Archive of Our Own ^beta

“They’re in here somewhere,” Mista said, sidestepping around another stack of twin-sized featherbeds.

“I suppose there are worse places they could’ve been trapped,” Giorno observed, taking in the warehouse inventory.

“Black market mattress toppers,” Mista shook his head. “Who’da thunk it, right?”

Giorno ran his hand over the topmost mattress. “This one is very soft. It’s a shame the down isn’t ethically sourced.”

“Wanna try it out anyway?” Mista asked with an impish grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. Giorno looked torn, so Mista added, “we’re stopping them from making a profit on these bad boys, right? But they’re already here. We can donate them to a local orphanage or the poor and needy. Think of it as quality control.”

Gold Experience appeared immediately, not surprising Mista one little bit, because he knew Giorno was dying to try the mattress out. Gold Experience levitated both itself and Giorno onto the top of the stack, and then Giorno dismissed his showy Stand so he could stretch out, arms overhead, and wriggle around a bit. “I can see why someone would want one of these. It’s like sleeping on a cloud.”

“That’s not what I meant, Gio,” Mista said, crossing his arms on top of the mattress and peering up at his don.

Giorno sat up. “I know exactly what you meant.” He smiled wickedly. “Would you like assistance getting up here?”

Mista took a step back. “You…you knew I was joking, right? I mean, maybe if Dumb and Dumber weren’t here, I’d be down.” He grinned again. “Get it?”

Giorno shook his head. “I don’t know who is worse, you or Narancia, with your puns. And neither of them is dumb, especially Fugo.”

“On that pun thing, if you ask Fugo, he’d definitely say Narancia's worse. And I beg to differ on your defense of Fugo’s intelligence because who is here to help and who is here in need of rescue?”

“You’d better not let Fugo hear you say that, or he’d remind you of how many times he had to tend to your bullet wounds before you had me. And if I were to ask Fugo, he’d definitely say your puns were worse.”

Before you had me. Normally Mista would’ve felt a little thrill at hearing Giorno put it that way, but Giorno was so wrong about Fugo it was pitiful. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“You’re asking me to wager on this?”

“C’mon, Giorno, don’t make me repeat myself.” Giorno raised an eyebrow, making Mista laugh. “Damn, Giorno, between your face and the stack of featherbeds here, you’ve seriously got that whole princess and the pea thing down.”

Giorno smirked at him before hopping down from the tall stack, landing gracefully with the assistance of his Stand. “You’re on. Loser buys lunch.”

The two of them wandered through the maze of featherbeds until they reached another portion of the warehouse, where the king and queen sizes were stored.

“I’ve never seen so many of these in my life,” Mista marveled. “How much money you think is back there alone?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“In the front of the warehouse? Tens of thousands. In here, however?” Giorno asked. He removed one of his ubiquitous pins and handed it to Mista. Gold Experience’s arm extended from Giorno’s shoulder, turning the ladybug into a cat.

An angry, pissed off cat, like so many of Gold Experience’s animals were around Mista whenever Giorno was miffed. Probably because he knew he was going to lose. Fugo was definitely going to say Narancia’s puns were worse because he spent most of his time around Narancia. The cat jumped onto the stack of queen featherbeds, tearing into the mattress topper like Mista tore into a really good trippa.

Or like Fugo tore into Narancia when he fucked up a math problem, figuratively and literally.

Gold Experience reached into the torn fabric and withdrew a small plastic bag full of white powder. Annoyed, the cat jumped from the featherbed to Mista’s head, digging its claws into Mista’s cap and therefore his scalp, briefly, before it was a brooch once again. Giorno looked at it carefully before pinning it to Mista’s beanie.

“Millions,” he said.

Oh. Right. The whole how much is this all worth thing.

“Was the cat really necessary, Giorno?” Mista asked. “You had Goldie.”

Giorno’s brows furrowed. “I like cats.”

“You and Narancia should start a club,” Mista muttered. “So now that we’ve confirmed that Fugo and Narancia were right about the drugs, you gonna use your lifeforce detector to find them?”

“You know I need to touch someone to detect their lifeforce.”

