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It was loud. Everything was so fucking loud. Narancia usually liked when things were busy in Bucciarati’s house, but this wasn’t the good busy, this was a bad busy.
Narancia had run errands with Abbacchio and Bucciarati earlier that day, which was already annoying. He had asked to stay back and help out Fugo with some paperwork, but Abbacchio had sneered at him and told him that he would just make Fugo’s work twice as hard. That made Narancia pissed, especially when Fugo and Bucciarati said nothing in his defense, and Narancia just didn’t get why the older man had to be so mean sometimes. Like, Fugo was mean to him too but at least he listened when Narancia told him something he did or said actually pissed him off. Abbacchio just didn’t take him seriously, which was even more annoying because Narancia was trying really hard to be nice to him despite still being nervous being around him. Abbacchio was just… really tall. And scary. And was a cop. It was hard to trust him when he was so scared of him, but Bucciarati and Fugo weren’t scared of him so he tried to be good for them.
Still, the moments when Bucciarati had him and Abbacchio wait somewhere while he went to talk with people had made Narancia anxious. He wished Fugo went with them, but as much as he wished for his stand to get a new teleporting power the blond boy never appeared in front of him. He felt dumb for being disappointed.
It was an uncomfortable few hours. He barely did anything the whole time, instead just watching as Bucciarati talked with people with Abbacchio occasionally helping him out. The only thing of any use Narancia did was use Aerosmith’s radar to check for any irregularities among the crowds they were walking in, but this errand run reminded Narancia more of trips to the store he went on with his mom as a kid more than real gang work. Thinking of that made him a bit sad, though, because he got sad whenever he thought of his mom. Abbacchio grumbled when he saw him sulking, saying something about him being an impatient kid, and Bucciarati really shouldn’t have been surprised when Narancia tried to knife him. He had it coming!
Now he was sitting at the table next to Fugo, who seemed to have had a generally pleasant day since he was currently trying to explain to him the plot of some book he was reading. Apparently it was some classic literature thing, but Narancia couldn’t understand what he was talking about. He never really understood Fugo when he went on about his smart kid shit, but he usually was fine with listening because Fugo almost certainly didn’t understand what Narancia said whenever he talked about his favorite tv shows but he still listened without complaint. Today, though, the words just grated on Narancia’s ears and made him want to cover his head. He kicked his legs back-and-forth instead to release some of his pent up energy, but after kicking at the leg of the table a few times Abbacchio started to glare.
“Cut it out with that kicking shit,” the tall man grumbled, narrowing his eyes when Narancia just glared back and kicked the table harder. They became locked in a staring contest for a couple of seconds, but Narancia shrunk under Abbacchio’s gaze and instead switched from kicking to shaking his leg.
Bucciarati had insisted on preparing a meal that day – a rare but appreciated offer from their team leader – and Narancia had been kind of excited until he was able to smell it from the kitchen. It smelled like… something that would be spicy. He hated spicy foods, but he also knew not to pass up food that was offered to him so he mentally told himself to just deal with it. The thought of having to eat now made his stomach feel all weird, though.
Fugo was still talking and now Narancia could hear another noise: Abbacchio drumming his fingers on the table. He went to glare at him, but one look from white-haired man made Narancia sharply turn his head away. Why was his heart racing all of a sudden? His eyes darted around the room even though he didn’t know what he was looking for, and the food must have almost been done because the scent was even stronger and he kind of felt like he was going to be sick. Fugo stopped talking suddenly and Narancia could feel his gaze on him, heard him say the words, “are you okay?” but he couldn’t process any of it.
The final straw was when Narancia heard the kitchen sink’s faucet turn on. It was like he could hear each droplet of water hit the bottom of the metal sink and slosh around. It reminded him of the nights he would have to sleep outside in the rain, or even worse when he had to sleep next to a drain pipe or something. Somehow the little dripping of the water was worse than the sound of a whole storm, but whenever he had gotten annoyed by it his “friends” just teased him for being such a baby.
He sure felt like a baby now, because he was only able to stand two seconds of hearing the faucet running before he was curling up in his chair, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He lifted his legs up so he could curl up more properly in the chair, and when he felt someone touch his shoulder he whined in frustration. Someone was talking to him but he wasn’t paying attention to who, even when the faucet stopped. A second and third voice joined in and he began to rock, pulling on his hair more so the pain could distract him from all the noise. The voices grew louder and then there was the sound of sharp footsteps, and Narancia continued to pull at his hair and rock.
