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Contrary to popular belief, Narancia didn’t hate school.
Learning, however, now that was a subject for debate.
Narancia likes the idea of learning. To understand and figure out something new almost always was accompanied by a feeling of accomplishment. And pride! Especially when he could use it in his day to day activities. Something that could be useful was worth wasting hours of his time on figuring out the little bits needed to apply it.
Like, the time Narancia found out he could use Aerosmith to deliver items with enough string and willpower. Sure, he had to watch half a dozen tutorial videos on how to tie knots in certain patterns, buy a bunch of small boxes and gain a better control of Aerosmith’s fly speed for indoor use. But! It was all worth not having to up and down the stairs to deliver mail.
Fugo said that he was being lazy, but Giorno said he was being… innovative! That’s the word! A lot of the world inventions stem from innovation! Narancia knew this from the documentary he had to sit through in class, so Fugo had no right to judge. And Giorno’s the Boss anyway. He outranks Fugo and his dumb comments.
(Let’s ignore that fact that Narancia’s Aerosmith delivery service has a few bugs of the “hitting Abbacchio in the head variety” to work out.)
School, however, ruins everything fun about learning.
Narancia knows school is important. Duh, everyone knows that! And school is a lot of work. He knows it can’t be all fun and games all the time, but sometimes, the teenager swears up and down that certain teachers make it their mission in life to suck out anything fun or interesting about the subject they teach.
It could not be any more boring if they tried!
Take his history teacher, Signor Bastardo-something-or-other. It’s not his real name, but his actual name sounds too much like a sneeze for Narancia to pronounce properly.
The man’s voice is slow as hell. He takes an eternity to pronounce each syllable and he insists on reading each and every word straight from the textbook. So, when Narancia’s literature teacher emphasizes the ability to summarize and smoosh information down into tiny paragraphs, apparently it doesn’t hold any weight in the only other class that writes god-damned papers!
In conclusion, Narancia finds learning fun. School, however, makes learning not-so-fun. Therefore, school ruins his relationship with learning and now Narancia understands why it was so easy for him to drop out a few years ago.
All he needed were the basics to survive. Bucciarati had helped him with reading. Fugo showed him how to do math. Not well, but improvement has been made! And Mista teaches him… everything else! Kind of.
The point of all this is that Narancia didn’t need to go back to school. One of his best friend’s runs the mafia, he was set for life. Narancia chose to go back to school. He wanted to prove to himself that he could go back and graduate like anyone else.
He also just… wanted to make Bucciarati proud.
His Capo (well, Consigliere to Giorno but he’s never going to get that straight in his head) brings up now and again how he wishes he could have gone back to finish his education when he was younger. It’s… almost depressing to hear how sad his voice gets.
Giorno decided to finish his schooling after that conversation, why shouldn’t Narancia do it as well?
Despite all his reasonings, the reality that Naracia was facing was not aligning with his own goals in the slightest. The letter in his hand (swiped from the mail and hidden underneath his bed for three days) presented his greatest obstacle yet. And now that the date of the event was fast approaching, he had no choice but to ask for help.
So, there Narancia stood. Back straight, feet shoulder length apart and chin high as he raises his hand to knock on the door in front of him.
The teen gulps before speaking.
“Um… Abbacchio? You in there?”
There’s another moment of silence before Narancia starts to hear sounds of muffled movements from behind the door. He debates just opening Abbacchio’s door himself and getting this whole conversation over with, better judgment however takes over and the teen stands patiently outside until a ‘click’ can be heard and the goth himself does it for him.
“What do you want?” The man growls, one hand holding his headphone just far enough from his ear to still listen to music and hear Narancia out at the same time.
Narancia panics only a little bit, not prepared in the slightest for making it this far.
“So… how are you doing today?”
“Kid, get to the point—”
“—I’m getting there! I swear!” Narancia shoves the now crumbled letter into view. “I got a letter… from my principal. She wants to have a ‘parent-teacher’ conference with uh, my history teacher.”
Abbacchio raises an eyebrow, “About?”
“History! I don’t know!” The teen frantically attempts to shift the conversation. “Look! I can’t exactly call up my real dad and ask him to go. Nope. Not happening at all! So… can you do it? Please?” Narancia smacks his palms together and bows his head, shutting his eyes tight as he awaits Abbacchio's response.