“I thought maybe over the past few years Goldie got more evolved, could extend its range.”

“Gold Experience has evolved. It can recreate extinct species now, too.”

“That’s great and all, as long as you don’t recreate anything from the Triassic period.”

“Just the Triassic period? Anything else from the Mesozoic era is fair game?”

“Don’t even joke about that! You’ve seen Jurassic Park!”

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to recreate a stegosaurus, all I’d need to do is release Gold Experience and return the dinosaur to its original form.”

Mista tapped on the ladybug pinned to his hat. “I’d almost like to see how long it would take you to transform this thing into a stegosaurus.”

“You don’t think I can.”

“Giorno, babe, I’m begging you not to call my bluff on this one.”

“I do like when you beg.”

“It’s one of the things I love about you.”

Giorno kissed him on the cheek. “We should find Fugo and Narancia.”

“I can’t believe they haven’t run out here to meet us. You’d think Aerosmith would’ve detected us by now.”

“Now there’s your lifeforce detector,” Giorno said. “There’s no need for Gold Experience to evolve to do something we already have the capability of doing.”

“You’re only saying that because Goldie can’t do it.”

“Mista! Stop picking on Giorno!” Number Five scolded.

“And on Gold Experience, too!” Number Six added.

“When’s lunch?” Numbers Two and Three asked.

“Soon,” Giorno said soothingly. “And Mista is buying.”

“And my Sex Pistols evolved into Giorno stans,” Mista sighed. “Make yourselves useful, go scout around, see if you can find the two idiots.”

Number One looked at Giorno and pointed at Mista questioningly, and if it wasn’t so damn cute the way the corners of Giorno’s eyes crinkled in amusement, Mista would have chastised his Stand for its insolence.

Number Five, of course, stayed near Giorno the entire time, so the others could communicate back when they located their missing team members. Well, not so much missing, missing, because Fugo had managed to send a text with their location before his phone battery died – no, wait, he said he’d texted from Narancia’s phone and that the battery might not last much longer. Fugo had probably broken his own phone from hurling it at the wall after realizing they were trapped inside. That guy was so predictable at times.

Mista felt really bad that he’d turned down the volume on his and Giorno’s phones last night, but they so rarely had an evening all to themselves, was it such a crime that he’d wanted to take advantage of it? Giorno hadn’t been too terribly pissed at him when Mista mentioned the message this morning, so no, it wasn’t.

He had been forced to skip breakfast (just Mista; the Pistols had been fed fresh orange slices), though, so maybe Giorno was just a tiny bit upset about it.

All Mista had to say about it was that Narancia and Fugo might want to stop playing video games all night in the game room if they wanted Mista to be concerned that he hadn’t seen them for a while.

“They’re in the northwest corner of the building!” Number Five cried out, and then added, more quietly, “and sleeping.”

“They’re sleeping?”

“That’s what Number Six said!” Number Five exclaimed before slapping both hands over its mouth.

“It’s all right,” Giorno reassured the Stand. “They can’t hear you from here.”

“Sleeping?” Mista asked, incredulous.

“Mista!” Giorno hissed. “They’re sleeping.”

“So it’s okay for Number Five to yell but not me? What happened to ‘they can’t hear you from here?’”

“You’re louder.”

“I am not!”

“I assure you, Guido, you are very loud.”

Oh. Well, then, that was a compliment, or at least Mista preferred to think of it as one.

They followed Number Five to the area where their friends were trapped, and honestly, if they could hear Mista yelling from the other side of all this rubble, Mista would eat his hat. They were lucky they hadn’t disturbed it too much because the resulting avalanche would’ve killed them. Or at least left them badly injured.

Of course, it took a certain show off of a Stand very little time to transform the various bits of debris (definitely Narancia’s handiwork) into mice, and after Mista and Giorno zigzagged around even more stacks of mattresses, they found them. Just like Number One had relayed back to Number Five, they were sleeping. Together. On a single queen mattress topped with an even larger featherbed.

