Work Text:
The sun rises and sets just outside the manor window, at a speed that fills Giorno with panic and a deep sense of dread. The clock on the wall is moving so quickly that the hands can barely be seen, and the digital clock on Giorno’s nightstand is going berserk.
Something is obviously very, very wrong.
Fugo sits on the edge of the bed, anxiously fidgeting with his hands and clearly trying to pretend that whatever is happening right now isn’t actually happening. Giorno sits at his desk, staring out the window with a blank expression. He has no idea what’s going on, not exactly, but he knows that something is seriously wrong. He doesn’t think that whatever is happening right now is going to end well.
There is an overwhelming feeling of dread filling the room, one that presses down on Giorno’s shoulders and forces the air out of his lungs.
“Pannacotta,” Giorno finally says, his voice shaking ever so slightly. It’s rare that he ever addresses Fugo by his first name, even after all their years together.
“Yeah,” Fugo responds, as if he knows exactly what Giorno is thinking. He probably does.
Slowly, on trembling legs, Giorno stands from his desk and crosses the room to sit beside Fugo on his bed. For a long moment, neither of them say anything. They stare blankly at the sun as it rises and falls, filling the room with light only to immediately leave it in darkness once again.
“I wonder what’s going on,” Fugo mumbles, silently reaching out to grab Giorno’s hand. “There was... that whole thing with fictional characters coming to life, or whatever. And... God, the rainbows and the snails— A-And now they’re saying that there was a terrorist attack at Cape Canaveral. And... And now there’s this.”
Giorno has nothing to respond to that with. He wracks his brain for something — anything — to say, but there is nothing.
The world they know is coming to an end, and there isn’t much left to say.
Giorno squeezes Fugo’s hand, and he’s sure his grip is probably bordering on painful. But Fugo doesn’t say anything. He simply leans over, resting his head on Giorno’s shoulder. Giorno presses a kiss to the top of Fugo’s head, lingering there for a long moment.
“You know,” Giorno mumbles, his voice muffled by Fugo’s hair, “I always thought you were so far out of my league.”
“What?”
“I mean—“ Giorno is cut off by the sound of a scream outside the window. He winces, but continues. “You’re so smart; Much smarter than me. You always have the right answer for everything, and— I don’t know. I always worried I was too soft for you, or that I wasn’t smart enough for you, or... something dumb like that. It was kind of funny.”
“You’re so dumb,” Fugo mutters, shaking his head. “I’ve loved you since the day you saved me from the mirror world. Maybe even before that.”
“I don’t even know when I fell in love with you,” Giorno admits, laughing sheepishly. “It just happened, I guess. And then one day it just kind of... hit me. And everything started to make sense.”
The clock on the wall falls, hitting the ground with a crash. It’s a violent reminder of the horror happening outside the manor, despite Giorno’s desperate attempt to distract from it all.
The sun is moving faster now, so fast that it’s starting to give Giorno a headache.
“I— I really hope this is just some weird fucking dream,” Fugo says, swallowing nervously. “I hope I wake up tomorrow and can tell you all about this, and then you can laugh at me and tell me to stop reading my weird horror novels because they’re giving me nightmares or something.”
“You know, I...” Giorno trails off, his gaze falling to the floor. “I don’t think this is a dream, Fugo. I wish it was.”
“Yeah,” Fugo mumbles numbly. He leans closer into Giorno’s side, tightening his grip on Giorno’s hand. “I think— I think it’s almost over, Giorno. I don’t think there’s much time left.”
Giorno doesn’t want to respond to that. He doesn’t want to make it real, doesn’t want to admit that he can tell it truly is almost over. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s terrified, that he doesn’t want this to happen, that he doesn’t want to die just yet, that he doesn’t want to say goodbye to Fugo, that he—
“You’re thinking too loud, Gio,” Fugo mumbles, glancing over at Giorno. “Just— Stop worrying, okay? It’s almost over. There... There isn’t really anything left to be worried about.”
“We never took that trip to New York like you wanted to,” Giorno says after a long moment of silence. “Now we’ll never get to.”
“Giorno, that doesn’t matter—“
“I know, I just— I wish we could have just... just a little more time.” Giorno feels tears starting to form in his eyes, and he impulsively wipes them away.
“I know you do.” Fugo bites back a sob. “I’m sorry. I wish we could have more time too.”
Giorno opens his mouth to say something, but he isn’t sure what to say anymore. There’s so many thoughts running around his mind, so many things he wants to say before it’s all over, but no matter how hard he tries, he has no idea how to properly voice them. He lets out a shaky breath.
“I love you.” Giorno wraps his arms around Fugo, shifting their position until Fugo’s face is buried in Giorno’s chest. He runs his shaky fingers through Fugo’s hair, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming static beginning to fill his senses. “I love you so much, I’m— I’m so sorry it has to end this way, I’m so sorry, Fugo—“
“Shut up,” Fugo mumbles, his voice cracking. “I love you too. It’s not your fault. I love you so much, I don’t— I don’t want things to end like this either, I—“
Fugo devolves into a trembling mess, gasping for air as he sobs into Giorno’s chest. Giorno rests his chin upon Fugo’s head, and it takes everything in his power not to burst into tears and incoherent screams as his vision begins to fade.
“I’m scared, Gio,” Fugo whispers, gripping onto Giorno like a lifeline. Giorno swallows down a sob and continues running his fingers through Fugo’s hair, starting to hum an old lullabye Bruno taught him. He’s no longer sure whether he’s trying to keep Fugo calm, or just trying drown out the horrible static.
Without warning, everything before Giorno begins to distort and twist and blur, and it’s all wrong, and he hugs Fugo tighter, finally letting out a terrified sob as the static becomes too loud to bear, and there is one brief moment of terrifying silence before it’s finally all over, and Giorno and Fugo and everything around them suddenly fade away, replaced by nothing but an endless void in time and space.
And somewhere, somewhere very far away, in a place where everything is different and the world is much kinder, there is a young blond boy meeting a boy with strawberry earrings for the first time, and they are walking down the sidewalk together, talking idly about their favorite flavors of ice cream. The sun is slowly setting, and there is a car driving by filled with hitchhikers and strays, and everything is calm and everything is safe.