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There was something about Pannacotta Fugo.
The man did not partake in any earthly vices. Unlike his companions, never did he brag of any woman (or man, perhaps) that he managed to bed, of any possession he might have, of food or drink or any of the sort. It made one wonder what the young man hid, what sort of horrid secret he might have.
He did anger easily. His apartment was sparcely decorated for such a reason. One could not remove one's shoes at the door of Pannacotta Fugo's house, otherwise one would have their foot impaled with a shard.
Glass, ceramic, plastic, metal, when blinded by rage Fugo did not distinguish between them.
Yet, he was careful. Rational where he was not reasonable, perhaps to a fault. Even in matters of heart his brain spoke louder. So much he had studied the reasons of humans and the consequences of their actions that perhaps he had life down to a science. There was one, and only one true outcome to every situation, in his eyes. Most of the times, his predictions were right.
Until Giorno Giovanna came along, bringing with him change.
Inanimate objects would gain life and Aristotle would feel vindicated from the afterlife. The young man could turn the tables at a moment's notice, making his opponent feel as if he had always been in control.
For this, Pannacotta Fugo felt a certain animosity for the younger man. Reluctant respect, eventually, but an ever present animosity. One that Giovanna believed still lingered, when he'd secretly gaze upon the older man who carried out his actions with passive caution.
There was something about Pannacotta Fugo that made Giorno Giovanna feel an undeniable infatuation. One he knew the man did not return.
It had been years since their first meeting. Since Fugo left, then returned. Swore himself to Giorno with a speech that, frankly, kept the young don awake at night as he mulled over the words. Giovanna would never have been so startled, so confused by a mere promise... If he did not notice certain things. Notice how Pannacotta's features softened by the slighest bit when he set eyes upon his boss, how his subordinate always fidgeted with his tie when the two spoke, alone, notice how he always brought him small gifts, such as an extra pudding cup that apparently came free with his meal.
(Fugo had forgotten to remove the price sticker.)
Giorno was smarter than to be lead on by false hopes. Too occupied to entertain fantasies of an idyllic life with Fugo, plot stolen from one of Mista's cheesy romantic novels... Anytime other than the quiet of the night, that is, before succumbing to sleep, arms around his pillow. As much as those thoughts warmed his heart, Giovanna had to admit: it was something that fogged his mind too often. A new tie or coat the subordinate might be sporting would often distract him away from his work, and that could not be.
He had to fix this situation, whatever it took.
One evening, the don called after Fugo, making him stop in his tracks, almost in fear. Sheila was with him, walking ahead, stopping and turning in her heels to face her boss. The woman straightened her back, standing to attention as if Giorno were a drill sergeant. Pannacotta took a deep breath, hands sliding down his torso to straighten out his jacket. Slowly, he stepped in a circle, turning around to face his don, anxiety visible in his expression.
Are you occupied tonight, questioned the don, tilting his head a centimeter to the side. Looked between his two subordinates, wondering if they had plans together. Giorno felt a pit in his stomach as he wondered of the true nature of their relationship, after all, they left their headquarters together, at least once per month. To be fair, he would not mind dating both, but he knew most were not comfortable with such an arrangement.
Fugo seemed unsure, looked back at Sheila, who gestured to her own wrist, never breaking eye contact with her superior. The man turned back to Giorno, furrowing his brows in thought, head turned to the side. Pannacotta looked at his wristwatch, muttering something to himself, eyes opening in realization.
I would like to invite you out for dinner, Giorno continued, determined to end his own obsession once and for all. Fugo's eyebrows shot up in shock, a faint rubor spreading across his cheeks. He stammered out some words, fidgeting with his tie, looking down. It will be indoors, questioned his subordinate, scratching the back of his head in shame.
This was not what Giovanna expected. He expected some poor excuse that displayed how uninterested Pannacotta was, one that he would accept at face value because he did not want to impose. One Giorno would keep in the back of his mind, for everytime his attention drifted to the other man he would remind himself that was a road leading nowhere. Thus, he shared the other's bashful behaviour.
Yes, indoors, confirmed Giorno, that was how most restaurants were, he added with a short, chuckle in which Fugo joined in. Sheila looked at both of them with a look of pity as they embarrassed themselves. It's going to be cloudy, tonight, right, again questioned Fugo, sliding his hands into his pockets so he'd stop ruining his tie. I suppose, replied Giovanna, now curious if there was something the other man wanted to do involving the night sky, or perhaps if Pannacotta's pale skin still burned in moonlight.
The taller man shook his head, straightening up, looking into his eyes with a faint smile. One that made Giorno nearly faint, good lord, thought the younger man to himself, he needed to relax. Tonight, yes, I will meet you later, back here, confirmed Pannacotta, enunciating every word he paused on due to his nervous demeanor, and Giorno could not help but nod excitedly.
Fugo nodded, fighting back a smile, and turned around, soon followed by Sheila. As the two left, the woman seemingly criticized the other about something, gesturing in a lecturing manner. Fugo shook his head, making short, indecisive gestures, as if he too did not know what he just did.
Their date was enjoyable. Not that Giovanna had any previous standard for romantic dates to compare it to something.... He simply had fun-that was what mattered- despite Fugo's somewhat skittish actions. He insisted on staying away from the windows, dove into a backalley after taking the other man home and left his jacket behind.
Pannacotta agreed with him, commented so when they perused through some files together. Laughed nervously afterwards, again brought his hand to rub something on the back of his neck... Giorno could not help but notice his mannerisms, it was something he did automaticly.
For all the expertise he had in reading people, he could not understand why Fugo turned down any following dates. With how occupied Giorno was, he only allowed himself a free night every month, usually around the same time, not allowing him any room to reschedule, like the other always suggested.