Narancia was lying on his back, at the edge of the makeshift bed, snoring loudly, and Fugo was curled up next to him, half of his body draped over Narancia with his head tucked under Narancia’s chin. One of Narancia’s arms was stretched out onto the floor; the other was somewhere under Fugo, and their legs were tangled together. Mista couldn’t help glancing at the large vacant space behind Fugo, and then at the near identical setup right next to them, before glancing over at Giorno, whose fingers were steepled. Giorno pressed his index fingers against his lips, and his expression was fond, like he was pleased with their work.

Well, they had tracked down the source of the smuggled drugs, so Mista supposed Giorno had more than enough reason to be proud of them.

Even if Narancia snored loud enough to wake the dead. The dead, but not Fugo, whose mouth was open and who was surely drooling all over Narancia. One of Fugo’s hands was resting on Narancia’s chest, and his fingers twitched in his sleep, brushing Narancia’s neck. Narancia grunted but didn’t wake up, and Mista and Giorno exchanged glances.

“Fugo, don’t be mad,” Narancia said, backing up. “I can blast right through it!”

Fugo’s arm swept toward a large mountain of rubble, the insurmountable pile that reached the ceiling. Five minutes earlier, that mountain had been a wall, a set of stairs, a railing, a sink, a stack of wooden pallets, and an unknown number of mattresses and box springs.

“The reason we’re trapped in the first place is because you tried to blast your way out!”

“I did not try to blast my way out!” argued Narancia. “I was trying to save your ass!”

“I had it under control! I swear, you and Mista both shoot first, think later – if you even think at all!”

“He tried to shoot you!”

“Purple Haze was doing just fine blocking those bullets!”

“Yeah, and didja notice when he tried that, how it broke open a couple of capsules? You should be thanking me for making that wall or the virus would’ve reached us, too!”

“I meant to do that!”

“Did you really?”

“I don’t know!” Fugo yelled. “I don’t fucking know!” He angrily raked his fingers through his hair.

Narancia summoned his Stand again. “Let me just blast through this-”

Fugo punched Narancia in the stomach. “Are you fucking crazy? We don’t know what’s on the other side!”

“I’m pretty sure it was pillows.”

“Are you also pretty sure those pillows are stuffed with down and feathers and nothing more?”

“No?”

“Then don’t fire through the wall!”

“AAAAAHRRGH!” Narancia turned toward the nearest stack of mattresses and began kicking the one that was second from the bottom. It wasn’t very satisfying, so he kicked at it even harder.

“That’s it,” Fugo said quietly, then, more excitedly, “Narancia, that’s it!”

He summoned his Stand who stood there between Fugo and the rubble wall. Fugo straightened his shoulders, and Purple Haze did the same.

“Fugo? You sure about this?”

Fugo nodded, took a deep breath, and then Purple Haze turned toward the wall of rubble and gave it a furious kick. The force caused several feathers to shake loose as well as the drainpipe from the sink, with the latter bouncing off the Stand’s right arm.

Purple Haze made a confused gurgle, glanced at the dark streak left by the pipe, and made a cry of distress, wiping frantically at the stain.

“I don’t think it worked,” Narancia said.

“It’s going to work!” Fugo snapped.

His Stand turned toward the wall and kicked at it again, several times, and each time, a little more debris rained down from the pile.

A small sliver of soap, probably from the sink Aerosmith had practically obliterated, landed on Purple Haze’s chest. As the Stand staggered away from the mountain, it backed into a swirl of feathers, two of which stuck to the slimy bit of soap still stuck to the Stand. It clawed at its chest, looked at its fingertips, and howled.

“Should we maybe do something to help?” Narancia asked anxiously. “Haze is looking pretty upset.” He glanced at Fugo, who was doing that weird thing with his hands that he did when he was distraught. Narancia stepped closer to Fugo and bumped his shoulder against Fugo’s.

“At least we’re stuck here together, right?”

Fugo turned and scowled at him. “It’s your fault we’re stuck in here.”

“You’re welcome for saving your life – including from your own fucking Stand! Uh, no offense, Haze.”

Purple Haze was still obsessively wiping at its chest, then wiping its soap covered fingers on its cape. With a sigh, Fugo dismissed his Stand and covered his face with his hands.