Instead, the goth reaches out and plucks the letter out of Narancia's hands and walks back into his room.
“H-hey! That’s mine!”
“Quiet.” Abbacchio snaps. From the doorway, Narancia can see him digging through one of his bedside tables. After a brief minute, the man returns with a pair of reading glasses in tow as he brings it upon himself to read the letter addressed to “Mr Ghirga.”
“So. It’ll just be, Me, You, Mr. Bastienelli and Mrs. Raneri?” asks Abbacchio.
Narancia’s taken back by this.
“Wait. Does that mean you’ll do it!?”
“Someone obviously has to. But! I want all of your time on the television for the next two weeks as payment. And no, you can’t go asking Giovanna for a second tv.”
“Done. Easy. Deal.”
Abbacchio raises his hand to signal he isn’t done. “And you're going to clean my sections of the house this weekend when Bruno initiates his spring cleaning fest. We both know it's coming and I am not about to lift a finger this time around.”
The raven-haired teenager stomps his foot on the ground in frustration. “You are so cruel! But… I accept.”
After all, Narancia doesn’t really have a choice, now does he?
“Good. Now, what day is this conference supposed to be? Next Tuesday?”
“Actually…” Narancia starts to twiddle his fingers around before quietly whispering. “It’s tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!?”
Abbacchio almost pops a vein, ready to smack Narancia with the letter in his hand. The teen, however, is faster. Anticipating the sudden outburst, Narancia bolts down the hallway at breakneck speed. “Yup! Three o’clock! Don’t be late!”
Just as he rounds the corner, the teen adds “And make sure to wear a suit. Having your tits out is against school dress code!”
Compared to entering the school each morning for classes, walking up the front steps with Abbacchio is far more daunting than Narnacia predicted. The anxiety bubbling under his skin only increases as the teen glances back over to his “father” dressed in the worst possible attire the man could have chosen.
Maybe Narancia’s exaggerating again. It isn’t that bad.
Abbacchio had at least tried. The man wore black dress pants and a white button down that Narancia swore it had to be Bruno’s. Standard boring adult stuff. But he also refused to change out of his makeup, completely clashing with the tie he “borrowed” from Fugo. The very same tie that he was tugging at and complaining about as they entered the building.
“I feel like I’m being strangled.”
“Nah. Actual strangulation probably hurts a lot more.”
Abbacchio lets out a huff of air and flicks the teenager on the back of the head.
“I don’t have to be doing this.”
“I’d rather you didn’t if you’re going to look like this!” Narancia, noticing the pair of glasses sticking out of Abbacchio’s pocket, makes a grab for them.
“What the hell—!?”
“Put these on! You’ll look more dad-like!” He tries to shove them in Abbacchio’s face, almost poking one of the man’s eyes as he also scrambles to straighten his tie. “Quickly! Before the secretary sees you!”
Surprisingly, Abbacchio doesn’t object. Although, he doesn’t do what Narancia asks without complaint either. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with so I can go home.”
As the pair approaches the front desk, Narancia gives a little wave to the secretary, who in turn responds to the gesture in kind.
“Good Afternoon Narancia. Mrs. Raneri and Mr. Bastianelli are almost ready for you. And this is your…?” The older woman points the end of her pen at Abbacchio.
The teenager holds his breath, crossing his fingers for this to work.
“I’m— ahem.” Abbacchio coughs. “I’m Narancia’s father.”
Narancia had to look away. The fact that Abbacchio lowered his voice further was too much to hold back. The only thing stopping Narancia from rolling on the floor was his nerves.
“You’re Mr. Ghirga? ” She gives them both a scrutinizing gaze, flicking her eyes back and forth between the two.
Abbacchio places a hand on his hip. “Is there a problem, ma’am? I’ll have you know, I had to leave my job early for this meeting.”
And by job, Narancia was sure Abbacchio meant his shows. But now was not the time to call him out on it.
“I— no. I’ll let Mrs. Renari know that you're ready to see her.” A few clicks on the dial pad and a phone call later, the secretary looks back up and says “Alright. You both are free to take the hall down toward the offices. The principal's office should be the second-to-last door on the left.”
“Good. Come along… sport.”
