Archive of Our Own ^beta

“No.”

“Come on! We have nothing to do for the next, what, 12 hours? It’ll be fun!”

“Like hell it’ll be fun.”

“Quit being a wet rag, Fugo. Nothing’s ever fun with you!”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

The safehouse the group had taken shelter in was rather spacey. Newly furnished but hardly lived in. One vast living room and a small kitchen on the first floor, accompanied by three bedrooms and a bathroom on the second. They’d been ordered to stay  here for the night and leave approximately at 8am the next morning— no earlier, no later. Their next assignment would be given to them at that time on the road, which they would need to go to and secure as early as when they get the message.

Most of the group was fine with this little pit stop. The previous stand attack was quite tiring and, truthfully, they all could use a rest.

Most of them gladly accepted this break in the mission.

Most of them.

“I might die of boredom if all we’re gonna do is sit back on our asses and do nothing for the next 12 hours.” Narancia whined, kicking the back of the couch that Fugo was trying to rest on. “A game will be fun and help time go by faster!”

Fugo knitted his brows together in frustration as each kick to the back of his seat threatened to send him over the edge. Through clenched teeth he responded, “And Truth or Dare is fun? If it’s playing with you, it’ll end up with this house in flames swallowing us whole.”

Narancia stopped kicking to choke back a little snicker, knowing that the other was right, but he personally saw no problem in that. He quirked a tiny smirk before leaning over the couch, nose upturned to look down at Fugo. “You’re just a wuss cause you don’t want to give out any of your deep dark secrets or be dared to do anything that’s even slightly off your goody two shoes shtick.”

“Fuck you!” The sixteen year old spat, swinging his arm around to back hand Narancia in the face. Narancia jumped back in a fit of giggles, dodging his hit by a millimeter.

“I’ll play.” Giorno, who was idly leaning against the wall by the window, spoke up suddenly. He walked over to where Fugo and Narancia were. He gave a brief smile that faded as quickly as it came before he shrugged, “It sounds fun.”

Narancia gave a small “yes!”, punching the air above him in celebration.

“Count me in as well.” Mista piped in, sitting up from where he was lying on the floor. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards into an excited smile, “Truth or Dare is always fun when I’m playing.”

He scooted over to sit at the foot of the couch, Narancia jumping over to plop down next to him. Giorno chose to sit on the couch directly next to Fugo, their knees brushing against each other. Fugo averted his gaze to make it seem like he didn’t even notice, turning his attention to Mista’s response.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll totally believe that. Abbacchio, Trish— are you guys going to join too?”

Trish looked up from her magazine, mirroring Giorno’s shrug response, “I don’t see why not.”

Abbacchio, who had been picking at his nails the entire time, finally looked up to meet everyone’s eyes. He pursed his lips together in thought, contemplating whether or not he should show his genuine interest or just sit back and watch it all unfold. With a sigh, he sat forward in his chair, propping his elbows up on his knees.

“Only if Buccellati gives the okay. Might I remind you about what happened last time you dumbasses decided to play this. We don’t need another blow to our expenses for repair damages, do we?”

The eldest of the group shot a look towards Narancia who returned it with a sheepish grin.

As if on cue, Buccellati peeked his head through the door. He gave a warm smile to them all, “I’ll only give the okay if I can join as well.”

Narancia fist pumped the air once more, Fugo frowned.

“Buccellati, is that really a smart idea? This isn’t just one of our regular missions where we could risk things getting out of hand and letting down our guard. This is a direct mission from the Boss himself. Fun and games will only be a distraction an-”

“Jesus Christ, Fugo!” Narancia let out an exasperated breath, flopping backwards against the side of the couch with his arms splayed out. “We all want to play, Buccellati said it’s fine, give it a rest! We’re playing!”

Giorno turned to Fugo, “If you don’t want to play, it’s okay. We won’t make you.”

Fugo pressed his lips together, shifting a bit in his seat as he thought. After awhile he finally gave in, slumping back in the couch, resting his chin on his hand. “Fine. I’ll play, I guess.”

“Sweet!” Narancia shouted, his smile only growing. “Alright! Everyone come sit in a circle so we can begin!”

