Chapter Text
Narancia springs out of bed, eyes wide open.
That’s not an expression- he literally springs out, floor shaking when his feet land on the carpet. He always wakes up this way, but today is especially exciting. Full of energy, he takes up a marker and faces his calendar.
It’s an awesome calendar, full of Formula One racers. Abbacchio got it for him for Christmas- unaware that Narancia had brought him the exact same calendar. It was a huge success, he liked it way more than last year’s present (a few coins and a half-eaten cracker- Narancia had run out of time for gift buying (and/or stealing). Executive dysfunction’s a total bitch sometimes).
The importance of the calendar becomes clear when Narancia carefully inspects it. Most of the month’s been crossed out, the earliest uncrossed date being the 19th. That day’s over, so he crosses it out, rejoicing at the truth of today’s date. Were he religious, he might regard it a holy day. As someone who was once kicked out of church for trying to replace the communion bread with mini pizzas, he just thinks it’s a really awesome day.
Everyone needs to know! Not bothering with socks or shoes, he runs out into the hallway, looking around until he has the path to Fugo’s room.
It’s only after Narancia yanks the door open that he remembers- Giorno’s sleeping here too, at least until Buccellati finds someone who’ll put an extra room on the house. Preferably the traditional way, though some kind of room-making Stand could work too. Giorno doesn’t really seem like the type to complain.
True to form, he doesn’t react negatively to Narancia’s entrance, even though the way he rubs his eyes suggests that it woke him up. On the other hand, Fugo doesn’t even have to look up to start throwing things- though maybe he should, since they all miss by a long shot. “Get out. Get out. What did I say about barging in here before nine o’clock?”
“That something better be on fire, or else I will be?” Like he would forget that. He just recognises that some things take greater priority. Also, he forgot to check the time. Oh well.
“Exactly. Go bother someone else.” Fugo buries his face in his pillow, stubbornly refusing to face Narancia’s existence. Oh no he doesn’t. Not today. Narancia goes and sits on his back, heels digging into his sides.
“Come on, you know what day it is! 4/20, bro! You can’t sleep, not when the Doggfather’s waiting on us to-“
With a single violent shake, Fugo manages to throw him right off the bed, his small body sailing across the room to land on Giorno’s bed. “Sorry, man,” he says as soon as he sits back up, but Giorno still looks unbothered.
“What happens on 4/20?” His eyes shine with curiosity, almost as intense as when he’s about to win a fight. Giorno seems like a serious guy, but he can be unpredictable- maybe he’ll want to join in on the fun?
Hang on, he’s never actually had to explain it before. All his friends already knew about it. “Well, uh, it starts with…” Where does it start again? Maybe he’ll just get right to the point. “What we do is, we smoke a bunch of-“
A flurry of movement stops him from explaining any further- Fugo tackles him, blanket still wrapped around himself. Narancia’s knocked right off Giorno’s bed, making it easy for Fugo to drag him out of the room.
“What the hell were you thinking?” He demands as soon as the door’s closed.
Narancia takes another moment to clear his head. “Huh?” Seriously, what did he do wrong?”
“Giorno!” Fugo points at the door, for dramatic effect. “You were going to tell Giorno Giovanna about 4/20? Is someone paying you to be stupid or do you work for free?”
“Hey, fuck off!” He scowls back. Just because he gets stuff wrong sometimes, doesn’t mean he’s going to be talked down to by someone who eats raw pasta. “We all knew about it when we were fifteen, what’s the problem?”
“It’s not that!” He just keeps shaking his head. “Let me make this clear. You were going to tell Giorno “drugs are the world’s greatest evil” Giovanna, about a holiday that’s all about smoking weed. Or in your case, joking about smoking weed, because the one time you actually tried to buy some, it turned out to be oregano and you cried.”
“What’d I say about bringing that up again?” He never actually said anything, but his mistake’s beginning to dawn on him, and it pisses him off enough that the memories feel more painful in retrospect. Unfortunately, Fugo’s blanket shield makes him impervious to most physical attacks. “Fine, I won’t tell him, just shut up!”
They both fall silent when the bedroom door opens again. Giorno watches them both, already looking significantly more put-together than when he was still in bed. “There you are. I thought you would come back in to explain.”
“Explain?” Narancia freezes in the middle of grabbing Fugo’s nose. Fugo looks grateful for the intervention.
Giorno nods slowly. “Yes, apparently something special’s happening today? I’d like to know.” He’s calm as always, but Narancia knows the stirrings of excitement when he sees them.
Damn it. He can’t tell the truth, but Buccellati hates liars… and Giorno will be disappointed if there’s nothing special after all. Thinking as quickly as he can, he settles on a compromise. “It’s… a day for celebrating grass.”
“Oh!” Giorno smiles. Narancia’s pretty sure that Fugo stops breathing. “I like grass.”
“Yeah, me too!” Elated at his half-truth’s success, Narancia pumps a fist in the air. “Sometimes people just go chill out in a meadow, you could do that.” It’ll be convenient to have him out of the house- otherwise he would have to get the clean version of Smokefest Underground, and by then he might as well just buy a one-way ticket to Lamesville.
“I just might. And you would be welcome to join me, of course.” What a nice kid. He heads off to the bathroom, leaving Fugo and Narancia behind.
“You did it,” Fugo grudgingly admits. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“Huh, me neither…” Narancia watches the door for a moment, checking that Giorno won’t come back in a hurry. “Think it’ll work on Buccellati?”
“Think what’ll work on me?” At the sound of Buccellati’s voice right behind him, Narancia jumps about six feet in the air. As soon as he’s able, he turns around- and there he is, tucking all of Narancia’s Snoop Dogg CDs into a zipper on his arm.
How did he forget to guard them? “Aw, come on! They’re the clean versions!”
“I can taste that lie from here.” The zipper closes, and they’re gone. Narancia lets out a long, wordless whine. “Don’t give me that. Once you’re an adult, you can listen to what you want, but right now it’s my responsibility to keep you out of trouble.”
Out of trouble? They’re gangsters! He wants to complain some more, but Buccellati’s just going to end up giving him that disappointed look, the one he absolutely hates. So he just sighs and nods. “Fine. But look after them, they’re worth like a billion lira.”
Buccellati suspects that might be a slight exaggeration, but he nods anyway. “Of course.” His confiscation complete, he disappears from the scene as mysteriously as he appeared.
Only the barest self-preservation instinct keeps Fugo from laughing. “What are you gonna do now?”
Narancia doesn’t answer right away, conjuring the image of Snoop in his mind. Nothing’s gone to plan, but he would understand, right? Friendship’s one of the big themes in his music, or at least Narancia thinks so. Honestly, he doesn’t understand much English, so he usually just assumes it means whatever he wants.
He finally has his answer when Giorno emerges from the bathroom, ready to leave. “I guess we’ll go chill out in a meadow.”