Narancia wanted to gag. That “sport” did not sound natural in the slightest and no amount of coughing or clearing of the throat could cover up Abbacchio’s shit delivery.
“Oh, wait just a moment please!” The secretary calls out after them.
Narancia and Abbacchio both freeze, thinking that they’d been caught. Both quickly exchange silent looks that translate to “How the hell they were going to explain their way out of this one!?” and “Figure something out! Fast!”
Slowly, Abbacchio turns around to face her with a stiff smile.
“Yes?” He asks, as politely as he can manage.
The secretary holds out a clipboard and a pen.
“I’m sorry, but you still need to sign in here.” She explains, tapping a field on the sheet with the end of the pen.
Abbacchio nods awkwardly, taking the pen and clipboard from her. He squints at the sheet, before writing, in neat print, ‘Narancia’s Dad’. before passing the sheet back to her with a gruff “Here.”
She peers down at the sheet, before looking up to Abbacchio. “... Narancia’s dad?” She asks, a little confused that that’s what he had decided to sign his name as.
Abbacchio smiles in such a way that he bares his teeth. “Yep, thank you!” He says brightly. Grabbing Narancia’s wrist, Abbacchio quickly hurries the teen away down the corridor.
When the two finally reach the door to the office (Narancia making fun of Abbacchio for signing in as ‘Narancia’s Dad’ the entire time), Abbacchio wastes no time walking in, giving Narancia little chance to prolong the inevitable disaster that was about to unfold.
“Ah. You must be Mr. Ghirga.” The principal holds out her hand to which Abbacchio awkwardly shakes in return. “The man next to me is Mr. Bastianelli, Narancia’s history teacher.”
The two exchange a nod, but neither make any effort to shake hands.
“Thank you for taking the time to see us today. Please have a seat.”
Narancia and Abbacchio both take up the two uncomfortable chairs in front of the principal’s desk. Narancia slouches inward, crossing his arms over his legs while Abbacchio crosses one leg over the other in preparation for a long and dreadful meeting. The thing is, Narancia knew that probably wouldn’t be the case.
“I’m starting to get the feeling this isn’t your usual parent-teacher conference. Why exactly am I here today?” Abbacchio asks, still putting up a more “adult” voice. Not like the man doesn’t have that already.
“We are here today because We need to discuss Narancia’s performance in his classes, then look at whether this school is a… right fit for him.”
Abbacchio shifts his eyes over to Narancia before tilting his head back over towards the principle. “What?”
Mrs. Renari takes out a small folder and drops it on the desk in front of her with just enough of an impact to make the teenager jump in his seat. He watches Abbacchio hesitantly pick up the folder and open it, revealing a small stack of papers and assignments Narancia had turned in over the last few months.
Abbacchio didn’t think he could read on. The red marks that littered each page spoke for themselves on his overall performance.
“As you can see through your child’s work, it has come to our understanding that he has not put forth the proper amount of effort to succeed in his own education.”
And there it is. The reason for this whole stupid meeting in the first place.
If Bucciarati knew Narancia fucked up this bad, the teenager would never forgive himself. At least he’s used to Abbacchio being pissed all the time. Surely this won’t be much different.
Mr. Bastianelli continues, “He never seems to pay attention where it is due. He’s distracted—” The teacher cuts himself to point at Narancia, who has been tapping away at the side of the chair. “He is a distraction. Narancia has little regard for others and refuses to sit still in a classroom environment.”
Narancia wants to object. It’s not his fault he has so much energy and he tries to bottle it all up! He really does! Most of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s tapping on the desk or shaking his leg up and down until he gets yelled at!
But… if that is distracting to everyone else than the teacher must be right….
Abbacchio mumbles something underneath his breath, but Narancia only makes out about half it. Something like “s...not doing any harm.”
Mrs. Raneri ignores Abbacchio and keeps going.
“We’ve given him several chances to improve his behavior. While we understand that he is in a rather… unique learning position, it appears that some habits are harder to knock than others. I think it would be best if you find a better place for him to continue his education, if he truly desires it.”
That last comment felt particularly hurtful. Narancia obviously wants to go to school or else he wouldn’t even have bothered to bring Abbacchio to this stupid meeting in the first place!