…

After a moment, everyone moved their way to sit in the middle of the room. Trish sat beside Narancia and Mista, the two of them sitting back to back looking overly enthusiastic. Abbacchio let Buccellati take the chair he was sitting in, moving to sit right beside the capo’s feet. Fugo and Giorno remained on the couch, never moving even when Narancia whined to have them both join the rest of them on the floor. Fugo was already giving up a lot that night and there was no way he was going to give up a comfortable seat as well. Giorno, well, he just preferred the couch.

Once they were all set, Narancia clapped his hands together, “Okay! Who asks first!”

“You, dipshit. You’re the one who wanted to play this game.” Fugo nipped back.

“Fine, fine. Uhh… Mista!” The boy pointed a finger to Mista, “truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Lame,” Narancia mumbled under his breath, tilting his head back to ponder on what to ask, “Hm… Why do you always wear a hat?”

Mista blinked, “What’s wrong with my hat?”

“Don’t avoid the question.” Trish said, leaning forward with obvious curiosity. “I want to know why you always wear that thing, too. There’s no way you wear that as just a personal preference. There has to be some reason…”

Full offense plastered on his face, Mista huffed, “I-- yes , part of it is cause I genuinely like how it looks on me.” The room maintained its silence, unspoken words egging on for the man to elaborate further. “...and because I’m embarrassed about how my hair looks underneath. Alright? Geez.”

“Now that I think about it, I've never seen you without your hat…”

Narancia’s eyes lit up, “Take it off! I want to see your hair!”

Mista grabbed the ends of his hat to further pull it down over his head, “I said truth, not dare. Your turn is over.” Before Narancia could protest and continue to pry, he turned his attention to the rest of the group before picking out, “Giorno! Truth or Dare, dude?”

The blonde looked up at the ceiling to contemplate question, thinking far too long on what to choose. Abbacchio let out an over dramatic groan of boredom, earning him a light nudge in the side by Buccellati. Eventually, Giorno responded, “Dare.”

A tricky smile spread across Mista’s face at the response, eyes drifting across the room. The first dare of the night, even more so, given by Mista. Narancia bit his bottom lip to keep himself from falling into another fit of giggles from his growing anticipation. Mista’s dares were always hilarious since he knew how to push people to do things to get memorable reactions.

“I dare you…” Mista drawled, heightening the suspense in the air. He locked eyes with the stone faced goth sitting right across from him, “I dare you, Giorno, to carry Abbacchio.”

Narancia clasped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as he looked from Giorno to Abbacchio, back to Giorno, back again to Abbacchio. For a long, uncomfortable moment, all that could be heard throughout the room was the gentle winds brushing against the windows from the outside and Trish shifting where she sat, eyes shining with interest.

To everyone’s surprise, Abbacchio barked out a laugh.

“Carry me ? Ha, alright,” he pushed himself off the floor and made his way to the center of the circle, staring at Giorno, “Come on, Giovanna.”

Pure amusement was etched over Abbacchio’s face as Giorno stood up from the couch, expression unwavering and blank. It was obvious that Abbacchio had zero expectation that Giorno would be able to lift him even an inch off the floor. A measly, lanky fifteen year old lifting up a tall, well built twenty-one year old? Ha. Just imagining Giorno failing to do so caused a low chuckle to slip past his lips.

Giorno stood in front of Abbacchio, tilting his head up to look him dead in the eye. Abbacchio raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “Get on with it.”

Kneeling down, the teen snaked his arms around Abbacchio’s legs, getting a secure hold on the man. The smirk that was kissing the corners of Abbacchio’s mouth quickly disappeared as he felt his body, with such a surprising ease, be lifted straight into the air, his head just a couple inches away from touching the ceiling.

“Fucking hell, Giorno!” Narancia flailed backwards against the couch in shock.

Mista’s mouth dropped as if his jaw was suddenly made of lead, “Jesus Christ , how the fuck are you so strong?!”

Giorno, showing no signs of strain, looked over at the group and gave a casual shrug, “Genetics?” Fugo, who had been moodily distant from the entire game thus far, stared at Giorno with a faint look of awe. When Giorno’s eyes briefly crossed over his, he immediately looked off again.

