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What did he even know about love?
He had heard the stories. He had seen the movies, he had even seen other people sharing that love on the street, kissing and holding hands. He hadn’t felt it at home, he forgot what it meant to be warm and when his sickness got the best of him, Narancia imagined he would end up in a ditch and the water would be the only thing that could save him from being cold forever. I don’t know love. He thought, realizing that it would be better to be loved by the rain than by nothing at all. But then, when the night promised to stay gray, he saw him. They were kids when they met. Narancia wasn’t sure if following him was the right thing to do, but he did. The promise of a warm place to sleep and a full belly was too good to ignore.
As years went by and their relationship evolved, Narancia still didn’t know what it was about love that was so appealing to others. He didn’t know it before, that was true. But eventually, he came to the conclusion that what came to him in waves was nothing else but love. It was a bright excitement that ran through him when Fugo spoke, and the rush going all the way to his brain was also in a way, more powerful than he could’ve imagined.
But in the end, what did he want from him? Narancia did not know. Perhaps a simple pat on the back, a gentle nudge on the arm or Fugo’s voice calling him a pet name. Any of those sounded good enough for him. But he was also interested in his silence, in the peace that Fugo held in his eyes when he read during the mornings and the gentle push of his face when he, against everything, smiled.
Narancia had it bad.
When he came to terms with what he felt, there was a loss in his chest that he couldn’t name. It was like a dull ache that eats up the surroundings of your stomach when you don’t eat enough food, or when you think the radio is playing your favorite song but it was just a commercial. Just constant disappointment, incessant and despicable.
But what was he to do? Tell him? Tell him what? Fugo, I’ve been in love with you ever since we met. Love me back? No. Never, not in a million years. Begging would be humiliating and Fugo probably had better things to do with his time. He did too, Narancia was not stupid. They were not in the business for romance.
He could still stare though.
Narancia did it often. Sometimes during lunch, when Fugo was sitting right across from him. With quick glances, Narancia managed to steal quite a few smiles and frowns that he kept for himself. Fugo never questioned him, so Narancia continued. Despite what others would think, there were many things Narancia got from this. Looking at Fugo felt like staring at a painting in an empty museum as if it was put there for him alone. Those moments were his. These small instances of time would belong to him and he would keep This Fugo deep inside his chest where he would never leave. It was the only way he could catch him. Maybe he could not ask Fugo to love him back, but he could collect the slight differences in his gaze. That was more than enough, at least it made him to go bed happy and satisfied.
However, Narancia miscalculated. He stared for a second too long, a moment that he could not take back for everyone in the gang caught him. One morning, during breakfast, Fugo asked about it. It was the first time he did it, and Narancia was quick to dismiss the incident with a vague response. Everyone continued eating and Narancia knew his plan went smoothly, he made it seem as if he was lost in thought when it was quite the contrary. Fugo did not ask again, until another evening. When Fugo asked him, he seemed shaken. As if he was more interested in getting a reply from him. The way he was looking at Narancia felt almost fearful, which was an expression Narancia hadn’t seen before. It made him fall in love with Fugo all over again.
“Are you...” He started, clearing his throat. “Staring that way because I ate your pasta?” And at first, Narancia was ready to forgive and forget, clear his throat and move on but his natural response was different from what he had in mind.
“You ate my pasta?!” The rest of the conversation flowed as it was supposed to flow. With Fugo getting mad too and apologizing right after before they both stabbed each other with whatever they found on the table. With that, the incident went away as quickly as it came. Narancia kept getting away with it, staring at him as much as he could, making sure he kept all of those expressions in his mind, going through them right before he went to sleep.
He had a handful of favorites.
He liked the way Fugo swiped through the pages of a book, and the simplicity of his factions under the sunlight. He liked the slight frown of his nose when he smelled something he liked, almost as if he refused to give himself that luxury. He also loved the face Fugo made when he laughed at Mista’s jokes. It was nice to see him enjoy the easy things in life, even in the form of Mista’s stupid jokes. Something told Narancia he didn’t have that easiness in his life before. Narancia studied him almost and even played games with himself as he tried to figure out what Fugo thought about. Was he thinking about math or something big and important? Or was he thinking about lunch? Was he thinking about getting another cup of coffee? They were all valid, and it was a way to remind himself that Fugo would not look back. Why would he when his mind was stuck with bright ideas? Narancia did not blame him. He would learn to make peace with that thought.