Speaking of Abbacchio, other than the small mumbling, the man has remained unusually quiet throughout this whole meeting. Narancia shifts in his seat a bit to get a better look at the man’s face, which at this point has been contorted in disgust.
Yup.
Narancia is in so much trouble.
Deeps breaths in and out, hopefully the screaming about to come won’t be so bad.
“Do you understand Mr. Ghirga?”
Abbacchio closes his eyes, sighs, and then opens them back up directly at Mrs. Renari. “What I understand is that the both of you need to shut your mouths and stop pretending like this isn’t your fault.”
“Excuse me!?”
Everyone in the room sat in shock at Abbacchio’s response. Especially Narancia who almost fell out of his seat.
“You heard me. Narancia is in his third year of high school and his writing is like this! And neither of you didn’t stop for a second and think maybe, just maybe, the issue here was that he needs extra support? Or are your heads so far up your own asses that you didn’t notice he, at the very least, may possess some kind of learning difficulty? Because I’ll have you know, I watch him complete your assignments every night, no matter how much whining or time it takes, Narancia gets them done.”
This was… insane to witness. Narancia did not expect Abbacchio to stand up for him like this. But no, this man was going full angry parent on their asses.
Narancia had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Or maybe, you were more focused on your district test scores than to actually help the students who are struggling. I mean, your first reaction was to kick out a struggling student after all.” Abbacchio slams finger on the desk. “Makes a person wonder if this is how you treat all your students or just the ones who cause ‘problems’ during class.”
Mrs. Renari raises her voice to match Abbacchio’s “I— you— How dare you insinuate anything of the sort!”
This of course, doesn’t phase the goth as he simply smirks and turns back towards Narancia, “Narancia, were you ever offered any extra support? Study session? Tutoring? Anything that requires just a bit more of your time?”
Not knowing where Abbacchio was going with this, Narancia sticks with the honest truth and slowly shakes his head.
“What about an assessment for dyslexia? ADHD? Has anyone ever spoken to you about those, maybe suggested you see an outside specialist or speak with someone here on campus?”
Since when does Abbachcio know about all this stuff?
“Uh… no.” He looks down at his feet and quietly adds “Most of my teachers just call me stupid and tell me I’m not trying hard enough when I don’t get something right away like the rest of my classmates.”
Abbacchio jumps to his feet, chair falling over behind him as the now pissed-off man throws both his hands onto the desk. “He hasn't been in school for a while due to outstanding family circumstances, of course he's going to be behind! But, it's your damn job to help him! It's fucked up systems like these that fail our kids! You ever wonder why so many of them join criminal gangs, or, god forbid, the fucking mafia!? It’s because people like you both can’t do your fucking jobs and give the kids who need it proper support!”
Abbacchio points back at Narancia behind him. “Do you want him to end up in the mafia for the rest of his life!? Look at that face! He won't survive that kind of life!”
Narancia does his best to give the most innocent look he could muster.
Mrs. Renari’s look in comparison was not the most flattering. She was bright read in the face, struggling to maintain a professional demeanor while stuttering out a possible response. Eventually, she gets her act together, facing the now smug Abbacchio with a deluge of pointless platitudes and apologies. “I am sincerely sorry for this… misunderstanding Mr. Ghirga. We will look into contacting our support learning staff right away to set up an appointment with your son.”
“Damn straight you will!”
The man, Narancia’s savior, stands up and heads for the door. Not wanting to get left behind, Narancia uses this opportunity to give the smuggest of grins he could to his bastard history teacher before rushing to catch up with Abbacchio.
The pair are preparing to run out of the school and straight to the car (Abbacchio doesn’t know if he can ever show his face there again - in the back of his mind, he hopes Narancia won’t ask him to attend parent’s evening), but as they pass the reception desk, the secretary calls out to them.
“Excuse me! Sir!” She calls out”
“What?!” Abbacchio snarls, spinning to face her. With a raised eyebrow, she holds out the clipboard and pen from earlier.
“You need to sign out.”
Rolling his eyes incredulously, he snatches the sheet from the woman, and proceeds to scribble wildly on it without even looking.
“There.” He mutters, tossing the clipboard and the pen on the desk. The receptionist mumbles out a displeased sounding ‘Thanks’ - which Abbacchio ignores completely, already striding back down the corridor towards the exit.
