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It had been months since Fugo left Passione, months since a good half of the people he once thought of as family were killed in the fight to stop the leader, but time didn’t dull the sting of their deaths.
Pannacotta Fugo stood silent before a grave, his two companions equally silent behind him. The words “Narancia Ghirga; 1983-2001. Back home.” were engraved onto the headstone, words that still felt like a knife to the chest every time Fugo read them.
It was an event that had become common, where Shiela E and Cannolo would put up with each other long enough to stay out of the way and allow their mutual friend to grieve. Fugo would often share stories of what Narancia was like when he was alive. He had seemingly hundreds of stories from their years together, and by this point, he was starting to feel like a close friend to Shiela E and Cannolo. But some days were harder than others, and some days Fugo couldn’t muster up the energy to speak. So Shiela E, and the occasionally joining Cannolo, would simply accompany him as he stood.
Their silence made an approaching figure’s footsteps very evident, and Shiela E whipped around to face them, already glaring. Before the trio stood a young woman, around their same age, short pink hair under a wide sunhat, dressed head to toe in obviously designer clothing, carrying a bouquet of flowers.
"Oh, sorry if I'm interrupting. I'd just like to leave these here. Were you friends of Narancia as w-" she cut herself off suddenly as Fugo turned to face her, expression faltering.
“Trish?”
Seeing her face after all this time hurt, to say the least.
A small, pained smile sparked on the girl’s lips. “Ponytail, huh? Never thought you’d be the type to do long hair."
Fugo gave a weak nod, all he could seem to muster, though he didn’t seem as shocked anymore.
Sheila E looked from Fugo to Trish, dropping a little of the tension she held. Once she noticed the situation seemed safe enough, that this girl likely wouldn’t do any harm, she elbowed Cannolo sharply in the ribs. “Hey, Fugo, there’s this coffee shop down the road Cannolo and I wanna check out. Catch up with us later?”
“But we’ve already-” Cannolo was cut off by another elbow to the ribs. Stifling the pain in his voice and shooting Sheila a glare, he spoke up again. “Nngh- yeah. We’ll find you later." Before Fugo could protest or even comment, they were already hurrying off.
“Mind if I stick around? It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to visit him.”
“Go ahead,” Fugo managed, motioning to the grass next to him.
Trish placed the bouquet in front of the grave and took a seat, smoothing her skirt out. Near, but still keeping her distance from Fugo. Something made her distance hurt.
They stayed quiet for a moment before Trish spoke up again. “Are those your friends?”
“Yeah. Sheila E and Cannolo Murolo. Passione members, we were partnered together on a mission, Sheila and I stuck together after we’d finished. Cannolo comes by from time to time to check on us. I promise Sheila’s not as mean as she looks.”
Trish let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “She’s got quite the glare, but she seems like she’d be sweet deep down.”
Her voice softened a little, trying to be as gentle as she could with this. “I take it Giorno filled you in on everything that happened?”
“It’s still hard to believe, but… yes. It all happened so fast; Narancia, Bruno, Abbachio, all within a week of leaving. I’m still sorry I left, maybe if I was still with you they wouldn’t have-”
“Fugo,” Trish spoke up, cutting him off. “Blaming yourself doesn’t do you any good. You know none of this was your fault. I thought it was my fault too, if I was never born to that bastard I wouldn’t have started this whole mess. But guilt only makes it more painful.”
Fugo gave another weak nod.
“I visit Bucciarati and Abbachio pretty often too. They’re buried together, you know, right on top of a hill in Bucciarati’s hometown. Giorno chose the spot. We both like to think they’d have wanted to stay together. Bruno felt like a father to me, I’m glad we at least got to honor him one final time.”
“He was a father to all of us,” Fugo said weakly. “Are you staying at his house now?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s beautiful, and huge for just one person to live in. You’re always welcome to come by if you or your friends need a place to stay,” she offered.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude. It’s your and Bruno’s home, not mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d love to have company, especially from you and this Sheila girl.”
Fugo couldn’t help but smile a little.
Trish let out a sigh. “Narancia was a good guy. I wish I could’ve known him better. The two of you really had something special, didn’t you?”
“I like to think so. There’s so many things I’d want to tell him if he were still around. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life without him here.”
“All there is to do now is keep moving forward. Keep him in your memory and use his force to push you forward. ...He would have been so proud of how far you’ve already come."
It was all too much. A simultaneous weight being lifted off him and the sky crashing down upon him. Fugo couldn’t hold back the tears, and he hid his face with a sleeve in an attempt to at least stifle them.
Trish closed the distance between them, placing a gentle hand over his. “You have Sheila, you have Cannolo, you’ll have Giorno and Mista, and you have me. If grief threatens to crush you, let us help you carry it.”