“What?”
When Narancia reacted, he blinked twice. This time, Fugo was doing the thing he didn’t know he would do. He was looking back. It was the third time he was exposed and this time, Fugo intercepted him directly with a very noticeable look that Narancia interpreted as a negative reaction to his staring. Shit. He had fucked up and quickly tried to save himself. He saw what was in front of him: His homework, the math problems he was supposed to solve for the day, and a pencil that was hanging from his hand. There was no excuse. He panicked and straightened up in an unintentional pout that wasn’t supposed to be there. There was no escaping Fugo’s gaze, but during moments like this, he hoped so with all his might.
“What what ?” Don’t let him notice. He thought, seeing how Fugo put down the documents he had in hand, letting them rest over the table, and arching an eyebrow in clear confusion.
“I asked first.”
Narancia could’ve gone with anything else than what he said, laughing nervously before replying. Another pout, he didn’t feel like himself. But then again, when confronted with the fragility of his feelings, he wasn’t safe at all.
“Uh, okay.” He thought about how to start explaining himself. Fugo would probably chew his reply later, thinking it over until he had questions to ask. Or maybe, just maybe, the question was only a question and he was the one overthinking. His head hurt. “I was just looking.” He wasn’t lying and there was a glint in Fugo’s eyes, like a change shifting inside. Narancia would’ve preferred not to see it, now he would never forget it.
“You’re always looking.”
So he had noticed.
Narancia played it off with a laugh that sounded more natural than he thought and Fugo’s gaze turned sour, lowering his brightness as one throws water on a candle. Narancia did not know if that was what he wanted. “Is it bad?” He dared to ask, holding the pencil with his other hand now, testing the waters, wondering how long he could pull the band until it broke.
“What is?”
“To look.”
“I don’t mind,” Fugo said, quickly, as if he had thought so before. And the gleam was back in his eyes again, as if he wanted Narancia to see it. As if he wanted him to ask again, to keep pushing. But he didn’t. He stood quiet and smiled, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Nothing would be good enough to ease the fire inside, or the doubts that plagued his mind. Fugo would never mean it like the way he wanted to interpret his words. And as the silence took hold of the space between them, Fugo grabbed the documents again to pull them to his lap. “Now finish your homework.”
Narancia looked down with a defeated gaze. Right, homework. He lost interest in it ever since they sat down to start the lesson. Overall, Narancia thought that math was stupid. It didn’t make sense half of the time and when it did, it was when Fugo took the time to sit down with him and explain to him the process step by step. Right now, the page looked like a language he didn’t understand, meaningless and heavy. Narancia realized he simply didn’t have the will or the intention of caring about it. He never did and rested his head over the table, looking up at Fugo like a puppy would stare at a flower. “Why you always gotta ruin a moment like this, man.” He didn’t realize he said that until he did and played it cool as he cleared his throat. Fugo did too.
“I’ll wait until you’re done, Narancia.”
Narancia’s face was now a shade of red that he didn’t know would sting as much as it did, but resumed his homework. “Yeah, yeah- whatever you say.” he whispered as he let the rest of the evening pass over them, unable to keep holding to the moment for a second more, unaware of the misery about to befall them.
xxx
When it all happened, Narancia was not aware that death was going to reach him too. The new kid had appeared with a plan, and the plan involved risk and self-sacrifice, things that Narancia and everyone else on the team was willing to take. Fugo did not. He wasn’t able to follow them and stood on the edge, obeying his decision of not getting with them on the boat. Narancia remembered him refusing to look forward, standing in the same place in a paralyzing pose that reminded him of a stone on the beach waiting for the storm to hit him. Narancia wanted to hold him up for it. You were never that kind of man, what happened? He wanted to forget about the Fugo who stood without a purpose, without a smile, and without a feeling of true connection. Narancia wanted to find him again, hit him on the face, and ask him why. In reality, Fugo never left him. Not for a moment. Not even when the blood filled his lungs. His name was the last thing that crossed his mind before the sting shook him to the core and saw all black.
It was cold for a while. And in that coldness, he remembered the exact moment his life was taken away. So he took the hit. What a sad way to die, after voicing his dreams for tomorrow. The coldness left after a while and forth came the peace. He felt nothing for a moment, as he realized that he regretted none of it. Not his life, not his choices. The pain only came back when Narancia realized that he wasn’t able to see Fugo one last time to confess, taking his young love to the grave.