“Hey, the soap disappeared with it. You think it’s like how when the Sex Pistols are done eating, their food doesn’t just drop to the floor when they disappear? Wait, do they disappear? Because it seems like they’re always taking naps in Mista’s gun. They’ve always been a little different than other Stands like that.”

Fugo was rapidly tapping the keys on his phone.

“Hey, Fugo, are you listening?”

“I’m calling Mista.”

“Oh. Well, when he answers, can you ask him if his Stand is always around, just taking naps in his revolver?”

Fugo turned and hurled his phone toward the wall – the actual wall that had always been there – and it bounced off, spinning on the ground a few times before coming to a rest.

“You didn’t really have to ask him that!”

“I can’t get a fucking signal in here!” Fugo had both hands in his hair now, pulling it back and out of his face.

“You can’t?” Narancia walked over to where Fugo’s phone was and picked it up. “Well, not now. You broke it.”

“Shut up. It’s more durable than it looks.”

“And you’re a lot stronger than you look. I just want to make sure you know that you broke it, not me.”

“Fuck off,” Fugo growled.

“I would fucking love to, Fugo, but there’s nowhere for me to fuck off to, now, is there?”

Fugo lowered his arms. “No, because you trapped us in here!”

“I saved your life!”

“I would’ve been fine!”

“You would’ve been dead!” Narancia was furious now. “You would’ve been dead if I hadn’t done anything. Dead. Yeah, we’re trapped, but you’re fucking alive, you asshole!”

He stalked away, walking toward the far wall, summoning his Stand as he did so. A moment later, he returned to Fugo and thrust his phone into Fugo’s hand. “Here.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Text Mista, and while it’s trying to send, Aerosmith will fly it up near that window so it can get a signal.”

Fugo stared at the phone in his hand. “It might not work.”

“But it might.” When Fugo didn’t answer, Narancia said, “it’s worth a try, right? Like it was worth a try getting Haze to kick the shit out of that mountain. Which was pretty bad ass, by the way.”

Fugo shook his head. “More ridiculous than bad ass.”

“Says you.”

“Fine,” Fugo said, rapidly typing out a text and then holding the phone out. Aerosmith swooped by, and Fugo pressed the Send button before setting the Nokia down on one of the Stand’s wings.

Aerosmith flew up to the window, in circles instead of straight up, to keep the phone from sliding off, and then they waited.

“I’m sorry, but I’m also not sorry,” Narancia said. “It was stupid, but I’d do it again if it meant saving you.”

“That faucet nearly took your head off,” Fugo said, brushing his fingers through Narancia’s hair. “It was too fucking close.”

“Purple Haze knocked it away,” Narancia reminded him.

“And could’ve knocked away the bullet, too.”

“Did you see the Uzi his partner was carrying? You’re forgetting that I saw Formaggio’s Stand deflecting Aerosmith’s gunfire. It was a goddamn blur; if blocking a single bullet broke open one of Haze’s capsules, there’s no way you could’ve reacted that fast without at least nicking a couple more. You’re crazy smart, Fugo, but not even you could’ve math-jitsued that fast.”

“Maybe next time don’t go overboard.”

“No promises,” Narancia said.

“Narancia.”

“Fugo.”

Aerosmith was returning, but this time it was pitched forward. The phone slid off its nose, and Fugo reached out to catch it, fumbling with the phone a few times while Aerosmith landed on Narancia’s outstretched arms.

“It’s showing as Sent,” Fugo confirmed.

He handed the phone back to Narancia, who tucked it into the pocket of his skirt. “Wanna play I Spy or something?”

“I spy with my little eye,” Fugo intoned. “Something white.”

“Is it a mattress?”

“Of course it’s a fucking mattress. That’s all there is to spy in here.”

“I was still right, though, so one point for me. My turn. I spy, with my little eye-”

“A mattress.”

“Okay, maybe this game isn’t very good. Oh, wait, there’s all kinds of stuff in that pile!”

“Like mattresses?”

“And pillows!”

“And a sink.”

“Yeah! See? There’s lots of other stuff we can spy.”

“That’s three things. Three is not ‘lots.’”

