. “So is that a no?”
It is, of course, a resounding yes. Fugo leaves Giorno alone with the game while he runs downstairs to get drinks, gets caught making fresh lemonade with his grandma (“For your special friend,” she tells him with a wink; Fugo flushes up to his ears), and comes back to Giorno in the middle of the boss fight.
“Oh,” he starts, “you’re at Queen Gohma already.”
He settles on the floor next to Giorno with the lemonades, watching him hack at Gohma larvae. “The guide said I had to hit her eye,” Giorno tells him without glancing away, voice a pitch higher than usual; he jerks around with the movement of Link on the screen. A particularly sharp turn almost lands him in Fugo’s lap, but he rights himself quickly. “Sorry,” he says hastily.
Fugo is very thankful that his attention on the screen means that he doesn't see the way Fugo turns bright red. “Don’t worry about it,” he squeaks.
It takes until his third try for Giorno to beat Queen Gohma, partially because Fugo won’t help him or let him pull up the wiki on his phone in between tries. He hunches further into himself the longer the battle goes, all curled up like a pillbug — and when Gohma’s finally defeated, dissolving into flames and a heart container, he drops the controller.
“Is that…?” he asks as the music starts playing. Fugo can’t keep the smile from his face.
“Yeah,” he confirms, bumping his shoulder to Giorno’s. “Congrats, Giorno, you did it.”
Giorno whips to face him with the brightest smile Fugo’s ever seen in his life before ducking to headbutt Fugo in the chest. Fugo’s breath catches in his throat; he hovers an arm over Giorno’s back, then puts it back at his side.
Only eight more dungeons to go.
—
Once Fugo convinces Giorno to stop throwing cuccos and leave Kakariko Village, Death Mountain actually goes fairly easy. Or at least, it does until they hit a road block: lizalfos.
“Giorno,” Fugo says desperately, watching Giorno’s Link on the screen stay in a crouch with his shield over him, a lizalfos beating at the shield in vain with a sword. “You have to get up when he’s not hitting you, and then hit him. You can’t stay like that forever.”
Giorno’s finger stays determinedly on the R button. “Fugo,” he breathes, and Fugo’s heart pangs despite himself, “they’re lizards. With swords.”
“Well, yeah,” Fugo answers, “they’re lizalfos.”
In the game, Link stays resolutely hunkered down; in real life, Giorno’s leaning forward toward the screen with an undeniably excited look in his eye. “Do they come back?” he asks seriously.
“Um,” Fugo starts, “yeah, I think so. In the Spirit Temple?”
Giorno nods with a grim look on his face. “I see,” he says, and releases R.
His serious expression almost distracts from the fact that the lizalfos gets a hit on him immediately, but he gets through it. They can break some jars later for health, or something. It’ll be fine.
“I love lizards,” Giorno tells him out of nowhere a couple rooms later, voice even despite the enthusiastic phrasing. In the pause before Fugo answers, Giorno frowns and adds, “Maybe not with swords.”
Fugo feels a laugh bubble in his throat and swallows it down. “Lizards are nice,” he agrees, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’d rather have a cat.”
Giorno shrugs. “I want a pig,” he says, “or a rat. Or a snake.”
Infatuation blooms under Fugo’s skin and turns his face pink. Giorno Giovanna is the strangest, most confusing boy Fugo has ever met in his life and he absolutely wants to kiss the living daylights out of him.
“Or a lizard,” Fugo reminds, letting his arm rest against Giorno’s. Giorno glances at him, surprised, then smiles.
“Or a lizard,” he agrees, and turns his attention back to the game.
(He only loses to King Dodongo once. It’s progress, Fugo thinks.)
—
“Do you play any other video games?” Fugo asks as Giorno struggles through the Bombchu Bowling Alley mini-game. He’d made the mistake of revealing that things get much harder in the third dungeon, and Giorno seems determined to put it off as long as possible.
“Not really,” Giorno admits evenly as his bombchu skitters onto the wall, completely missing the target. “My house didn't really have them growing up.”
Before Fugo can figure out how to respond to that, Giorno adds, “I have a Pokemon game.”