Fugo, Giorno once commented after being turned down yet again, swallowing all the selfish desires in him and moving forward with what he thought was best for both, If you are not interested in me, just say so. Masking his sadness under a layer of apathy, he added, I will stop asking then and I won't harm you or your position in any way. Was it fear of being iced for not wanting to dance for his boss that made him agree to the date in the first place, Giovanna asked himself, wincing in realization to the dangerous situation he might've put the other in.
Pannacotta grabbed his hands, all of a sudden, in perhaps the first non-violent action he hadn't thought out obsessively. Of course I am interested in you, assured Fugo, tripping over his own words and stammering, Of course I want to continue this, but- and the other man recoiled, brows furrowed as if he fought against his own consciousness. Giovanna let go of his grasp to place his hands on his jaw, assuring the other that he did not need to justify himself, but Fugo had come to terms with whatever he was struggling with, and clasped the other's shoulders.
Your house, the man started, determination forcing the words out of him, It has a hill behind it, where you can see the stars. Giorno nodded silently, mumbling that it was in his property. His hands slid off the other's jaw, stubble scratching his palms, hanging limp by his sides. I will meet you there at sunset, said Fugo, letting go of the other man and walking silently out of the room. Giorno looked as he left, heart threatning to leap out of his chest.
At sunset, Giovanna found him there on the hill, sitting silently on the grass, hands splayed out on the ground behind him for support. The don had brought a picnic towel, knowing fully well the other did not own anything of the sort. Yet again the thrumming of his heart betrayed his cool demeanor. Giorno desperately tried to calm himself down, hand around the grip of the wooden basket, picnic towel folded over his arm.
Fugo seemed lost in his own thoughts, muttering to himself from time to time, gazing upon the horizon with odd dread in his stare. Giorno coughed to get his attention, nearly startling the man into rolling downhill. The two laughed awkwardly at the situation, both every bit as nervous as the other.
Giorno's charisma did not fail him, weaving a golden tapestry of charm with every word. Fugo, on the other hand, tripped over every word until he felt comfortable enough around Giorno. Like an adorable new-born deer... The don took a bite out of a slice of bread to push those thoughts back, eyes darting away for an instant. His gaze fell upon the moon, peeking just beyond the horizon. Fugo did notice as well, but his face contorted into one of pain, a disgruntled noise rising from his throat.
Giorno took not notice of this. Had it been just a couple of years since the moon had called him into her soft, cool embrace? The motherly affection he had never felt would envelop him every time her light covered him.
When he peeled his attention of the astral body, he noticed Fugo had his head covered by his hands. He dragged them further down his face, revealing the snout of a reptile.
Giorno could now see, where exposed, that his skin began cracking into stark white scales, glowing in the cold blue light. His nails grew and sharpened into claws, his muscles grew in size, struggling against the bounds of his clothing. With a deep sigh of resignation, the older man brought his clawed hands to his neck and loosened the collar of his tie, before drifting down and unbuttoning the first few slots in his shirt. The skin of his neck extended into a dewlap, patterned with large red dots, that spread out unto his collar bone, from where spread a cream-coloured patch of scales over his chest. Small ridges ran along his jaw line, reaching up to larger spikes atop his head, falling over his eyes, mimicking his hair.
The man bent forward to remove the shoes off his feet, allowing them to grow claws of their own. As he did, a bright white tail poked from beneath his shirt, weaving out like a snake exiting its burrow.
Behold, a monster as slimy on the outside as on the inside, would chuckle Fugo, looking with disgust at his own hands. Giorno did not speak. I'm sorry I made you think I wasn't interested, I just didn't want you to see me like this, the man apologized, bringing his hands to the top of his head and fitting his clawed fingers between the large spikes. Giorno shuffled slightly closer. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore, does it, I lied to you, mumbled Fugo, sound muffled by him curling further into himself.
Giorno reached over to turn his gaze towards him.
Dark slit pupils over a red sclera met with Giorno's eyes, pupil-less and glowing in blue silver tones.
You look stunning, whispered Giorno, lips open just by the slightest amount to reveal his canine teeth were sharper. Sharper than they should be.
Fugo stammered in shock, nearly opening the other's mouth himself to look at his teeth. Giorno laughed to himself, eyes closing as he did. The don explained he had inherited his father's vampirism... Well. Only some parts. He found blood disgusting and he could not turn into a bat, despite how hard he tried. Giorno burnt easily in daylight, much like Fugo, but seemed to handle garlic and crosses well. Otherwise you might have to move countries again, commented Fugo, earning him a genuine laugh from Giorno.
The older man seemed to be taking the reveal pretty well. Or rather, he did not want to make a fuss about it when Giorno had accepted it so well. /Too well, maybe/, thought Fugo as he looked over to see the don inspecting his tail, fingers dragging along it in awe. He moved his tail slightly to drag it across his face, affectionately, but Giovanna only grasped it more curiously, muttering 'So you can move it, fascinating' like some sort of odd scientist.
Pannacotta thought it only polite to mention how he became a were-lizard as well... To be fair, he had no idea. He started transforming in nights of a full moon when he was eighteen, and it had happened thusly ever since. Sheila was her own kind of werebeast, far more experienced than him, thus she took it upon herself to stop him from doing anything stupid.
The vampire extended a slice of ham towards the humanoid reptile, who gazed at it curiously. There was no need to cut their date short just for some unexpected occurrences, explained Giorno and Fugo, surprising himself, found it an agreeable statement.
===
"Are you sure you'll be fine on your own, Sheila?"
"I've been a beast for more years than you, stink-breath"
"I am glad you do not mind, Sheila. Thank you very much"
"Yeah, sure. But I'm not going to your wedding if Frankenstein or a lake monster show up"
"It's actually Frankestein's /monst-/"
"Shut up, straw-hair"