As soon as the pair got to their vehicle, a wave of relief hit Narancia like a truck.
Easily sliding into the passenger seat of Abbacchio’s car, the teenager leans back on the headrest and blinks in disbelief. He was still just as tense, but now he could finally let himself relax and focus on shaking the tight grip on his muscles away.
Hell, his jaw was throbbing from how much he was clenching it in fear.
“Wow.” Narancia begins. “Wow, that was just… Shit. You really tore into them!” He laughs.
Abbacchio however, still remains silent.
“Like, — Oh. My. God — the look of Bastianelli’s face! Oh, man, that was literally the best…” He slowly trails off as he notices the cross expression on Abbacchio’s face, and how tightly the man is gripping the steering wheel despite the car still being in park.
“... Are... you mad at me?” Narancia tries, hoping for some kind of response. Being yelled at would probably be better than having Abbacchio silently seethe at him, but at the same time, Narancia really thought the man was on his side. Was that just a front for the teachers? Was he actually pissed off?
Abbacchio exhales heavily, taking one hand off of the steering wheel to rub the bridge of his nose.
“No, kid… I’m not mad, I’m just struggling to understand here.”
Narancia thins his lips into a narrow line, waiting for the man to continue. He takes the other hand off the steering wheel and drags them down his face, sighing again.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, turning to the boy sitting in the passenger seat next to him. “You talked for so long about going back to school, you were so fucking excited! Why didn’t you tell anyone you were struggling so much?”
Narancia looks away, not quite able to meet the man’s gaze.
He shrugs. “Dunno. I’ve always been shit with school stuff but I thought it’d better this time around, and it… It wasn’t.”
Growing quieter, Narancia wraps his arms around himself. “An-and they kept calling me stupid and shit and saying that I wasn’t trying hard enough, when I was, and it was like— if my best isn’t good enough for them… then what is?”
Narancia looks out the passenger window and back to the school.
“I guess I’m just stupid. And you can’t fix stupid.”
Silence hangs in the air between them, tense and heavy, until Abbacchio tentatively reaches out to place a hand on Narancia’s shoulder.
“Look… Sport,” He begins through gritted teeth. Narancia gives him a seriously weirded-out look, and Abbacchio winces.
“Yeah, forget that, that was fuckin’ weird for me too, but look. You’re not stupid.” Abbacchio continues, the disheartened and unconvinced look on the boy’s face only serves to make the man feel more sorry for him. Sensing that words alone won’t do much good, Abbacchio reaches into his pocket and pulls out his glasses, offering them out to Narancia.
“Here. Try these on.” He says, all the while stretching an arm into the backseat in order to grab a discarded newspaper.
Narancia raises his eyebrows. “Dude, I’m not trying on your old man glasses.”
Rolling his eyes, Abbacchio holds out the glasses and the newspaper to him. “Just try them on, then try to read the paper.”
Frowning, Narancia takes them from him, putting them on and blinking. “Whoa, everything’s all blue and shit.” He exclaims while taking the newspaper. “Why do I need this?”
“Just, try reading it. Please.”
“Okay, but full warning, I’m shit at reading so—” Narancia blinks at the words on the page before looking to Abbacchio, and then back to the newspaper. “I… I can read it.” He says, squinting at the text, before widening his eyes again. “Wait, do I need reading glasses? What?”
“No, they’re special tinted glasses. They make reading easier for people with dyslexia.”
“With… Wait, you?!”
Abbacchio shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Having something like dyslexia isn’t a life sentence. You just need to find ways around things to make it easier for yourself - like the glasses.”
This was… a new feeling. Never in a million years did Narancia think he had something in common with Abbacchio, of all people.
It was… heartwarming to know he wasn’t alone.
Still, Narancia pouts. “I don’t wanna wear old man glasses.”
Abbacchio snatches the glasses off of Narancia’s face and tucks them back into his pocket. “You don’t have to wear the damn glasses, you can get shit printed on different colour paper or whatever, the glasses are just more convenient.”
“I…” Narancia wants to say something more, he really does but his words just weren’t working for him at all. Pushing through it, he forces back the lump in his throat and continues “T-thank you. Abbacchio… you d-didn’t h-have to do this…”
The teenager quickly brings the newspaper to his face to prevent the man from seeing the tears forming in his eyes.
