Chapter Text
“Narancia?”
“Yo.”
“Pannacotta?”
Giggles sounded from the back of the classroom, as did a groan from the blonde teen. “How many times do I have to tell you, Teach, it’s Fugo.”
“Right. Sorry. Trish?”
“Here.”
“Guido?”
“Mista.”
“Right. My bad.” It was the middle of the school year, why was Bruno still forgetting that some of his students weren’t particularly fond of the names their parents had given them? Then again, he did have over two-hundred students this semester, a district record as far as he was concerned. It was hard to believe so many teens were interested in learning about, reading, and analyzing poetry, of all things. It wasn’t even a required class; students could take it of their own free will.
“Giorno?”
No response.
“Dean Abbacchio’s reprimanding him for bringing a live bug to school.”
Bruno could not have picked a worse time to sip his coffee, apparently; he choked on the bitter, silky liquid. “Again?” He exclaimed in a raspy voice when he had stopped. This was the fifth time this semester the pale-haired Dean had dragged Giorno from the hallway and into his office. The boy was Bruno’s star student; he ranked second to Fugo in terms of grades, an outstanding feat considering the other teen was practically a child genius. Not to mention, Giorno’s attendance would be perfect if not for the Dean keeping him from attending Bruno’s class every other week.
Bruno loved Trish like he would his own daughter, but if anyone deserved to be sent to the Dean’s Office, it was the girl who showed up to school everyday wearing literally a bra for a shirt. He had had female students who’d been sent there because the length of their shorts exceeded the required length by a measly centimeter. Bruno had met her father during this year’s parent-teacher conferences, and looking back on it now, he decided that the man was of the sort that would pay his daughter’s school a shit ton of money to ensure she would graduate on time, pass every class, and never set foot in the Dean’s Office.
Even so, the only attention Trish’s clothing seemed to garner was Narancia’s, as Bruno had caught him peeking at her mostly bare chest on quite a few occasions. Now that he thought about it, the wild-haired boy was more of a troublemaker than Giorno would ever be; what set Narancia apart from the rest was that he brought his boombox to school every Friday and blasted rap music as he walked to and from classes. Bruno thought it was a silly rumor at first until the first Friday of the semester Narancia barged in the classroom several minutes after the bell had rung, “Drop It Like It’s Hot” blaring from the boombox on his shoulder.
Even the hard of hearing could hear the deafening music, and Trish’s pink hair made her easy to spot in even the largest of crowds. Yet for some reason Dean Abbacchio thought the boy who brought harmless insects into school was more undisciplined than the one who played explicit music in the hallways. Bruno would try to figure out why later; now, he had a class to teach.
“I trust you’ve all been studying for the test tomorrow?” He asked.
The pencil Narancia had been balancing on his nose fell to the coffee-stained carpet without a sound. “Wait, there’s a test tomorrow?!”
Everyone else did what they would’ve done had Bruno asked them to answer a question: they looked at the floor, at the ceiling, at the wall, at anything but him.
“Review day it is, then.”
The class breathed a collective sigh of relief.
When Giorno came to class the next day, the first thing he did was ask Bruno what he had missed.
“Nothing, really, all we did was review for the test we have today.” Bruno replied instantly. When Giorno’s turquoise eyes widened, he added, “I feel I don’t even need to ask you this, considering you’re one of my best students, but you did study, right?”
“O-Of course! It’s not like there’s anything else to do in the Dean’s!” The golden-haired boy blurted before heading to his seat. No sooner had he sat down than his friends gathered around his desk and bombarded him with questions regarding Dean Abbacchio.
Against his better judgement, Bruno eavesdropped; despite working at the same school, the two had never crossed paths, had never so much as sat next to each other at a noisy pep rally or peaceful (though boring) board meetings. Based on Giorno’s descriptions of the man, Bruno wouldn’t have trouble identifying him in a crowd: for starters, he supposedly had silver hair that extended well past his shoulders, dressed head to toe in black, always looked ready to kill someone, and wore a lilac shade of lipstick.
“Lipstick? That’s weird.” Mista remarked at the same time Bruno thought Lipstick? That’s hot.
“I-It looks good on him. Of c-course, I could never tell him so, unless I wanna be yelled at.”
Giorno’s friends didn’t seem to notice his sudden stutter, but Bruno did. Could it be that the seemingly fearless Giorno Giovanna was nervous?
Bruno’s suspicions were confirmed five minutes later, when his students begrudgingly took the test he had promised them. Giorno was usually one of the first to finish, but today, Bruno doubted he’d even complete it in the allotted time.
Giorno wasn’t turning his test this way and that like Narancia was, but his constant foot tapping was as good an indicator as any that he was stumped. That, and the fact that his pencil was still hovering over the first question when everyone else was on the final few.
When all but two people, himself included, had deposited their tests on Bruno’s desk, Giorno filled out his own hurriedly before finally placing it atop all the others. When he withdrew his hand from the stack of tests, Bruno saw that it was sweating.
Narancia scrambled to finish his test while Giorno stared at his desk forlornly, and it was then that Bruno decided he would have a word with this Dean Abbacchio.
“I failed, didn’t I.” Stated Giorno matter-of-factly after class.
Bruno hadn’t so much as peeked at the boy’s test since he had set it facedown on his desk, but he didn’t need to do so to know he had failed.
“I’m afraid you did,” Bruno confirmed. When Giorno’s face fell, he continued, “As soon as you leave, I’m going to have a little chat with Dean Abbacchio, tell him to stop keeping you from this class as I don’t want your grades to slip. Plus, I like having you in class.”
