Chapter Text
Pannacotta Fugo stared at his notebook. Pages before the current were hastily torn out and thrown across the room. Idea after another, time and time again, were scrapped.
Oh yeah, He thought to himself, I’ll totally write the 50th fucking song on the shit I went through or whatever. The people eat that up. It sells.
He didn’t want to make something that sold anymore. He hated writing about his past. The fourth album his band--the Feedback--made, Manic, was supposed to be an equally distributed effort between him and Sheila, with a pinch of help from their friend Murolo, but now that he was just sitting in front of his notebook, thinking and writing and tearing and crumpling and throwing, not being able to pin something down for the first fucking song on the album, he thought that maybe giving it all to Sheila and Murolo wasn’t a bad idea. His band’s first album, Haze, was written almost entirely by Fugo. His lyrics were filled with a vile form of anger that, at the time felt good to get out, but as soon as people started eating it up and missing the meaning he couldn’t help but feel terrible.
Maybe he’d write a love song? He wasn’t in love. You can’t write a love song when you aren’t in love. That’s impractical.
Folk? He’s not much of a fan, but he can try? It probably wouldn’t sound good.
He leaned back. He needed to take a break. He reached over and turned on the radio he always kept nearby. It was already on his favorite station, but it seemed he’d gotten there at an inopportune time. The song was fading out, at the very end of its run so he couldn’t figure out who made it.
Until the radio hosts started speaking.
“That was Undressed by The Zippers…”
Fugos thoughts began to drift. Squalo and Tiziano, hosts of their own radio show and, admittedly, station, had been playing The Zippers a lot more lately. Not that Fugo was complaining, necessarily, he loved The Zippers. He was just very surprised to see them be played so frequently. The two sole members, Leone and Bruno, performed their songs in such a way that felt almost sensual. Their music was slower and more based on vocals and slow instrumentals, but also warm and welcoming in a way. Bruno and Leone’s chemistry added some form of romance to every song they made. Probably because their songs were based around romance and feeling orientated more often than not, but Fugo would digress.
Fugo looked around, and upon hearing a certain name he realised he’d completely tuned out the radio.
“...Speaking of pianists, can we just talk about Giorno Giovanna? The kid’s almost 16 and making such powerful songs with just a piano . He even makes good covers!”
Fugo’s head perked up. Giorno was one of his favorite newer artists, with powerful use of his only instrument and an even more powerful use of his voice. He’d been the only other musician Fugo’d seen live, and that was just recently. Fugo hadn’t even seen The Zippers live, but he’d definitely seen Giorno live. He wondered how that managed to happen.
There was another thing about Giorno he liked. Every appearance off-stage that didn’t involve performance Giorno had was a special thing in his own right. He dressed nicely, was well composed. His charisma was unmatched by any other performer he’d seen. It was really something that drew one in.
And Fugo loved that.
“Without further ado,” Squalo spoke, “Giorno Giovanna’s cover of One Night Only by The Struts.”
Giorno’s cover started to play, and Fugo leaned forward in his chair, one elbow on the table and hand on his cheek. Giorno’s voice was powerful--perfect for this song, almost. He played the piano like a dedicated guitarist would play their guitar. It sounded so good.
And then his phone buzzed. It was a text from Sheila.
Don’t forget about our interview tonight! Fugo looked at his clock. 11 in the morning. The show was being taped at 5. We’re after Giorno Giovanna, remember ?
He remembered. He couldn’t wait. Something in the back of his mind, however, tugged at his nerves. He got up to look for something better to wear. Something fancier. He had all day, basically.
**
Sheila placed her phone back down on Trish’s patio table, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Sorry, Trish. I had to remind Fugo about our interview on that one late show before he got too caught up in his songwriting stuff.”
“How’s that going by the way?” Trish smiled, taking a sip of her ice water. Sheila let out another sigh, a strained one this time.
“Well…” Sheila laughed, nervously, “It’s going. Pannacotta’s having a lot of trouble just thinking of something to get out. He already got everything he needed out on Haze .”
“Ah, damn,” Trish adjusted herself in her chair. She was wearing dark purple nail polish today, Sheila had noticed. It really fit her outfit. “How do you think that’ll turn out?”
“Good, hopefully.”
Trish had a vinyl of Pretty. Odd. by Panic! At the Disco playing on a record player she had nearby. Sheila had only listened to it twice, but she knew the entire tracklist by now. She Had The World was playing. Just starting, actually. This song, for some reason, really bummed Sheila out but she couldn’t put a finger on why. She shook off her thoughts for now.