Abbacchio, teeth gritted together out of pure embarrassment for having his taunts proven wrong, squirmed in the blonde’s hold, “Okay, Okay put me down already.” Giorno set the man down, relishing just a bit as he heard Abbacchio mutter a quiet “fucking show-off” as he dragged his feet back to where Buccellati sat. Buccellati rested a hand on Abbacchio’s shoulder, chuckling softly at the other’s discontent.

Narancia twisted his body to look back and jab his pointer finger against Fugo’s leg, “See, Fugo? It’s not getting out of hand. Our precious mission isn’t in jeopardy for having fun.”

“Let’s hope you didn’t just fucking jinx it.” Fugo mumbled, swatting the other’s hand away.

“So, my turn.” Giorno said as he sat back down on the couch. He hummed softly, gently tapping his finger against his bottom lip. His eyes stopped at, “Buccellati… truth or dare?”

Buccellati quirked a brow towards his subordinate, a bit surprised to be chosen. He sat back in his chair, black hair gently swaying past his line of sight. “Dare.”

“Oh ho ho, Buccellati’s keeping things interesting!” Mista whistled, bumping fists with Narancia. Buccellati laughed softly at the two before returning his attention back to Giorno.

“I dare you… to lick Abbacchio.”

“ Excuse me? ” The man beside Buccellati interjected. Under the weak fluorescent light, Giorno could’ve swore he saw the early stages of a blush branching out over his cheeks. “What kind of a dare is that?”

“An interesting one.” Fugo chimed in, slowly becoming more present in the game. Everyone in the room seemed to lean a bit more forward in where they sat. No one outwardly said it but… they all took a little pleasure out of seeing Abbacchio emit any kind of emotion that wasn’t a part of his default frown.

Buccellati presented the room with an acknowledged smile before looking down at Abbacchio, “Alright, alright. Abbacchio…” With the tip of his finger, Buccellati tilted the pale (yet, steadily growing in color) man’s face upwards towards him. Abbacchio felt his entire body be engulfed in flames as Buccellati carefully ran his tongue from his jawline up to his cheekbone.

Booming laughter erupted from Narancia which was accompanied by a fake puking noise coming from Mista. Trish scrunched her face in a look half of disgust and half of surprise. Fugo hid his amusement behind his hand while Giorno flashed the tiniest smirk.

The teasing blush was in full effect now as Abbacchio hastily rubbed his hand over the place where Buccellati licked. “F-Fuck you, Giovanna.” He spat, his anger poisoning his words.

Giorno shrugged, “What, I didn’t know Buccellati was going to choose dare. I had to think fast.” He paused for a second before adding, “Besides, I know you liked it.”

If he wasn’t red already, he was definitely it now. Abbacchio nearly choked out, “I didn’t like it, you brat! What the hell are you getting at?!”

No one fell for the lie.

But for good measure, Giorno looked over at Buccellati with a ‘is-this-true?’ look.

Buccellati licked his lips jokingly, “He’s lying. He liked it.”

“B-Bru— Buccellati!”

Narancia fell against Mista, clutching his stomach as his laughter just grew. Not even the flustered glare Abbacchio aggressively shot at him could shut him up.

“B-Buccellati, your turn.” Narancia eventually hiccuped out, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes.

The capo looked around the room (giving Abbacchio a comforting back pat to ease the tension in the other’s entire body). “Trish. Truth or dare?”

Trish perked up when she was called, a bit taken aback. She tapped the floor beneath her absentmindedly before answering, “Truth.”

A tense silence filled the room.

For a brief second, the gang was reminded exactly why they were here in the first place and who exactly Trish was. Fugo, Giorno, Mista, and Narancia all turned their attention towards Buccellati, anxiously waiting to see what he, their capo, was going to ask Trish, the Boss’s daughter.

There was so much everyone wanted to know, but so much they knew they couldn’t ask.

Buccellati, as calm and unaffected by the change in atmosphere as ever, looked up in thought. He knew as leader of his gang, he couldn’t ask anything personal of Trish. No, also being a subordinate under the Boss, he knew he could not cross any lines when asking for information.

