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Raindrops pelted the window next to Trish as she sipped her coffee. She glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing only a minute had passed since she had last looked at it, and then gazed out the window. She searched for Fugo, who had said he’d only be a few minutes. Trish was accustomed to him stepping out of the shared house to smoke a cigarette, and she certainly wasn’t going to complain about the smoke smell not being in the house, but he had left twenty minutes ago.
She knew it was irrational. Giorno had gone to great lengths as the new boss of Passione to ensure their safety, and he had made sure that they all were aware of that. But despite that, it didn’t stop Trish from worrying that every time one of them stepped out of the house it might be the last time she saw them.
Glancing at the clock once more - twenty two minutes - Trish grabbed an umbrella and headed out the door. She walked around to the back of the house and spotted Fugo underneath one of the trees at the edge of the property, struggling with his lighter.
“It won’t stay lit,” he said, offering a half smile as he flicked the lighter once more.
Trish watched him, the sound of the rain on her umbrella the only noise heard. “You’ve been gone for a while,” she finally spoke.
Fugo looked up at that. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how long I had been out here. Time flies when your cigarette won’t stay lit I guess.”
“Maybe it’s a sign you should quit.”
He didn’t respond, but by the way he avoided her eyes, she knew he heard her.
“It’s gross,” she went on. “And it’ll kill you.”
“You really think it’s gross?” Fugo asked, looking at Trish with his eyebrows raised.
Trish raised one eyebrow in response, crossing her arms the best she could while still holding the umbrella. “Are you really focusing on that part of what I said?” When his only response was to look back down at the ground, she went on, “Please come inside. It’s freezing out here, and I’m worried.”
As if on cue, Fugo shivered, dropping the half smoked cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his heel. “Alright, let’s go then.” He started walking back toward the house, leaving Trish behind with her umbrella.
Picking up her pace to catch up to him, Trish made sure that the umbrella covered them both. “At least try to stay dry.”
“I’m already cold and wet, what does it matter?”
“It makes me feel better,” she replied, jaw already set to come back at whatever retort he might have for her. Instead, Fugo slowed down and allowed her to walk with him.
When they got back to the house, Trish made sure Fugo stayed in the entranceway to avoid tracking water through the house. As she got him a towel, she also started the water for a bath and set out another towel and dry clothes for him. “Here,” she said, handing him a towel, “dry off and then go take a bath to warm up so you don’t get sick.”
“You know that’s a myth, right?” Fugo brought the towel up to his hair and began drying it roughly before moving on to his shoulders. “You can’t get sick from being out in the rain.”
“You know that it is a fact that being cold can weaken the immune system though, right?” Trish folded her arms in front of her chest, glaring up at Fugo to make sure she got her point across.
He smiled back somewhat sheepishly as he continued drying himself off the best he could before heading into the bathroom. Trish watched as he closed the door behind him, staring at it for a moment before returning to her seat near the coffee table. As she gazed into her now lukewarm cup of coffee, she watched as her trembling hand made small waves in the caramel colored liquid.
She knew that five minutes turning into twenty or the idea that someone might catch a cold shouldn’t be cause for such distress. But knowing this didn’t stop her from anxiously staring at the door around the time people usually came home, silently praying that the door would open any second. And it didn’t make matters better that so often the other members of the household would be out for long periods during the times that Trish was usually home. At one time she craved the solitude and quiet, but these days the silence was often accompanied by terrifying thoughts about what could be happening to her friends.
Trish was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she didn’t even hear Fugo come out and sit next to her. “I’m warm now,” he said, sporting a small smile. When she continued staring into her cup, he went on, “I really am sorry if I worried you.” His smile turned to a concerned frown at her continued silence. “Hey, c’mon, talk to me.”
“It’s not just that, and it’s not just you,” she finally said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I just hate the idea of losing someone else.”
Fugo gently took the coffee cup from her hands and placed it on the table before taking her into his arms. Though he was still getting used to physical affection, Trish had noticed him take the initiative more often lately, and also he didn’t hold her as if he was afraid one or both of them might break. “None of us are going anywhere,” he whispered.
“You don’t know that. You can’t promise that. No one can.” She trembled, allowing herself to fall deeper into the embrace so that Fugo was supporting the weight of her entire upper body. Her eyes blinked back tears, and she was grateful for how warm Fugo still was from the bath.
There was a long pause before Fugo spoke up. “You’re right. I can’t promise that. But I can promise that we all are doing everything we can to keep each other safe.”
“Then will you stop smoking?” The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.
“I—”
“I know you don’t even like them,” she whispered, a few tears making their way down her cheek. “I hear you complain about the taste to Mista. I know why you smoke, and I want you to stop.”
Fugo’s hand, which had been rubbing her arm soothingly, stilled and he looked away.
“Please, I don’t want to lose you too.” Trish’s voice cracked and she buried her face into his chest, finally letting herself cry.
For several moments, Fugo remained frozen, but gradually he tightened his embrace, pulling her even closer to him. “You won’t lose me,” he said, a resolve in his voice despite how the words caught in his throat.
Eventually Trish was lulled to sleep by the sounds of Fugo’s steady breathing and the rain pitter-pattering on the window, clinging to the person who was now one of the few constants she had in her life.