Hands suddenly grabbed at his wrists, trying to move them away from his head, but he violently attempted to yank his hands away. He looked up and saw Abbacchio looming over him, and suddenly he was just another cop like the ones who grabbed him and pushed him against a wall and hit him when he didn’t comply, or the guards in the detention center who were somehow even rougher than the cops, who made sure his eye didn’t have the chance to get better even when he didn’t even do anything wrong to them. They were all so sadistic.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories from the year before only became more prominent. He was on the ground, a brown, tattered blanket wrapped around him. He was shivering from whatever sickness was ailing him now, unable to find the strength to scavenge the garbage cans for food, but he was able to look up at a man walking towards him. He was so much bigger than him – everyone was, especially now that he was so skinny from true malnourishment – and even though his face was blurry Narancia knew the man didn’t want anything good from him. How many times would people try to come up to him to fuck him up before he just gave up and let them do what they wanted?
He didn't want to give up today, so he grabbed his old, rusty pocketknife and somehow mustered up the energy to lunge at the guy. “Get the hell away from me!” he yelled, but before his knife could make contact with the man’s gut there was a screech and then a loud, musical sound that broke through his swirling thoughts.
His eyes snapped open and his violet eyes met the odd, yellow and purple eyes of Abbacchio, who was kneeling in front of him now. His chair was pushed back farther than it had been before, and Bucciarati was standing behind it with his hands on the wooden back. Fugo was right behind Abbacchio, looking like he was trying very hard to not push the man out of the way. Narancia also noticed his pocketknife was on the ground, but it was quickly snatched up by Fugo, who handed it to Bucciarati. The music was still there, so he continued to stare at Abbacchio and Fugo in confusion. Fugo gave him a small, reassuring smile and tapped at his ear, making Narancia reach up to try and touch at his own ear too.
There was something on his head, and when Narancia moved it so it stopped covering one of his ears he was able to hear the sounds of the room again. “My headphones,” Abbacchio explained in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, trying his best to talk while keeping Narancia comfortable. “Does the music help?”
The music… Narancia pondered that, moving the headphones to cover his ears properly again, and slumped back in the chair. He didn’t know why he felt so tired all of a sudden, and the relaxing nature of the song playing made him want to fall asleep or something. He only got defensive again when Abbacchio moved to stand up, but then Fugo actually did move the taller man out of the way so he could stand in front of Narancia. There was a look in the blond’s eyes when he crouched down in front of Narancia’s chair, one that made the boy feel like his friend understood what happened just now more than even he himself did. He wouldn’t be surprised; Fugo was super smart so of course he knew what was going on. He trusted Fugo to know what to do, so when the taller boy moved to touch him he didn’t fight it.
He was scooped up, which usually would make him feel embarrassed but at the moment he just felt subdued by the music coming from the headphones. He let his arms and legs wrap around the other boy, distantly noting that somehow Fugo was strong enough to carry him now. He didn’t have time to dwell on when exactly Fugo stopped being a scrawny nerd because he was already being put down onto a soft surface. As Narancia realized he was on the couch in the living room now, Fugo was placing a blanket over him. Now he really felt tired. He didn’t know why they were doing this, anyway. Usually whenever they were having a bad day they just had to suck it up and deal with it, so why was he being treated so… softly?
Fugo sat down on the floor and Narancia watched with droopy eyes as the blond pulled his knees up to his chest, letting his head temporarily fall back against the couch cushion. Fugo then reached up, moving the headphones off one of his ears again. “You okay?”
Narancia nodded, unsure of how to verbally respond.
“I think you got overstimulated. Bucciarati said you were stressed out earlier, so it makes sense that the noises bothered you,” Fugo explained his theory, but then paused. “… Well it makes sense to me, at least. I’m not sure if Bucciarati or Abbacchio necessarily understood, but they agreed to try my idea.”
Narancia just nodded again. He felt worn out. The music playing in his other ear was so relaxing; it was some jazz song or something. Is this the kind of music Abbacchio really listens to? The thought of someone as big and intimidating as Abbacchio listening to pretty music like this was funny. He unintentionally let out a chuckle, earning a raised eyebrow from Fugo.
“By the way, Bucciarati will give you back your knife after you have a talk with him…” Fugo trailed off, his expression uncomfortable. “Were you aware that you tried to lunge at Abbacchio? Your knife slipped out of your pocket and you didn’t realize, so I feel like you were acting more on instinct than anything. Bucciarati was just concerned.”