“Oh, which one?” he asks, rolling over on his bed to be closer to the other boy. Giorno’s still on the floor, hunched toward the screen intently, if only because Fugo hasn't figured out how to casually invite him onto his bed yet. He’s biting on his bottom lip in concentration, and Fugo feels his crush swell up in his chest, helpless to stop it.
“White, I think?” Giorno answers, after the mini-game ends. Fugo winces, thinking of generation five’s janky pacing and mechanics.
“Oh,” he says lamely, “White is… nice.”
Giorno flashes him something like a smile over his shoulder as he heads to the guard station to collect more rupees. “I liked it,” he replies. “The story was nice. I like N.”
Fugo frowns. “N is okay,” he starts. “I’m not a fan of his whole arc in general, though. Plasma’s logic makes no sense, and N’s a grown man. He shouldn't still be under his dad’s thumb like that.”
“Ghetsis sucks,” Giorno agrees, “but — I don’t think that’s N’s fault.” He shrugs, eyes shifting to Fugo; on the screen, Link stills. “Kids aren't responsible for their parents.”
Frozen on the bed, Fugo’s mouth feels dry. “Maybe,” he admits quietly. Giorno turns back to the game without comment, forking over another thirty rupees for another shot at the bowling alley. Fugo feels his phone buzz in this pocket, and fishes it out to respond while Giorno plays.
“Oh,” Giorno exhales a couple minutes later; victorious music bubbles from the TV. “I won the heart container.”
“Just a piece of one,” Fugo corrects even as he perks up and puts his phone down. Giorno’s smiling that same happy, excited smile that takes his breath away, and he almost doesn't want to look.
But he does. “Congrats, Giorno,” he says, bumping an elbow lightly to the back of Giorno’s head.
The other boy leans into his touch, dropping his head against Fugo’s arm for just a second. “Thanks, Fugo,” he smiles, quiet and almost shy, and Fugo wants to kiss him so, so bad.
—
“Then just kiss him, idiot,” Trish gripes the next day, putting her foot on his shin in the threat of a kick. “If you want to that bad, then just do it. You can deal with the consequences later.”
Mista’s face flashes in Fugo’s head before he pushes it away. “I can’t do that and you know it,” he grumbles, slotting half his face into a palm, away from Trish. Trish tuts in a way that might be sympathetic, might be mocking; it’s really hard to tell with her.
“None of you are going anywhere like this,” she sighs, picking at the hem of her athletic shorts. The two of them don’t usually hide away like this during gym, really, but they’re playing volleyball today, and not everyone’s blessed with Mista’s muscles and endurance. “I guarantee you Giorno’s not going to make a move; the kid’s useless if I’ve ever seen useless.”
She narrows her eyes at Fugo. “And trust me,” she delivers dryly, “I’ve seen useless.”
Oh boy, they’re about due for a subject change. “I just — I want to be the cool, dateable friend, you know?” Fugo huffs, yanking a hand through his bangs. “Like — hey, Giorno, no pressure, but I just want you to know how incredibly, immensely interested and available I am. Please kiss me.”
“Maybe he doesn't know,” Trish supplies thoughtfully. Fugo throws his hands up.
“There’s no way he doesn't know,” he insists. “I’ve been inviting him over to play Zelda two or three times a week for a month.”
Trish shrugs. “And he’s been going,” she reminds.
Oh. “Oh,” Fugo breathes, “he’s been going.”
This time, Trish does kick him, though it’s a just light thing. “You’re so dumb,” she says affectionately, rising to her feet. “C’mon, let’s try to sneak out and go to the cafeteria.”
They don’t get caught by teachers, but Giorno happens to be passing through the hall later when they’re heading back to the locker rooms to change into their normal clothes. Fugo only catches a glimpse of the other boy’s face, the way his wide eyes skirt down from Fugo’s ratty t-shirt to his sweats to his sneakers — and flees without saying hello.
“Useless!” Trish exclaims as she chases after him, a laugh in her throat.
—
The third dungeon is, as expected, horrible.
“Can I throw her at the bubbles?” Giorno asks flatly, Princess Ruto of the Zoras curled up useless on little Link’s shoulders. Fugo bites back a laugh.