So he settled with, “What were your first impressions on us? Individually, or as a group.”

Giorno caught a brief sign of relief pass over Trish as she heard the question which was quickly overcome by a small smirk.

“I thought you all were weird, to be honest. Your guys’ clothes are extremely out of date— I can’t even pinpoint if they’d actually be considered in style anywhere. Especially yours-“ she pointed at Fugo, who immediately frowned, “I get some people put holes in their outfits as a type of fashion statement, but yours are just ridiculous.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“Buccellati did.”

Fugo clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white, unable to bite back since she was right. Instead he sulked back into the couch, tightly crossing his arms over his chest, suddenly a little self conscious about his outfit.

Trish continued now looking at Narancia, “I thought you were 12. You sound like you haven’t gone through puberty, so I assumed you were younger than me. But, you’re, like, two years older, which was a surprise. Maybe if your voice wasn’t so high than I would’ve assumed your age more accurately.”

Narancia, unlike Fugo, took the impression with a short laugh, coolly resting his arm against Mista’s shoulder, “Ha, yeah, I get that a lot.” He obviously saw no ill intent in this assumption.

“The first thing I got from you was that you smelled really bad.” Trish pointed at Mista. She wrinkled his nose, “Like, I get you’re all in a gang and probably at the bottom of the social pyramid, but you shouldn’t smell that bad. With clothes like that, you should be able to afford at least one tube of deodorant.”

“H-Hey!” Mista cut in, “I don’t smell that bad. And, I do use cologne.”

Narancia leaned over, pressing his nose to his crop top, “Mm, you do smell pretty ratty.”

“Dude!”

“What?! I’m just saying, she’s not entirely wrong.”

Trish, ignoring the other’s outburst, looked to Giorno. “You seemed like the only normal one out of them all. You’re quiet and observant and have a bland in personality but I’ve only known your for a short time so I’m sure there’s more to you than that. You’re kinda mysterious and reclusive, which is weird cause your clothes and hairstyle certainly scream something. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” She shrugged. Giorno gave a silent nod and nothing more than that.

Abbacchio gave a low chuckle, earning Trish to turn her attention to him, “And you. You’re the weirdest of them all. Why do you wear all black? Especially here in Italy. Wouldn’t you get hot and sweaty? And, that doesn’t seem idle for your line of work. Seems pretty obnoxious to me, like you’re trying to rebel against something. Although, your makeup is pretty good. I might ask to borrow some sometime, especially your eyeliner. It’s very nice.”

“Thanks, but fuck you.” Abbacchio muttered, unsure on whether he should be flattered or offended.

Buccellati smiled softly when Trish finally picked up her gaze to look at him, “I thought you were really suspicious at first. I mean, the first thing I see you do is open up a urinal and take out gold and jewelry. So, I assumed that you were really gross-- maybe a little full of yourself too cause your whole outfit is Gucci and pretentious people typically dress like that. Although, now you’re just kind of… pleasant. A little fatherly to be around, since you seem to take care of guys.” She gestured to the rest of the group. “It’s nice.”

The capo placed a hand over his chest, truly touched to be called fatherly. “Thank you… I’m glad I can be a pleasant presence for you.”

There was a warm silence between the two before Fugo let out a little scoff, “Are you done reading into us? It’s your turn to ask someone.”

“Don’t rush her, Fugo!” Narancia whispered loudly.

Trish paid no mind to Fugo, shifting where she sat before pointing out randomly, “Mr. Abbacchio, truth or dare?”

Abbacchio raised a brow, a tad amused at how he was addressed. “You can just call me Abbacchio… and dare.”

Narancia let out a string of teasing chuckles, narrowing his eyes towards him. “Woah, you choosing to do a dare? That’s unexpected.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t need you brats prying towards my deep dark secrets.”

“Spooky.” Mista mumbled sarcastically.

Trish let out a quiet “uhh” as she thought before a sly smile spread across her glossy lips. “I dare you to switch clothes with Mr. Buccellati.”