When Narancia just sleepily stared at him, Fugo shifted his position and moved the blanket so it covered more of the smaller boy’s body. It was only then that Narancia realized that he was even asked a question. His brain was too fuzzy to work properly, it seemed.
“I just… remembered those men,” Narancia mumbled into the throw pillow his head was resting on, not noticing Fugo tense up at his words. When he looked at his friend’s face, though, he saw that the weird look was back in his eyes. “Abbacchio’s big and scary, y’know? Used’ta be a cop… reminds me of the guys who sent me to juvie ‘n shit. And other stuff... ‘m tired, Fugo.”
Fugo stared at him, looking stuck between being relieved that he was done talking and wanting to press him for details. He ended up just nodding his head, telling him to close his eyes, and when the headphones were moved over his ears again all Narancia was able to hear was the soothing sound of the music, quickly lulling him to sleep.
--
When he awoke again, the music was still playing from the headphones. It was dark out and the lights were mostly off, and when he glanced over he saw Fugo curled up against the couch, his cheek pressed into the cushion. Narancia didn’t know why Fugo stayed the whole time, but he did know that he wished he had his little disposable camera with him so he could get a picture of how silly his friend looked.
Before he could reach over and poke the blond on the nose or tug at his hair to wake him up, something moved in his peripheral vision. His head whipped around in the direction of the thing as he stuffed his hand into his pocket, remembering that Bucciarati still had his knife. He pushed the headphones off his ears, letting it fall around his neck. The dark figure looked his way, sitting down on the couch by his feet. Narancia bent his knees instinctively, pressing his feet under the back cushions.
“Relax, Narancia, it’s just me,” a calm voice said to him, and when Narancia blinked a few times he was able to make out Bucciarati’s features. He had a mug in his hands, and Narancia watched as he took a sip of whatever the drink was before putting it down on the coffee table in front of him.
The music was still playing from the headphones, so Narancia took his eyes off of Bucciarati so he could figure out how to turn it off. He never had used headphones before, but he tried to follow the wire connected to it to get to the source of the music. When he realized that the MP3 player the wire was connected to was held in Fugo’s hands, he reached down to carefully take it from him. The blond stirred, but stayed asleep.
Narancia fiddled with the device until he figured out how to turn the music off, and once he figured it out the room fell silent. All he could here were the deep breaths Fugo was taking and the occasional drink Bucciarati took from his mug. The sipping sound made Narancia feel like he had to squirm around so he scooted back so he was sitting up against the corner of the couch, now sitting with his feet tucked under him.
Even though Bucciarati hadn’t said anything to him, the silence between the two of them made Narancia feel guilty about earlier. “Bucciarati…” he called out, but slapped a hand over his mouth when the team leader put a finger to his lips and pointed at where Fugo was sleeping.
He waited a few seconds before slowly removing his hand. “… Bucciarati,” he tried again with a quieter voice, this time getting the man to turn his head and properly focus his attention on him. “I… uh. I can’t do this again, can I?”
Bucciarati sighed, sinking more into the back cushion. “No, you can’t,” he replied honestly. “If we were in any other situation then I think I would say that we can figure it out slowly… but like with Fugo’s situation, there are some things that we can’t properly deal with. There’s no time for therapy in a job like this, so we need to figure out a quick, short-term solution to whatever it is that happened earlier. Did the music help?”
Narancia frowned, feeling like he was being scolded. He understood where Bucciarati was coming from, of course, but his words were just another reminder of the realities of their work. It sucked, but… he did ask for it, so he couldn’t really be mad about it.
“Yeah, the music helped I think,” Narancia replied, playing with the now-quiet headphones around his neck. “Fugo said that I got, um, over… stimulated? Overstimulated? It felt like all my senses went crazy and then it all jumbled together and it pissed me off and made me feel weird but it wouldn’t stop and then there was the water and then… y’know.” It was hard to put what he had felt into words, but Bucciarati still nodded as if he understood. Narancia knew he didn’t understand at all, but he appreciated that he was even listening.
“Well, if the headphones help with stopping that then you probably should invest in your own pair,” Bucciarati said, eyeing the red headphones. “I doubt Abbacchio would appreciate you stealing them from him all the time. He doesn’t like people touching his things.”
“Yeah…” Narancia mumbled in response, taking the headphones off completely and folding them in his lap. “I’ll see how much cash I have and then go buy some. I don’t wanna have this happen again…”
The boy then looked up with furrowed brows. “Where is he anyway? Abbacchio, I mean.”
