Chapter Text
“Fugo, what’s this?”
“Show me.” Fugo examines the small book he’s been handed, checking for anything that might have confused Giorno. He soon spots it. “Oh! Looks like you have a free day, Giogio.”
“A free day?” A tiny wrinkle forms in the middle of his forehead. “I don’t think so. I must have just forgotten to write down whatever’s happening. Could you go find out what I’m doing?”
“I guess…” Fugo picks up the phone, ready to make some calls. “But for the record, there’s nothing wrong with taking a break. You’ve been working really hard.”
He can’t even deny that. It’s barely been a year since he took over, and Naples already flourishes. Recognising his power and will, the authorities generally let him do what he likes, and with every passing day, the shadow of the drug trade recedes a little further. He can’t help but feel proud when he’s able to help people reclaim their lives from it.
He’s even been lucky enough to have most of the former gang remain loyal to him- as it turns out, as long as they’re getting paid, few of them even care who the boss is. The only real problem on his hands was the narcotics team, and that’s long since taken care of.
His city and his gang thrive together. Maybe, if he takes a day off, they’ll both be just fine.
It’s nice to think about, but right now, he does have work to do- rehabilitation programs don’t organise themselves. Several forms later, Fugo makes a re-appearance, treading quietly to avoid causing any disturbance.
“It’s fine,” Giorno tells him. “I was almost done anyway.” Lunchtime approaches.
“Okay. Good.” The rest of his approach is still quiet. “I called anyone you could possibly have a meeting with, and then everyone else. I can one hundred percent guarantee you that you have nothing to do on Thursday, but I will check again if I absolutely have to.” He stops just short of begging Giorno not to make him check again.
“No need.” Pushing a stack of completed paperwork aside, Giorno lets his head rest in his hands, elbows propped up by the desk. “I was actually just thinking about it… what do you think I should do?”
“You want my advice?” Giorno gives him a heartfelt nod, and he swallows. “Uh. Okay. Honestly… I don’t think you should make plans. Just wait for it to happen, and if there’s something you feel like doing on the day… then do it, I guess. Be spontaneous.”
“Spontaneous.” Giorno taps at his chin, the way that he does when he’s deep in thought. “Hmm. Maybe you’re right.”
“Think about it,” Fugo encourages. “Anyway, I was heading to Aglio’s… you know, the place with the really good pasta. Want to come too?”
“Sure!” He’ll have a good time, and put the issue out of his mind for now.
He can’t completely forget about his impending day off, but he manages to distract himself enough to keep from planning out a full itinerary. Absorbed in his work whenever possible, the day slowly creeps up on him, until he’s waking up to complete silence. No alarm, nobody trying to wake him. If he wanted, he could even stay in bed all day…
No, he doesn’t want to do that. He’s hungry. Drifting to the kitchen without even fixing his hair, he can spend as much time as he likes on breakfast. The freedom’s almost dizzying, but he eventually settles on crepes and hot chocolate, which he can enjoy at his own pace while watching the birds outside- he had almost forgotten how much he enjoys that.
The sun already sits high in the sky when he finishes, immediately rushing to the bathroom to make himself look presentable. Even on his day off, he has standards- though maybe this is the perfect time to experiment with a new style? He did buy all those clothes last week, that he hasn’t gotten the chance to try on yet…
Each outfit suits him more than the last. There’s nobody around to demand maturity from him, and therefore nobody to stop him from twirling and blowing kisses to his reflection. There he is, Giorno Giovanna, Italy’s next top model… in another life, maybe.
Once his hair and makeup are perfect, he gives his outfit one last look. It’s much more casual than his usual choices, but manages to be refined, in its own way- and of course, it’s almost improbably comfortable. His very steps feel lighter on his way out of the house.
Where will he go? With nothing but his own spur-of-the-moment instincts to guide him, he wanders, taking in the sights of streets he usually has little reason to visit. He walks past plenty of people, many of them tourists, all of them heading in the same direction- would it be unspontaneous to follow them? Or would it be even more spontaneous, since he doesn’t usually follow crowds of random strangers? He decides to follow, just to see what they’re here for.
A winding path takes them to their destination- a great palace, adorned with statues rising far above human height. Of course… the Royal Palace. How long has it been since his last visit? Years, for sure… it was a class trip, he clearly remembers forging the signature on his permission slip- only the beginning of his illustrious criminal career.
The palace doesn’t look quite as tall as when he was an elementary schooler, but it’s still reasonably impressive, rows of windows extending into the sky. He spots a small tower on the roof, and imagines himself standing atop it, able to look upon the entire city from a single viewpoint.
He almost lets go of that daydream, only stopped by the memory of a familiar voice. “If there’s something you feel like doing on the day… then do it, I guess. Be spontaneous.”
What can he possibly say to stand up to that argument? Not much, since Fugo isn’t actually here to hear it. “You win,” Giorno concedes, neatly evading a row of security guards.
“Hey.” Trish waves to Fugo, and gets a nod back. They aren’t the best of friends, and might never be, but they get along reasonably well. “Is Giorno back yet?”
“No sign of him.” Fugo shoves his hands into his lap, concealing any nervous fidgeting. “Maybe I should have asked where he was going… I just didn’t want him to turn it into another mission, you know?”
“I know. But it’s Giorno, remember? He’ll be fine.” She encourages him to smile, which he does, a tiny bit. It only makes him look less relaxed.
Trying a different tactic, she switches on the television. Fugo likes the news, even the weird stock market stuff that nobody else can decipher- it’ll be sure to take his mind off Giorno for a moment. The cameras cut right to a breaking news story, apparently concerning a disturbance at the Royal Palace.
“Wow.” Trish shakes her head a little as more details are revealed. “What kind of idiot would even try and climb that?”
A glimpse of golden hair, arranged in its unique style, swiftly silences her.
“Oh god,” Fugo whispers after a moment, face chalky. “That’s our idiot.”
Thankfully, their idiot manages to safely return home, strolling in as if he comes from nothing more exciting than a trip to the corner store.
Fugo’s there to greet him, desperately trying to mask relief with disapproval. “I am never telling you to be spontaneous again,” he sighs. “Come have dinner.”