“There’s featherbeds, too.”

“Four is not ‘lots,’ either.”

“Good thing Mista’s not here,” Narancia muttered. “Well, we could, um, we could play Snake on my phone!”

“We need to save the battery.”

“Or I could just charge it. There’s a couple of big honkin’ outlets on that wall over there.”

“Did you bring the charger?”

“Oooh, right. No, I didn’t.”

“Did Mista reply?”

Narancia took the phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. “Nope,” he said, popping the P loudly.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? You told me to check for messages.”

“That thing you do when you pronounce the P.”

“When I pronounce the P?” Narancia asked, making a point of popping them even louder.

Fugo gnashed his teeth. “Quit it.”

“Poor Fugo,” Narancia said. “He’s pretty pissed.”

“I hate you.”

“Well, I’d rather have you alive and hating me than dead and not able to hate me.”

Fugo gave a resigned laugh. “You make it really hard to stay mad at you.”

“Really?”

“A little bit hard,” Fugo amended.

“Nope, I mean no, no take backsies. You already said it was really hard to stay mad at me.”

“You also make it really easy to get mad at you.”

“Fugo, the color blue makes you mad sometimes.”

“It wasn’t the color; it was the fact that Mista threw some of his clothes in the wash with mine. My socks are all blue now.”

“One pair, Fugo. You had exactly one pair of white socks, which, by the way, you never wear.”

“They were in the wash! Why would I fucking wash them if I hadn’t worn them?”

“When was that?”

“When we went hiking last weekend.”

“Oh. That reminds me, I meant to tell you – your boots are pretty kick ass,” Narancia admitted. “And it was pretty fun, wasn’t it?”

“It was a workout,” Fugo pointed out, “but yes, I suppose parts of that particular outing were fun.”

“Panni, did you just agree with me?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Narancia nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, you know you like it when I call you that.”

“I don’t like it. I hate it, actually.”

“Panniiiii.”

“Let me see your phone.”

“Why’d you even give it back to me then?” Narancia slapped his Nokia into Fugo’s waiting palm.

“Narancia, when did you last charge this?”

“Yesterday.”

“And how much time have you spent playing Snake since then?”

“Fuck you. This battery lasts forever.”

“In standby mode!”

“I forgot, okay? Mista challenged me to a 2-player game and he’s a sore fucking loser.”

“So of course you had to keep playing until he won.”

“Big baby,” Narancia muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he meant Mista or Fugo at this point. “You know, I was really surprised you agreed to go with me. Hiking, I mean.”

“Like I was going to let you go by yourself.”

“I’m not a kid, Fugo. I had Aerosmith.” Truthfully, Narancia would’ve pleaded and harassed Fugo until he finally agreed because the whole point was to get Fugo to get out of the house for once for a non-work related reason.

“And look where that got us,” Fugo gestured to the wall. “Your problem is you don’t think.”

“I do too fucking think! Giorno thinks my methods work just fine!”

“One time! One time he said you did the right thing, and I still don’t agree with him.”

“You just hate it when I do something smart, don’t you? Because you love being the smart one so much, no one else is allowed to be.”

“I wish everyone else was as smart! Besides Bucciarati.”

“Or Giorno.”

“Or Giorno sometimes.”

“And me.”

He stared at Fugo, who stared right back.

“C’mon, Fugo, admit it. You do like being smarter than everyone else.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“You don’t?”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

“Why do you get to decide what matters? I’m older than you, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You remind me every chance you get.”

“You mean the same way you remind me how much smarter you are every chance you get?”

“Narancia…”

“It’s fine,” Narancia said with a wave of his hand. “You can’t help yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Narancia pinched Fugo’s cheek. “It means you’re a pain in the ass, but I still like you.”

Fugo knocked Narancia’s hand and scowled, making Narancia laugh.

“When you’re not punching me, you’re kinda cute when you’re grumpy.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. I hate you, too,” Narancia said with a grin.

“You’re not even that much older than I am.”

“Doesn’t matter. Still older.”

“If it doesn’t matter, why do you keep bringing it up?”