Bucciarati shrugged, reaching over to take the headphones away, exchanging them for Narancia’s pocketknife. “I’m not sure. He went out about an hour ago, but he should be back soon since it’s late,” he explained before standing up and looking down at Narancia. “I’m going to get some rest now; you should too. And if you can, please make sure Fugo doesn’t sleep there all night. He refused to get up earlier but I know he’ll complain about his neck in the morning if he stays like that.”
Narancia nodded at the instructions given. “You got it, Bucciarati. Goodnight!” he replied, giving the team leader a toothy smile as he pocketed his knife.
“Sleep well, Narancia,” Bucciarati nodded at him, lifting his mug up slightly instead of a wave. The man then left the room, his quiet footsteps disappearing down the hallway.
Once he was gone, Narancia shifted around and stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and letting out a yawn. He then bent down, making sure Fugo was still fast asleep, and then put an arm around his back and under his knees so he could lift him up. Narancia struggled to lift him – he still had a ways to go in the strength department and Fugo also had a good three inches on him – but he was proud that he was able to pick his friend up and put him on the other end of the couch without waking him up.
Narancia then plopped back down on his own end of the couch, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders when he felt a slight chill. He was about to lay back down to get more sleep like he promised Bucciarati, but right before his eyes shut for good the boy had a thought that made him sit right back up again. Fugo woud probably get cold overnight and then he would be cranky in the morning and that wasn’t good for anyone, so Narancia grabbed the end of the blanket and moved it and himself around until they were both warmly covered by the blanket. The position wasn’t as comfortable but Narancia knew he slept in much worse conditions, so he was able to curl up again and shut his eyes.
At one point he half-woke up, distantly hearing a sound. His memory of that moment was still hazy, but he could have sworn he heard someone walk into the room. He lost his grip on consciousness a few moments later, though, and didn’t open his eyes until the morning.
Fugo was somehow still sleeping, and when Narancia poked him in the cheek, his nose twitched and scrunched up before going lax again. It kind of reminded him of a bunny rabbit and the thought made Narancia want to laugh because he knew the blond would probably get pissed if he heard the comparison.
After Narancia poked Fugo two more times without success the boy got bored, leaning back against the back cushion and glancing out the window at the barely-risen sun. There was a weird feeling around his neck, and when Narancia lifted up his hand he felt what seemed to be headphones.
“Huh? I thought I gave Abbacchio’s headphones to Bucciarati last night…” he wondered aloud, taking the headphones off of his neck. However, when he actually looked at them he realized they were definitely not Abbacchio’s. Instead of a bright red like he had been expecting, these were a lighter blue color and looked to be a different brand. “What the hell…?” Narancia mumbled, confused as to what was going on. He pinched his right arm as hard as he could, but even after the acute pain made him hiss and squeeze his eyes shut, he didn’t wake up.
He lifted his head up when he heard a noise from the kitchen, and his head followed the noise as it got closer until he saw Abbacchio walk into the room. The man had his regular cup of coffee in his hand along with an apple and a folded up newspaper, and he silently nodded at Narancia before sitting down in one of the seats. He placed his mug and the apple on the little table beside the chair and grabbed the remote, flicking it on and changing it to some weird car racing channel before opening up the newspaper. He looked like an old man, especially with the white hair, and Narancia bit his lip to keep the chuckle from escaping his mouth.
They stayed silent for about five minutes, Narancia trying out five different sitting positions until Fugo lightly slapped him on the arm and mumbled at him to stop squirming around, his eyes still squeezed shut. When did he wake up? Narancia pouted and put his weight against Fugo’s curled-up body in revenge, but Fugo just wrapped the blanket tighter around himself – and by extension Narancia too – and attempted to go back to sleep. Fugo was being boring today; Narancia thought he was more fun when they got to bicker and play-fight in the morning… as long as they didn’t accidentally go too far, but that didn’t happen often.
“Do you like blue?” Abbacchio suddenly asked, snapping Narancia out of his thoughts. His eyes were still on the newspaper, not looking at the couch at all, but Narancia knew the question was aimed at him.
“Uhh,” Narancia stopped to think about it for a second, tilting his head. “Like the color? Because yeah I guess I do. I don’t like it as much as orange or purple but I like it a lot! I think if I had to rank it on the nicest color list it’d be like… third?” That sounded about right. “Why?”