A wave of “oooo”s suddenly bumbled about the room. Narancia and Mista both covered their mouths to hide their laughter, leaning over to one another to whisper something Abbacchio couldn’t make out. Fugo sat back up in his seat, eyes wide with surprise at the dare and also wondering if Abbacchio will really do it. Giorno remained blank but he, too, was curious as to what would happen.

Abbacchio narrowed his eyes at Trish-- not in a glaring kind of way, more of an intimidating one. Trish remained unfazed. With a tiny ‘hmph’, Abbacchio pushed himself off the floor, knocking the back of his hand gently against Buccellati’s arm.

“Alright, fine. Let’s go, capo.”

Buccellati shrugged, standing up as well. The two of them walked side by side out the door, the sound of Narancia’s laughter and MIsta’s suggestive whistles dragging behind them. Leave it to those two to give the overly obnoxious reactions.

“Are we going to wait till they come back to continue?” Giorno questioned.

“Nah, let's keep it going.” Mista said, a smirk painting his face, “Knowing them, it’ll probably take them a while to get ready.”

“Trish! Why don’t you ask one of us again.” Narancia chirped.

“Why Trish? She just asked one.” Fugo said, “Why not one of us who haven’t gone in awhile-- or at all, for the matter. You know, to make things fair.”

Narancia waved his hand dismissively, “ Whatever , man. Trish is our special guest anyways. She gets first time perks! Besides, you didn’t even want to play in the first place.”

Fugo frowned, giving a sharp kick to Narancia’s side. “Fuck off. Just ‘cause I didn’t want to play at first doesn’t mean I can’t want to follow the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you nerd.” Narancia grumbled, rubbing his side. “Trish! You’re up!”

Trish leaned forward once more, eyes roaming over each boy. Simply to further peak her interest and personal entertainment, she stared at Fugo. “Pannacotta, truth or dare?”

“It’s Fugo .” He corrected, face hardening. “And… dare.”

A small laugh left Trish when she heard that. She set her elbow on her knee and rested her chin on her hand. “I dare you… to kiss Giorno.”

The entire room went dead silent.

Both Narancia and Mista stared wide eyed at Fugo, holding their breaths as they waited to see his reaction. It was an unspoken truth that everyone in the gang knew that Fugo really liked Giorno. The teen was terrible at hiding it, and nearly everyone caught onto his incomprehensible stutters and bright blushes whenever Giorno mentioned something or walked into the room. Even Trish was fast to catch on with this. Everyone knew this, except Giorno.

Giorno, much to Fugo’s growing anxiety, remained unreadable. The blonde turned to look at him with the same owlish face he always bore. There was a subtle gleam in his eyes that could be promising, but Fugo couldn’t differentiate on whether that was really something to be hopeful about or just the artificial light in the room. When Giorno locked eyes with him, Fugo felt his cheeks burn uncomfortably.

“Okay…” Fugo finally said, his voice a little higher than he wanted it to be. In his mind, he thought he was the only one who knew about his crush on the new member, so the fact that everyone else (excluding Giorno) in the room was equally sharing his thoughts was unknown. That was, until…

“Do it, he won’t.” Narancia whispered a little too loudly to Mista.

“What does that mean?” Fugo suddenly turned to the other, answering a bit too aggressively. Narancia snickered.

“I’m just saying… you actually kiss Giorno? Do you even have the balls?”

“Wh-Why would I be hesitant on kissing him? I’ve kissed guys before.” Fugo said, failing to keep his obvious stutter in check. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but it’s Giorno .” Narancia teased.

Oblivious as ever, Giorno tilted his head in concern. “Are you okay, Fugo? You don’t have to if you feel pressured to do so. It is just a game after all. I won’t be offended.”

“No! No, it’s fine.” Fugo quickly faced Giorno again, pursing his lips a bit as he tried to stop blushing (as if that would actually make a difference).

He cleared his throat, awkwardly leaning forward towards Giorno. Giorno, catching on, did as well, letting his eyes flutter shut. Fugo felt his heart pound against his ears as the distance between them slowly began to disappear. He was certain he felt his heart skip a beat when Giorno’s gentle breathing brushed against his pink cheeks. It was… comforting. They were only a centimeter away from each other-

“He’s gonna chicken out, just watch.”