Narancia blinked a few times and then wagged his finger at Fugo. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to pretend it doesn’t bother you that I’m older.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“It does! Holy shit, Fugo, it does bother you!”

“Did I mention how much I hate you?”

“You mentioned it was really hard to stay mad at me.” He cupped his hand under Fugo’s chin and squished his cheeks. “You’re so. Damn. Cute.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Fugo said, but his words were barely intelligible with his cheeks compressed as they were.

“You keep trying to, I’ll give you that.” Narancia let go of Fugo’s face and gave him a pat on the cheek.

Fugo glanced down at the phone and shoved it against Narancia’s chest.

“He hasn’t replied?”

“No, Narancia, he has replied, and they’re on their way right now,” Fugo said in a sing-song voice.

“Someone had extra helpings of bitchy sauce this morning.”

“I’m not being bitchy! I just want to get the hell out of here!”

Purple Haze appeared again and landed another kick at the wall of rubble, jumping back when a cloud of feathers was released. The Stand turned and looked at Fugo with what appeared to be a woebegone expression.

Fugo sighed, and then he noticed Aerosmith swooping in. Purple Haze immediately reached out and grabbed its tail end before it could begin firing.

“That tickles,” Narancia said, and Purple Haze immediately loosened its grip.

Fugo approached the mountain and traced his hands around some of the chunks of cement. He tugged at one, and then Narancia came to stand next to him, doing the same to some of the porcelain embedded in the pile.

“They’re really wedged in there,” Narancia commented, earning yet another scowl from Fugo. “I spy with my little eye, something angry.”

“Purple Haze?” Fugo asked drily.

Narancia looked over his shoulder. Fugo’s Stand was standing there, but its fingers were no longer loosely curled around Aerosmith. Instead, Narancia’s stand was hovering nearby, almost like the Sex Pistols did around Giorno.

“Nah. Haze looks more confused than angry. Holy shit, is this the first time we’ve both had our Stands out at the same time?”

“There’s a good reason for that. It’s not exactly the safest thing to have your Stand firing around Purple Haze’s death capsules.”

“Like I’d shoot anywhere near your Stand, give me some credit, Jesus, dude. And Death Capsules? That’s what you call them? I should come up with some kind of name for Aerosmith’s artillery then. Like…like…”

“Permanent Vacation?”

“Ha ha. I was thinking more like 2Pacalypse, but yours is cool, too.” Fugo said nothing, and Narancia hurriedly added, “I mean, I can call them Permanent Vacation if it means that much to you! The bombs are more of a 2Pacalypse thing anyway.”

“I think your vola vola vola is more than enough.”

“I can’t tell if you really mean that or you’re being…what’s that word, when you act like you’re better than everyone else?”

“Condescending?”

“Yeah. Or if you’re being condescending.”

“Like when you patted me on the cheek? Or when Mista ruffles your hair?”

“That’s condescending, too? I thought that was just being a dick.”

Fugo made a sound that was almost a laugh. “That, too.”

“You’re a dick to me sometimes.”

The faint hint of a smile disappeared. “I know. I could say the same about you, though.”

“That’s not fair! I only act like a jerk when you start it!”

“So I started it when you pissed in my bed?”

“Oh my fucking god, Fugo, I was drunk! We were celebrating, if you remember – we’d just survived going up against the boss – I thought Abbacchio died! This is exactly what I mean! You are such a fucking dick sometimes!”

“I’m glad everyone lived, but I was sleeping in my bed at the time.”

Oh, right, because Fugo had slunk away from the others, not feeling like he belonged with them. Fugo’s absence was part of the reason Narancia had a little too much to drink, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Fugo.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t wake up when I barged in.”

“Trust me, I woke up the moment you started.”

Narancia still felt really bad about that. “And you tried to strangle me,” he countered, even though he would’ve done the same if their roles had been reversed.

He couldn’t imagine that ever happening; Fugo wasn’t a teetotaler, but he limited himself to a single glass of wine at dinner, and even that wasn’t all the time.

“Even Mista said I was justified that time.”

“Still a dick move, and Mista was just relieved to have his back. His dick, I mean.”

“His dick?”