Abbacchio looks at his mirrors before starting the car, “Don’t mention it. Ever.” Once he double-checked his surroundings, the man pulled out of his parking space and merged onto the main road. “It’s been a rough day and I’m too lazy to make anything…”
Narancia felt his ears pick up at that last sentence.
Did that mean—?
“Do you wanna stop somewhere on the way home?”
“MCDONALDS!” The name burst out of his mouth before Narancia could stop himself. Abbacchio never stopped anywhere for food, no matter the mission nor the travel time. Today was a mcfreakin’ miracle.
As Abbacchio ripped off his tie, tossing it somewhere in the back seat, he shifted the car into the next gear. “McDonalds it is.”
Disposing the McDonald’s bag in the outside trash can before entering, (Bucciarati would have a conniption if he’d found out they’d stopped for fast food, especially since the man was planning to make his ‘Famous’ fish pie for dinner - Spoiler: There was nothing famous about it, and it stunk out the house for the rest of the week.) Narancia and Abbacchio slink into the house hoping to not run into anyone.
Of course, The kitchen was occupied when they walked through the door. By none other than Bucciarati, who just has to be standing at the kitchen sink, humming to himself while peeling potatoes.
“How’d it go?” He asks, turning slightly to face them. “The parent-teacher thing? Was it okay?”
“Uh… Yeah it was fine.” Abbacchio answers automatically before pausing, and glancing towards Narancia, who possessed a horrific expression on the boy’s face.
“Wait, how did you know about that?”
Bucciarati gives a knowing smile. “I got an email reminder from the school. Since Narancia didn’t mention it, I didn’t really think it was any of my business. I’m glad you went with him though.” He comments, before turning back to the sink, and continuing with his potato peeling.
“I mean, thank god I did go.” Abbacchio relents, ignoring Narancia sharply kicking his ankle in an effort to get the man to shut up. “Were you aware his history teacher was a complete asshole?”
Bucciarati places the potato down on the counter, turning to face them fully, his arms folding, his expression screaming ‘Oh, please continue.’
“His principal is an asshole too. I mean christ - he’s really been struggling, and they’ve just been calling him stupid and threatening to kick him out.”
Bucciarati’s gaze flickers from Abbacchio to an especially ashamed-looking Narancia.
“You didn’t say you were struggling.” He quietly says. Narancia only shrugs in response. “I mean, we knew you were going to be a bit behind with being out of school for so long, but I thought you were catching up…? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“... Didn’t want you to be disappointed.” Narancia mumbles, not quite able to make eye contact.
“Oh, Narancia…” Bucciarati murmurs, a little sadly. “Just by going to school you’re making me proud. By trying you’re making me proud. I would never be disappointed with you.”
“They’re going to talk to the learning support people. Look into some assessments for ADHD and dyslexia or whatever.” Abbacchio informs, and Bucciarati nods.
“Good. That’s good.”
“Um… can I go now?” Narancia awkwardly interjects. “I have… a thing to do and…”
Abbacchio hand waves the teen away. “Go play your video games or something, I’ll be following you shortly to relax my head somewhere after the day we’ve had.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
Narancia goes to step out of the kitchen, pausing in the hallway just long enough to make sure neither of the adults were going to continue talking about him behind his back. When he realizes that the two weren’t going to speak until he was fully out of sight, Narancia shouts “Bye!” before rushing off into the next room over in order to have to deal with anymore awkward silence.
Nervously, Abbacchio rubs at the back of his neck. “Well, uh… I’m gonna go too. I’m only a few chapters off finishing my book, so I’ll see you later.” He says, making his escape, until Bucciarati tugs on the back of his shirt.
“That’s a nice shirt.” He smirks. “Where’d you get it from?”
“Uh… Mista.” Abbacchio answers hastily, brushing Bucciarati’s grip away. “Alright, I gotta go, bye!” The fact that Mista had never worn a formal shirt in his life isn’t mentioned, nor is the embroidered B. B. in black stitching under the collar.
Bucciarati made no effort to stop him, instead, he simply smiles to himself and heads back over to the sink and his half-peeled potatoes. He was glad that he’d decided to make fish pie that night - it was brainfood, after all, and it sounded like Narancia needed all the help he could get.