It took some effort, but Giorno eventually reciprocated the smile Bruno gave him. “Thank you so much, Mr. Buccellati. Seriously, thank you.”
“It’s nothing, really. Anyway, I believe your friends are waiting…”
As if on cue, Narancia pressed his face against the window, his breath fogging the glass as he mouthed hurry yo ass up.
“See you on Monday, Mr. Buccellati.” Giorno said before shoving open the door to join his friends. Bruno jumped in his swivel chair as Narancia’s boombox began to play “Sicko Mode.” How such an old device could play such a current song was beyond him. Bruno had a boombox when he was young (okay, younger), and he clearly remembered it only took cassette tapes, which, as far as he knew, weren’t made anymore.
Anyway, it was Bruno’s lunch break, and as hungry as he was, he had other priorities. Specifically, asking a silver-haired Dean what his problem with Giorno was. He waited until the bell rung before snatching the keys to his classroom and heading towards the Dean’s Office.
On his way there, he encountered quite a few students traipsing through the halls, not a single one of which carried a hall pass. He plugged his nose as he walked past a bathroom and smelled the earthy stench of marijuana.
“I’m looking for Dean Abbacchio.” Bruno informed the woman at the front desk upon entering the office; he hoped he didn’t reek of pot.
“Who’s asking?” A deep voice boomed behind him. Bruno turned around and found himself face to face with none other than the Dean himself.
Bruno willed his mouth to not open in awe of how handsome he was. Giorno’s description of him had been entirely accurate, even the part about him looking ready to kill someone. Especially the part about him looking ready to kill someone. If anything, it convinced Bruno that this man was worthy of his job, as looking menacing was listed among Deans’ job descriptions. Probably.
Plus, his scowl was hot.
“Me,” Bruno managed, then, when he realized the man had no idea who the fuck he was, elaborated, “Bruno Buccellati, I teach poetry.”
The Dean raised a drawn-on eyebrow, and Bruno couldn’t help but notice that his makeup skills were far better than any of his female students. “Poetry? Didn’t know that was a class offered here.”
Without thinking, Bruno blurted, “You interested in enrolling?” It slipped his mind how he could be so confident when standing before who was undoubtedly the most attractive man he had ever seen. Perhaps not thinking before saying something flirtatious was the key.
Had Bruno blinked, he would’ve missed the slight curl of the other’s lip. “I would be, were I at least four years younger.”
He’s around the same age as me, Thought Bruno, Sweet.
“Why were you looking for me?” The taller man asked. Bruno cleared his throat; he hadn’t come here to flirt.
“More than once, you have kept Giorno Giovanna, a student of mine, from attending my class. Today, he failed a test because instead of studying with the rest of the class he was confined to your office.”
Bruno was a firm believer in the power of words; he was a poetry teacher, after all. So when Dean Abbacchio visibly stiffened at the word confined, Bruno simpered. He continued, “And all because he brought, what—a ladybug to school?! Tell me, Dean Abbacchio, what harm, if any, do you imagine a ladybug would do?”
“Come in my office,” The taller snapped, “And call me Abbacchio, you’re not a damn student.”
Bruno followed him into his comically small office and, figuring Abbacchio would prefer to discuss this matter in private, closed the door. “Sit down,” The other ordered, and Bruno did just that. Although he just stated otherwise, Bruno felt very much like a student, what with him obeying Abbacchio’s every command.
“If I tell you the real reason why I’ve been singling out Giovanna, will you promise not to tell anyone.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.
“I promise,” Said Bruno.
“I fucking hate bugs.”
“Who doesn’t?” Bruno had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing; Abbacchio was over six feet tall, looked like the type of person who knew over a thousand ways to kill a man, yet was afraid of creatures he could crush with a single stomp of his foot.
“Giovanna, obviously. I pull him into my office to tell him his bugs will scare some chick, but really…”
“It’s you they’d scare,” Finished Bruno. Unable to contain his laughter anymore, he roared with it while Abbacchio glared at him with his violet-yellow eyes.
“Are you quite finished?”
“I am,” Bruno said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye so as to further irk him.
“Promise not to tell anyone?”
“I promise,” Bruno assured him, and Abbacchio’s seemingly permanent scowl transformed into a frown, only to revert to his default expression when Bruno continued, “If you stop keeping Giorno from attending my class.”
“I knew there’d be an ‘if,”’ Abbacchio muttered before rising from his chair. “It was either that or a ‘but.”’ He grabbed a bottle of cologne off his desk and handed it to Bruno. “Use this, Snoop Dogg.”
“I wasn’t—” Bruno sprayed it on his neck anyway; he wasn’t about to waltz into the teacher’s longue smelling like pot. “You know, I got a student who likes Snoop Dogg. Blasts him and other rappers in the halls every Friday. Perhaps you’ve heard him?”
Abbacchio closed the distance between his desk and the door, which he opened. “Perhaps.”
Bruno exited the office, and before Abbacchio could shut the door, called over his shoulder, “I trust I won’t be seeing you again?” He hoped he didn’t sound as disheartened as he felt.
“It’s best to keep an open mind, Bucciarati. Besides, it’s a small school.” He sounded as if he were smiling, but before Bruno could see for himself, the door clicked shut.
When Bruno finally entered the teacher’s longue, he wished he still smelled of weed rather than the amber and lavender scent everyone associated with Abbacchio.
“Why d’ya smell like Abbacchio?” The geography teacher, Prosciutto, asked. “Are you two—”
“No!” Bruno exclaimed quickly. Too quickly, apparently, because the rest of the teachers suddenly stopped eating.
Bruno barely had time to curse under his breath before his fellow staff members congratulated him and Abbacchio on the relationship they didn’t have.