“Yeah. From when he and Trish swapped. We did tell you that part, right?”

Fugo nodded and walked away, stopping next to one of the tallest stacks and picking at the stitching on one of the mattresses.

“Shit, Fugo…”

“It’s fine. I should’ve been there, but I wasn’t.”

“You were, though,” Narancia said. “In here.” He thumped his chest.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, Narancia, but I wasn’t there.”

“And I’m telling you that you were! I swore I’d see you again when we were done.”

“You did?”

Narancia wrapped his arms around Fugo’s waist and tried to prop his chin on Fugo’s shoulders. He was just a little too short, so he settled for rubbing his nose against the nape of Fugo’s neck.

“You’re still family, Fugo, and sometimes families disagree. You’ve seen Abbacchio and Giorno go at it. And I know you were worried. I could hear it in your voice.”

“You still left me,” Fugo whispered.

That one hurt. Narancia took a deep breath.

“I didn’t leave you, Fugo. I took you with me, remember?”

“It’s getting late. We should find somewhere to sleep.”

Angry now, Narancia dropped his arms and moved next to Fugo, making a sweeping motion with his arm. “Boy, I sure hope we can find somewhere.”

Fugo’s eyes were sparking angrily now, too. “Okay, pick one, then.”

“Pick one?”

Fugo nodded toward the mattresses. “A place to sleep.”

“We could pick any one of these.”

“Go ahead and pick one, then.”

“Any one?”

Fugo nodded.

“There are a lot to choose from.” Almost too many.

“Yes. So pick one.”

“Why don’t you pick one?”

Fugo pulled the top mattress off the stack he was standing next to until it hit the floor.

“Now you pick one.”

“Is that one any good?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t tried it yet.” It was standing on end, leaning against the stack.

“Fugo. Come on. You gotta try them first.”

Fugo motioned toward the mattresses again, and Narancia recognized a challenge when he saw one. He took a running start before diving onto a stack about three mattresses high.

“This one’s firm!” he yelled back. “Maybe too firm.”

He got up and tried a few different ones, taking his shoes off to bounce on one before dashing to the next.

“This one!” he said. “I’m gonna crash on this one.”

Fugo nodded, although it wasn’t clear if Narancia could see him, and dragged the mattress he’d chosen away from the pile so it was lying flat. He then pulled a second mattress from the pile to put on top of the first.

“Hey, Fugo! What are you doing!” He jogged back over to Fugo’s side.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Making a second stack of mattresses.”

“Just three. Then it won’t be so low to the ground.”

“Wait, you’re sleeping here?”

“I thought that was obvious when you told me to pick one first, and I did.”

“But I’m way over there!”

“And your point?”

“I mean, I just thought we should be closer. For protection!” he added brightly.

“You think we’re both going to go to sleep at the same time?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Someone should remain awake to keep watch.”

“To keep watch from what? You really think someone’s gonna sneak up on us? We’d hear someone coming if they broke through all of that.”

“If you want to sleep, go to sleep. I’m keeping watch.”

“You are so fucking stubborn!”

“I’m stubborn? Who insisted on getting mushrooms on pizza – for breakfast – today?”

“It’s not breakfast at 3AM. That’s a mid-game snack. And you didn’t seem to mind. You ate two slices yourself.”

Fugo grimaced. “I didn’t think you noticed the second one.”

“I notice a lot about you, Fugo.”

“You…you do?”

Narancia nodded. “Just like I’m noticing that you’re looking really tired. C’mon, check out the bed I made over there. It’s really comfortable.”

He grabbed Fugo’s hand and led him to the mattress he’s selected, with the featherbed on top. Fugo sat down on it and nodded. “It is comfortable.”

“Lie down for a while. I’ll keep watch if it’s really that important to you.”

Fugo cautiously stretched out. Now that he was lying down, he felt the exhaustion in every part of his body. He looked up at Narancia, who looked equally as tired.

“Nothing from Mista yet?”

Narancia patted his pocket. “Did you give me my phone back?” he asked frantically.

“Yes, just before Purple Haze tried kicking the wall again.”

“Oh, shit. I must’ve set it down then. I’ll go check, okay?”