It was cool out today. Cool enough to sit out on Trish’s patio and talk with her. Cool enough to wait until the interview.
Trish reached a hand out halfway across the table. “Hey, are you okay, Sheila?”
Sheila would always reach her hand back, placing it on Trish’s whenever Trish did that. It felt subconscious. “Yeah, I’m just thinking. About things.”
Trish adjusted her hand, gently holding Sheila’s. “About what?”
Sheila was almost stunned by the action, but returned it. “The interview.”
“The one after Giorno’s, right?” Trish took her open hand and took a sip of her water, and Sheila nodded, “What about it?”
Sheila shrugged. “Dunno. It’s not very often that we go for interviews. Fugo hates the questions interviewers ask him. I’m surprised he didn’t pass this one up.”
“Oh, really?” Trish pondered for a moment. “Do you think he didn’t because--”
“Because of Giorno being there? I don’t think that’s it… I mean, he likes Gio’s music and all but I don’t think that’s why he didn’t pass it up, and we didn’t know Giorno was gonna be interviewed as well until after we accepted the interview,” Sheila sighed, “He’s told me before he wants to be more open to interviews and outgoing overall. I personally think the less interviews the better but… I digress, I guess.”
Sheila’s eyes drifted to her hand, still being held by Trish’s own.
“I feel that. I never go in for physical interviews anymore.”
“Yeah. I guess my problem with them is that people are weird.”
Trish hummed in agreement. “I think you’ll do great though,” Trish smiled, “You’re always good in interviews.”
“Thank you?” Sheila laughed nervously, “was that the right thing to say?”
“Sure was!” Trish let out a small laugh.
Sheila’s smile crept back. She wouldn’t trade spending time with Trish for anything, not live shows or interviews. She wouldn’t trade moments like these for the world.
And that restrained feeling, not wanting to say too much, not wanting to think too much about how she really felt, felt new every time and every time it grew more bittersweet.
Maybe that’s why the song She Had The World plucked at the most fragile of her heartstrings when it came on.
**
A few hours had passed, and the interview crept closer. So close, in fact, that Fugo was sitting in his car outside of Trish’s house, pondering on sending a text to Sheila instead of just going ahead and going in. He didn’t want to feel like he was intruding on or interrupting anything, he understood that Trish and Sheila’s time was just a Trish and Sheila thing and he didn’t want to disturb that.
So he did the most non-disruptive thing he thought of. He wrote something out. Short and to the point.
Sheila ik you’re probably busy but we gotta head to the place. Y’know, where the interviews are held. I’m outside.
He sat back. Letting out a small sigh, he pressed the send button.
On the other side of the coin, Sheila was quick to notice that her phone went off. She looked at the text Fugo had sent her and let out a sigh.
“I’m sorry Trish, I gotta go.”
Trish looked up at Sheila from where she sat.
“Alright! Break a leg!” Trish smiled, Sheila smiled back.
Sheila gathered her things and left, saying bye to Trish’s mom before she went out the front door.
Fugo was right. He was definitely outside. In his car.
Sheila opened the passenger door and climbed in, reaching her things into the back.
“I’m really sorry if I cut anything short,” Fugo sat up as Sheila closed the passenger door.
“You didn’t,” Sheila adjusted her seatbelt. Fugo put the car into reverse and pulled out of the Una’s driveway. “I was beginning to feel a little melancholy anyways.”
“Why so?”
“Trish keeps putting on her vinyl of Pretty. Odd. when I’m over,” Sheila looked down, “That’s an exaggeration, it’s only been the third time, but I’ve realized that some of the songs are messing with me big time.”
Pretty. Odd.? Huh. Fugo never really saw Trish as the type to like Panic! At the Disco, but he guessed if there was a Panic! album trish would have liked, it would probably be just that. Pretty. Odd.
“Which songs?”
“Oh, uh.. I don’t know. Let me think,” Sheila pondered for a moment, “I think the one that gets me most is She Had The World .”
Fugo hummed in response. “There might be good reason for that, but you probably don’t want to admit it.”
“Admit what?!”
“That the likelihood of She Had The World messing with you is because of the lyrics and how you interpret them. Because you like Trish and I know you like Trish. That probably makes you think about how you haven’t told her about it and how you think she probably doesn’t like you back and has you over not because she enjoys your company or likes being with you and spending quality time with you, but just for the hell of it.”