“Sure, go for it,” he encourages, propping his face up on his hand. Giorno’d invited himself onto the bed today, and Fugo tells himself he’s only happy about it because he has a better angle now to watch the other boy’s reactions.
As promised, Giorno tosses Ruto at a shabom, missing horribly. “I hate this dungeon,” he says mildly, picking up the princess again. “Nothing against Lord Jabu-Jabu.”
“I’m sure he won’t take it personally,” Fugo assures with a grin. “I don’t think anyone would be happy to be doing a quest inside a whale.” Giorno takes a turn, and Fugo pats at his shoulder lightly. “Wait, you need to go down that intestine to get the boomerang,” he says, pointing to the screen.
Giorno raises his brows at him, but heads obligingly to the door Fugo’d motioned to. “I thought you weren't going to help me,” he reminds, bumping his shoulder into Fugo’s.
Fugo feels his face flush. “This one’s harder than the others we’ve been through,” he tries.
When Giorno turns to face him, their faces are way, way too close. “Thanks,” he smiles, and Fugo is surprised to see that his face is a little red, too.
Okay, they're really close. Be cool, Pannacotta.
“No problem,” he says weakly.
He swears he sees Giorno’s eyes dart to his mouth for just a second before he turns back to the screen. He swears he sees it. He thinks about it for days.
—
Giorno laughs hysterically when he first sees Big Octo. He laughs so hard that the dungeon boss has the time to mow him down multiple times while he's debilitated, and they decide to just start the battle over. He laughs so hard that he falls right into Fugo, who hesitantly, carefully puts an arm around him, and laughs along.
It takes Giorno three tries, this time. By the time he sets the controller down, the third Spiritual Stone in his possession, it’s already dark out.
“Do you want to go to the park?” Fugo asks hesitantly, picking at his nails. “It’s kind of cold out now, probably, but — I can lend you a scarf?”
Giorno puts a hand on Fugo’s wrist and smiles. “That sounds good,” he answers.
Fugo’s grandma catches them on the way out, instructs them not to stay out too late and tells Giorno to text his dad that she’ll drive him home when they get back. She offers to make them hot chocolate, and Fugo’s about to squirrel them out the door to avoid it — but Giorno’s eyes go all wide and sparkly, so instead, they leave a few minutes later with thermoses in their hands.
“How long have you been playing Zelda?” Giorno asks, sipping at his hot chocolate. He took the swing that Fugo likes, but he doesn't tell him that.
“Oh,” Fugo says thoughtfully, warming his hands around the thermos, “a long time. I used to just watch my older brother play, when I was a little kid.”
Giorno tilts his head to the side, green eyes still bright in the dark. “Richie?” he asks, surprised. “He doesn't seem like the type.”
Fugo shakes his head. “No, no,” he explains, “Torrone. He’s in college now.” He pauses, rocking back and forth on his swing. “Though,” he admits, “Tori doesn't really look like the type, either.”
“That’s nice, though,” Giorno responds quietly, kicking at the dirt underfoot absently, “to grow up with siblings.”
“I guess so,” Fugo says slowly. “It has its ups and downs.” A pause. “Why?” he asks. “Do you wish you grew up with siblings?”
“No,” Giorno answers, immediately and vehemently, and Fugo is startled at how still and intense and certain he is in that moment. Then the moment fades, and he goes back to kicking at the ground. “But — it seems nice, sometimes. It’s nice that your brother introduced you to Zelda. You seem to love it a lot.”
“Oh,” Fugo says. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
They stay out and chat, two paces and and a mile away. Fugo blames his red cheeks on the wind as Giorno smiles small and secret and listens to him talk about how great the second half of the game is, how the gameplay is so good, the music is incredible, how much he likes it. How excited he is for Giorno to play it.
“I can’t wait,” Giorno admits, and Fugo so badly wants to kiss him.
The two of them stay until the stars shine bright overhead and Fugo’s hot chocolate goes cold in his thermos.
—
(When Giorno moves away for college, Fugo packs Ocarina of Time away in a box, young Link frozen indefinitely in front of the Temple of Time.)