Abbacchio actually did look over at him this time, giving him a deadpan look before rolling his eyes. “Dumb kid…” he muttered, more to himself than to Narancia, but it still made the boy angry.
Narancia was about to open his mouth to give Abbacchio a piece of his mind, but then he stopped. He looked down at the headphones… the blue headphones. He had forgotten that they were even in his hands. Oh! He looked back up at Abbacchio, his eyes wider now. A little grin grew on his face as he connected the dots.
“Stop staring, brat,” Abbacchio grumbled, grabbing his apple and taking an angry bite out of it, but Narancia wasn’t intimidated this time. A little laugh bubbled out of his mouth, making Abbacchio give him a side-glare, but Narancia only half-heartedly tried to cover up his mouth to stop the laugh. Maybe Abbacchio wasn’t so scary after all.
Narancia leaned against Fugo again, who grumbled in annoyance but wiggled a bit so they both could rest more comfortably, and slipped the headphones over his ears. The wire connected to a little MP3 player of his own, and when he played around with it he realized there were already a few songs loaded onto it. He settled for the jazz one, which honestly wasn’t his favorite type of music but still was nice to listen to, and then waved at Bucciarati when he entered the room. The team leader gave the three of them a strange look, but then smiled and headed into the kitchen to make himself his own drink.
Lowering the volume until the instruments became simple background noise, Narancia let out a happy sigh and sunk in deeper into the cushions of the old couch. He moved his feet to let Bucciarati sit at the opposite end of the couch, and listened to the muffled conversation that he and Abbacchio began to have. Unlike yesterday the mixture of noise didn’t bother him that much, but when it started to get a little on his nerves he just turned the volume up and let the music drown out all the other noises until he felt calm again. It was… nice. He knew that in a little while they’d all have to get up and life would be rough and hard and painful again, but in the moment Narancia allowed himself to feel just a little happy. Everything felt so normal, or at least as normal as he could imagine. He also hadn’t noticed how on-edge he had felt around Abbacchio until he felt himself actually relax, but now he knew what that man really was: a big fucking softie.
A grin played on Narancia’s face and he moved the blanket so it covered up to his eyes. He felt like he was in on a secret now and the mischievous part of him wanted to see if he could use this newfound information to his advantage. Maybe if he was just a little nicer to Abbacchio, then…
Abbacchio suddenly was glaring at him again, almost as if he could read Narancia’s thoughts. The boy cackled and fully hid under the blanket, peeking out after a second. Abbacchio had a tiny smile on his face, but he replaced it with a scowl when he saw Narancia’s eyes back on him.
That was all Narancia needed to see. He was definitely going to use that to his advantage. He pressed a button on the MP3 player and it switched to some English song that he couldn’t understand, but he didn’t care and let his head bop to the beat, deciding that he would relax now and scheme later.
Bucciarati had gotten up at some point and left the room, because he now came into the room with a small bowl of chopped fruit; Narancia’s favorite breakfast food. He placed it in Narancia’s lap and stole one of the little grapes before sitting back down, and as Narancia reached in the bowl Fugo slapped his hand away and snatched up three, four, five of the strawberry slices. In return, Narancia grabbed one of the strawberries from Fugo’s hand before he could take a bite of it and popped it into his own mouth, grinning at the blond afterwards.
He then hesitated, but picked up a grape, flinging it over at Abbacchio and hitting him in the forehead. The man’s eyebrow twitched and he said something that Narancia couldn’t hear over the music, and then all of a sudden the grape was being flung back. Narancia opened his mouth to catch it, but it hit him in the nose instead and fell to the ground. The boy went to go and grab it, but when Fugo gripped his wrist to stop him he could imagine the blond berating him about how the Five Second Rule didn’t exist or something dumb. Whatever, there were more grapes anyway.
He and Fugo ate up everything in the fruit bowl easily, practically fighting to get their favorite fruits first, but at the end the blond shyly offered Narancia the last orange slice. Narancia smiled wide and accepted it even if he couldn’t hear the words the other was saying, and as he popped the fruit in his mouth and rested against his friend again he saw Bucciarati looking at them fondly. A weird, fuzzy feeling welled up in Narancia’s chest and he looked at his MP3 player, turning the volume of the music down to hear the sounds of everyone again.
The noises and feelings around him were comforting instead of irritating now, and Narancia looked down at the blanket covering him, smiling at no one in particular. Yeah, life was good, at least for now.