Fugo stopped immediately, his shoulders shaking in frustration. He dipped his head as his anger began to bubble and boil within him. Unable to keep his composure anymore, the teen jumped off the couch, instantly tackling Narancia to the floor.

“You motherfucker!” Fugo shouted, throwing punches towards the shorter boy who was pinned beneath him. Narancia was dying of laughter as he squirmed and threw his own uncalculated punches up at Fugo.

“Told you, Mista, he wasn’t gonna do it!” Narancia further sneered, raising a knee to kick Fugo in the gut. “Hahaha, you wuss!”

Fugo stumbled off, coughing as he held his stomach. Although, he quickly recovered himself and reached over to grab a fistful of Narancia’s hair, jerking him up from the floor. “Fuck you! You piece of shit just wanted to make a joke of me, huh?! You little punk ass bitch!”

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t true.” Narancia cackled, reaching up to claw at Fugo’s hand. “Now let go of me, you ass!” He turned around, reeling back, swiftly punching Fugo square in the face. Fugo stumbled back, cursing under his breath as he brought a hand up to his now bleeding nose.

“Fuck you.” He spat, immediately lunging forward and grabbing Narancia by the collar. The two continued their brawl all throughout the room, stumbling and tripping over chairs and furniture. Trish calmly stood up and made her way behind the couch Giorno sat on, watching everything unfold. She knew this would probably had been the outcome of her dare. She knew, and was pleasantly satisfied with it. Giorno awkwardly sat on the couch, watching the two. He wasn’t sure if he should step in or not…

Mista was caught between continuing to laugh at Fugo and Narancia or actually step in to stop the two before they got too out of hand. His inner adult told him to step in before it escalated too far, but… the rest of him told him to just step back and let it happen. Before he could actually settle on what to do, he felt his thoughts cut short as the zooming of an airplane rushed past his line of sight.

“You pissy little bitch!” Narancia screeched, his previous amusement instantly gone as if it was never there. He spit up at Fugo as the other held him down with his foot on his arm and his hands roughly grabbing his top. He immediately let go when Aerosmith began to shoot wildly around the room. (All for the sake of intimidation, not to actively hurt anyone).

Everyone jolted in surprise as the sound of a window shattering pierced through the air, followed by deafening cracks of wood from the bullets breaking across the room. Trish yelped, hiding behind the couch, Mista joining her as his fight or flight instinct kicked in. Giorno covered his head with his arms, not because he was afraid of Narancia’s Aerosmith and worried he would get hurt, it was just through instinct.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

Aerosmith immediately dissipated as Abbacchio and Buccellati came running in.

Buccellati was dressed in Abbacchio’s signature jet black outfit and odd lavender headpiece. His outfit was noticeably loose on him, the strings on the front sagging from the lack of a fitting body stretching them out. He pushed the clothes up a bit as they started to slip off his shoulders as he came further into the room. Abbacchio’s appearance was the opposite of Buccellati’s. Instead of his clothes being exceedingly loose, they appeared to be uncomfortably tight. Buccellati’s white suit seemed suffocating to be on Abbacchio’s taller and bigger body, the opening on his chest threatening to tear from the excessive strain and stretch. The only comfortable look to it were Buccellati’s two golden clips neatly placed atop of his head.

Mista and Trish peaked up from behind the couch as Giorno carefully let his arms fall back to his sides. Narancia was sitting atop of Fugo now, his hands over the other’s throat. They both instantly snapped their attention to their two elders who just entered. If the situation wasn’t how it was, the rest of the gang would’ve laughed and poked fun at how they both looked. Unfortunately, this was not the right time for that.

“Fugo started it!” Narancia immediately shouted, stumbling over to Buccellati with his arm out stretched and pointing to Fugo who was still sprawled out on the floor. “He got mad and started hitting me! It’s his fault!”

Fugo jumped to his feet, wiping a stream of blood that began to drip from off his chin from his nose. He jabbed his finger back at Narancia’s direction. “ My fault ?! You’re the one who wanted to play this stupid game! I told you it was a bad idea and that you would fuck it up again!”