Or so he thought because when he woke up, Bruno was by his side.
He was wearing his usual clothes, reading a magazine, looking at him moving over the bed. Narancia recognized the fabric embracing his back, and the stingy scent of alcohol. He was on a bed, lying down, body covered under a sheet that was warm and fuzzy. He wanted to talk, but his lips were dry. Before he knew it, Bruno was already helping him sit on the bed and gave him a glass of fresh water that he drank with no hesitation. It was as if he walked for miles in the desert, receiving a drink for the first time in months. Maybe life is like that, dry and lonely, meant to tire you down. He thought as he found enough energy to speak.
“Boss, what happened?”
Bruno smiled at him and left his magazine right over the nightstand. “That is not me anymore, Narancia.” He did not want to ask why or how. He was alive, was he not? Narancia pinched his skin, it felt real enough. It stung just as much as what he felt before it all went dark. He stared at Bruno who looked very much alive and wondered if this was the entrance to heaven. He wondered if all of them went down with him too.
“... Did I die?” Bruno did not laugh. So Narancia understood there were some real concerns there that meant to be taken seriously. He knew Bruno would not hold back the truth from him, it was one of the few things they had as a team and a family. Bruno owed him as much after he asked for their loyalty.
“You did die. For a moment at least.”
The reply did not make sense for now, but he understood what he meant. It was as if a path had opened in his mind, something that was unspoken between the two. “I knew it,” Narancia recalled how he died. How long was he out for? Before asking, he realized he did not want to know. It felt like an eternity but then again, it was natural for it to be so, lost and restless in the dark. Narancia knew he would understand more later, as his own memory reconstructed what happened. He simply wasn’t supposed to move on to the next life. “I had the feeling as if I did, my chest hurts.”
There was a pause from Bruno’s side. Narancia could tell that there were things he wanted to say but didn’t. Bruno was holding back for his sake. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell him the truth. The truth was out there, between them, over the sheets and their tongues. It was a live thing, but Bruno still held back. Things had a time and a place after all. “Well, the good thing is that you’re back.” Narancia held his hand before he left, keeping him there.
“Prove it to me.” He didn’t know how else to attach himself to this reality, to this warmth. And he knew that Bruno understood what he meant. Broken men were good at communicating without words.
“You’re in pain,” Said Bruno, signaling his chest. “You are not supposed to feel that when you’re gone. You’re supposed to feel nothing, you’re supposed to feel peace.” Narancia thought about that moment in the void and nodded.
“Did you die?”
“I did.” He said, bringing the chair closer to the bed. “Giorno was gracious enough to bring us back.” Before Narancia could ask, Bruno was already answering his question. “His stand can do things not even he knew he could.” Bruno’s words fell on the room and then, the silence filled the rest. He didn’t need to say anything else. There would come a moment when Narancia would ask Giorno how exactly his stand could bring people back from the dead. But for now, he would let it go. Those questions were not for Bruno to answer.
“You don’t say. ”
Bruno tapped his shoulder and got up from his seat.
“Rest for now, Narancia. You got a lot of catch-up to do.”
He closed the door behind him and left him there, confused and startled. He didn’t feel like he couldn’t get up so eventually, he did. As he sat on the bed, he swore he heard voices right outside his room but paid no attention to them as for now. If things changed in the gang he wanted to know how much. When he turned to the right, he saw that the window had a spectacular view of a lavish, beautiful garden. It was well kept, and the more he stared the more he could smell the roses. Is this heaven? Narancia reached the door, he would know soon enough. That house was a place he had never visited before. It could very much be heaven or one of the places in between the way down to hell. The hallways looked expensive, like a casino, and the rug looked the same soft and gentle under his feet. Narancia thought he was alone, but when his eyes turned to the other side, he found himself face to face to Fugo Pannacotta who was standing up from his chair, nervously walking to him as Bruno stared at the scene, his arms crossed. He looked satisfied.
Narancia didn’t know what to do so he stood still, looking at Fugo reach him timidly as if he was going to turn into smoke.
“You’re up.”
Narancia stared at Bruno and perhaps his expression was funny, Bruno was laughing.
“You told me I wasn’t dead.”
“You’re not.” He said, fixing his jacket. “I’ll leave you to it.” Bruno walked away to the other side of the mansion and Fugo did not wait until he was gone to hold Narancia’s hands. He hadn’t noticed how warm Fugo was, or perhaps he was just too cold. If he had to guess, that was a perk of having died.
