Chapter Text
Fugo was an almost a normal guy, he held an extraordinary intellect and a nasty temper, he certainly stood out in school, not that he really wanted to. But other than that, he was your average 21 year old.
He only picked up the habit of talking to the moon when his grandmother died.
It was a spring evening in April when he got a phone call from his father (who he despised) delivering the news. She didn't make it on the way to the hospital after a bad car crash. Fugo was devastated to say the least. He had loved his grandmother like she was his world and vice versa. The day she died it felt like a part of him had vanished. It almost didn't feel real that she was dead.
He started venting to himself at night, on the small balcony that his apartment had, his arms resting on the railing. He did this to try and gain some sense of what was happening to him. And at one point, he asked the moon a question. Why he did this, he didn't know. He knew he wasn't going to get an answer, but he did it anyway. But almost as if on que, the wind blew his hair into his face. Of course he didn't think much of it, why would he? It was just the wind.
Of course, that wouldn't stop him from doing it again.
Fugo made a habit of talking to himself out on that balcony before he went to bed, since he always felt better afterward, despite no one really listening. Sometimes he wouldn't be talking about any thing important, like discussing a book he was reading, or ranting about something that irked him the other day, and every once in a while, he'd throw a question out there. For what reason, he didn't exactly know, it just felt natural to do so. But the strangest thing was, sometimes things would happen after he asked a question. Like the wind blowing a bit harder, or the crickets going dead silent. It weirded him about a little bit, and he wasn't even a superstitious guy. For moments he'd question his sanity, he wondered if he was making something out of nothing. He even thought about bringing this up with Mista, but then quickly shot that thought down. There was no way he was going to let anyone know about his little habit.
And so, he kept on with his little ritual, every night before he went to bed.