“You’re the one who attacked me! I didn’t start it, you did!”

“‘Cause you were messing with me! You knew what you were doing!”

“Oh, hop off my dick, you priss-”

“Enough!” Buccellati shouted, his tone chillingly serious. The two boys immediately fell silent, averting their gaze from one another and refusing to meet Buccellati’s. “Quiet, both of you. It doesn’t matter who started what. You’re both at fault for all of this.” He waved a hand to the dozens of bullet holes littering the walls and the shattered window. “We’re supposed to hide out here quietly as we await for the Boss’s next orders. Have you forgotten that crucial detail? What if there was a stand user nearby? You could’ve easily jeopardized this entire mission for us all with your pointless fighting. This isn’t just any mission we could risk slip ups to. This is coming directly from the Boss himself, and he’s entrusted us to safely escort and protect Trish for him.” He then turned to Fugo directly, “Isn’t that right, Pannacotta ? Aren’t you the one who was so keen on us keeping our profile low and defenses up?”

Fugo nodded, internally wincing upon hearing Buccellati address him by his first name. “Yes, Buccellati.”

“We’re sorry, Buccellati.” Narancia said heartbreakingly soft. Buccellati let out a sigh before reaching over and gently ruffling both of their hairs.

“If you’re both sorry, then you two will keep watch first.” He settled before turning his attention towards the rest of the group. “As for the rest of you, I recommend you all take one of the rooms upstairs and get some rest. We don’t know how long tomorrow may be.”

And with that, everyone in the room began to file out. Abbacchio first, quickly telling Buccellati he’ll fix up their room before disappearing down the hall. Trish went next, yawning as she did so. Mista soon followed, giving Narancia a friendly nudge before chuckling towards the bedrooms.

Buccellati looked over his shoulder to Fugo and Narancia as he started to make his leave, “Narancia, you go set up watch and scout the area around us to make sure your Aerosmith didn’t alerted anyone that we are here.” Narancia nodded quickly before dashing out the room to carry out what was asked. Buccellati looked to Fugo, “You find a way to patch up the window. We don’t want anyone sneaking in here easily.”

“Yes, capo.”

Buccellati nodded, keeping his gaze on the boy for a few more seconds before leaving the room.

Fugo let out a sigh, standing there in silence for a bit, guilt pressing down on his shoulders. How hypocritical could he get. Not only did he act out against his own words and warnings, but he also disappointed Buccellati. His creeping self depreciation began to eat away his thoughts, cursing himself out for losing his temper again and fucking things up for everyone again , just like how he always seemed to do-

“Fugo.”

Fugo nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized that Giorno was still in the room. The golden boy walked over to him from the couch, deep blue eyes staring directly at him. Fugo felt himself stiffen when Giorno stopped right in front of him, tilting a bit on his feet. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was hesitant on actually speaking it outloud. Unsure of what to say too, Fugo kept silent and just stared at Giorno.

To seemingly both of their surprise, Giorno’s face was suddenly coming closer to Fugo’s, and closer and… before Fugo knew it, they were kissing. He flinched a bit in shock but instantly softened into it, a hand reaching over to take Giorno’s tightly. They both turned their heads into the kiss, letting it draw out tender and soft. For a moment, everything around them seemed to disappear. The cold air from the broken window moved miles away, the lights overhead flickered out, and all that existed were the two of them gently pressed against each other in pure serenity.

The kiss, to both boys’ displeasure, eventually broke off. Fugo reopened his eyes and stared at Giorno, surprised to see the other’s cheeks immensely flushed with a beautiful crimson. To further make his heart flutter, Giorno cracked a heartwarming smile and let out a breathy laugh. It was the most beautiful laugh Fugo had ever heard.

“Goodnight… Fugo.” Giorno bid to him. He gave a soft squeeze of his hand before letting go, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

Fugo stood there alone now, his heart dancing within his chest. All tension and guilt that previously engulfed his mind were nowhere to be felt now. All he could feel now was an emotion he thought he long since forgotten. Peace.

Looking down, Fugo found himself staring at a beautiful flower held tightly in his hand.

It was a red rose.