“Well… you’re pretty damn close, I guess.”
Sheila never likes when Fugo does that, goes in depth on one thing that’s actually really small. But maybe this wasn’t really small. Fugo was pretty on the nose, she couldn’t deny that, but she didn’t want him to be ‘on the nose’. She wanted for him to be wrong. About one thing. This thing, specifically, because there was little else for him to be wrong about.
She decided to change the topic. For her sake.
“So why didn’t you pass up this interview?”
Fugo glanced over, his face taking on a more nervous expression.
“Well… I… uh…”
Fugo’s expression straightened out into a more tense one.
“You know why. I wanted to be more open to interviews so I’m doing just that.”
“You could have bailed any time, Fugo.”
“And I didn’t. For the exact reason I mentioned.”
Sheila sighed, “Alright, noted.”
There was a part of Sheila that wanted to pry, but she realised she’d just be running in circles around Fugo and getting the same answer. She looked at the car’s clock. Three thirty.
Plenty of time to take a nap, she figured, plenty of time to try to not think about things.
Fugo, on the other hand, continued to drive.
**
On second thought, maybe the interview was a bad idea. Fugo wished he would have bailed. He’s not used to being on shows, big ones like this. Part of him knows that Sheila isn’t an interview person at all. His eyes dashed around the backstage. Sheila was off doing her own thing, probably talking to trish over the phone before the interview, so he was alone. His eyes darted around continuously. He wasn’t looking for anything, but there was a part of him that wanted to find something. Or maybe nothing. He’d go for either, he just wanted something to focus on.
Something--someone caught his eye regardless. Walking toward him, a boy around his height wearing pants and a button up akin to something you’d find in a 70’s fashion magazine. His hair was down, the only thing making him stick out--aside from his outfit, maybe--was the three styled curls where his bangs would be. Those probably WOULD be his bangs, Fugo guessed, given the chance they were down.
Fugo knew who this was exactly.
He was looking at Giorno Giovanna, and Giorno was walking towards him.
His eyes darted elsewhere, but as soon as they did…
“Hey, you’re Pannacotta from The Feedback, right?”
They darted right back.
“Yeah, that’s me. You’re Giorno Giovanna, right?”
Nice. Fugo was nailing it. Playing it cool and not freaking out for once.
“Yeah,” Giorno smiled, “I just wanted to tell you that I really like your music and wish you luck on your 4th album, should it be in the works.”
Shit. How was Fugo supposed to respond to this?
“Oh, um, I… uh…” Fugo could feel his face sweating. “I like your music, too!”
Was he dreaming? This didn’t even feel like a real conversation.
“That’s cool!” Giorno’s smile persisted, “We should collaborate sometime! I’m not really working on anything right now, so I’m up for it.”
This couldn’t be real. This still didn’t feel like a real conversation. Fugo pinched his hand to confirm it wasn’t real, only to be met with pain, confirming that this was a real conversation he was having with the actual Giorno Giovanna.
“We should? Oh- I mean- we should!”
Giorno felt his smile getting wider. Cute, he’d thought.
And then he left. He was gonna be right back, but he needed a slip of paper to write his number on. Giorno liked having control over his collaborations.
Meanwhile, Fugo was freaking out. That happened. That was real. He was broken out of it by a hand on his shoulder. He looked over. Sheila’s hand.
“I saw that whole thing,” Sheila said, eyes wide, “Im surprised you didn’t just shut down.”
“I feel like I fucked it up, though.”
“Pshh. You handled that like a champ!”
“Pannacotta!”
His gaze darted towards the sound. Giorno was walking back over. Shit.
“Take this,” Giorno extended his arm, holding a slip of paper in his hand, “In case you want to take me up on that collab.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s my personal number,” Giorno began, “since I like to be in control of my collaborations.”
“Thank you. Me and Sheila will make sure to contact you with our personal numbers as well.”
“Glad to hear it!” Giorno began to walk away again, only to turn around, “Also, Pannacotta, you look pale. Are you alright?”
Fugo took a deep breath. “Ah, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
Giorno smiled. “No problem.”
Fugo and Sheila couldn’t help but stand there for a moment, dumbfounded, only to look at eachother and break out in incomprehensible strings of speech, as if it was on cue or something.
And in that moment, Fugo realized something. Something he didn’t want to admit.
He did like Giorno. Giorno, who he’d never properly talked to until now.
And he had no idea how to handle it.