“I’m so glad-” Fugo’s voice was shaking. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
But Narancia couldn’t feel the same. He was shaking too, of course. Rage, happiness. The feeling in between merging with his thoughts and did not contain himself when it was time to reply. “Why did you leave us.”
Fugo’s expression fell into frustration, he wasn’t expecting this now but he saw it coming. Narancia could tell by the way he lowered his eyebrows as if they were the ears of a puppy. “Narancia.” Hearing his name from that mouth made Narancia almost weep, but he held on to his anger, Fugo’s shoulders too. He wanted answers.
“Why? Why, Fugo? We needed you. You could’ve helped us, you could’ve done so much-” He wasn’t looking his way now, shame was all around his face, something that Narancia found incredibly beautiful in a way. Perhaps it was his anger that made it seem so, but he loved it.
“It was suicide, Narancia.”
“But it was the right thing to do!” He said, pushing Fugo, trying to shove him to the side. He didn’t move. Standing in front of Narancia was all he could do. “You just stood behind, like a coward.”
“It wasn’t an easy choice to make.” He insisted, grabbing him by the hand, trying to make him understand. And Narancia did. He was aware that he was saying the truth, that perhaps things would’ve been different if no one obeyed Bruno if only Giorno went with him… but then how else were they supposed to win? It was thanks to him that they did. Fugo probably knew that already, he looked as desperate as he looked regretful. “I thought of you all the time.”
Upon hearing that, Narancia almost broke into tears but tried not to fall apart. Fugo didn’t let him go. Something told Narancia he never would.
“Me too.”
They were holding tight to each other, not as an embrace but as what comes before it. The excitement that marks the beginning of things. Fugo continued. “I almost lost all of you.”
Narancia thought about what to say. He probably knew the whole truth already, he was probably there, hearing Giorno explain what happened. Was he scared? Would he have done something if he knew what was going to happen? There was no one to tell him that. Narancia realized that this in itself was a blessing that he was not going to throw away. “Bruno technically did die.”
The blond blinked hard for a moment. Yes, he knew. But Narancia recognized that silence as the one he always left in the middle of their conversations. He was waiting to see what else he was going to say.
“He told me so. I still don’t understand how or why but I think he classifies as a zombie now.” Holding convincement in his voice, Narancia said. “I guess that would also make me a zombie as well. How odd.”
Out of all the reactions Fugo could’ve given him; he laughed. Narancia had heard it before of course, but to have it again in front of him felt like a glass of cold water, like dancing under the rain to his favorite song. He would not change it for the world. “I cannot believe you, Narancia. You always make the worst things seem light.”
“It’s a legitimate concern.” He said, with a smile. “Maybe I can bite you and see what happens.” Fugo laughed again, and hesitating, he hugged Narancia really tight. It was strange. This was all it took for Narancia to feel Fugo’s wordless love and as he hugged him back, he hoped he could feel the same. “I wish you were there with us.”
“I am so sorry, Narancia.” He meant it. Every word, every letter. He spoke as he closed his eyes and Narancia could feel the way his hands melted with his hair. They were together in the way they wanted to be, completely and thoroughly incorporated into the other’s soul. “When I heard you were almost killed, I ran all the way here and I waited, and waited.”
“Why didn’t you come in?”
Fugo hesitated at first but replied.
“I thought you might’ve not wanted to see me.”
“You know I always like seeing you.”
“I do, forgive me.” Narancia held him tight, smiling as he understood that this was for life. Their soft and open hearts were never going to bleed again and the future held a single light that they both could follow.
“If you leave again, I’m going to kick you in the balls.”
Fugo laughed but knew that he was being as serious as he could be.
“Don’t threaten me, please. I got it.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
They held hands. They kept them together the whole day, the day after too. They held hands as they ate, as they walked up the stairs and slept together in the same bed, whispering sweet nothings, confessing to each other in the quiet of the night. They held hands as they kissed, as they swore to never let go for as long as they lived, as their bodies shared heat and strength, as their hearts chose a name. And Narancia got to see the change in his face, the small noises he made when he slept, and the gentle tug on his body when Fugo woke him up. He loved to see him, and now, for the first time, he could see that Fugo always saw him too. But they were now looking at the same future, with the assurance that no one was going to be left behind again.