Fugo closed his eyes and nodded. Less than a minute later, Narancia was back.

“I’m sorry, Fugo, I found it, but the battery’s dead. I don’t know if he replied or not.”

Fugo made a noise that might’ve been a sigh, or it might’ve been a grunt, but it was hard to tell, it was so quiet. Narancia crouched down next to the mattress. “Fugo?” he whispered.

Fugo cracked open one eye. “Mmm?”

Narancia brushed Fugo’s hair out of his face. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

“God damn it, Narancia!” Fugo yelled, elbowing Narancia in the ribs.

“What’d I do wrong this time?”

“You kicked me, you nearly poked my eye out, you’re a restless sleeper, and oh, right, you’re fucking sleeping when you’re supposed to be on watch!”

“I’m a restless sleeper? I nearly poked your eye out? You slapped me in the face when you rolled over – you nearly stuck your thumb up my nose, and your nails were right under my eyebrows. And you kneed me in the balls! In the balls, Fugo!”

“You were sleeping when you promised me you’d be on guard!”

“I was fucking tired, okay? But if it makes you happy, I’ll get up and do the keeping watch thing, Mr. Cranky Pants.”

“Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” Fugo paused, and said, “it’s really dark in here.”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to keep watch when it’s pitch black.”

“All the more reason we should stay on guard.”

“Fugo. It’s been quiet this whole time. One bad guy has been melted, the other one’s full of holes, and neither is making any calls for backup any time soon. And you still have the gun that first guy threw at you, right?”

Against the small of his back, Fugo could feel the pistol he’d tucked in his belt, but he reached behind him to check anyway. “I still have it.”

“And eventually Mista’s going to check his messages and see that we need help. Nothing’s going to happen to you on my watch.”

Fugo summoned his Stand. Narancia’s face was visible in the faint glow; his lips were pressed together and his brows were set in that stubborn, determined expression he got when he was about to argue over something stupid. There was something about the illumination from Purple Haze that made it very difficult for Fugo to stop staring at Narancia’s mouth, and he found himself leaning in, his eyes closing as their mouths made contact.

He could hear Narancia sigh, and Fugo panicked. He scrambled away from Narancia and got to his feet, nearly tripping over what felt like a pair of shoes in the process.

“Fugo?”

“I’m going back to my bed,” Fugo said. My bed, as if they were back at Passione’s living quarters.

“We’re not going to talk about-”

“I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I – I thought you were someone else!”

He fled to the other side of the warehouse, with his Stand lumbering next to him.

I thought you were someone else. Fugo wanted to pull his hair out. What a stupid fucking thing to say.

“Fugo.”

Narancia was behind him, but Fugo had known that even before Narancia had said a word. Narancia wasn’t exactly the stealthiest of operatives by a long shot, but Fugo could recognize his scent anywhere. He wasn’t sure what that said about either one of them.

“I get it. You were just waking up, probably hadn’t shaken yourself out of whatever you were dreaming. It’s fine. No big deal, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay; it had been a Very Big Deal to Fugo.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” he lied. “I’m still sorry.”

“I made up a bed next to mine, while you were sleeping earlier, if you want it.”

Then why weren’t you in it?

“Sure. I’ll be over in a little bit.”

“Fugo. I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re still cool.”

“Cool,” Fugo echoed.

“Haze does provide mood lighting, though, huh? You’ve got these really cool purple highlights in your hair.”

Fugo nodded. He wasn’t ready to turn around and face Narancia, not just yet.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know. I’m heading back over there, okay?”

“Okay,” Fugo whispered.

He could practically feel the shift in the air when Narancia lifted his hand, a hand that gently came to rest between Fugo’s shoulder blades.

“I’ll wait for you, when you’re ready,” he said, and then he walked away.

Had Narancia been talking about the beds, or something else? Or was it just that Fugo wanted to think that Narancia wasn’t just referring to their sleeping arrangements?

Narancia had accused him of liking that he was smarter than everyone else. It wasn’t that Fugo liked it; it was that Fugo was just so used to it. He was accustomed to getting frustrated over others not seeing what was so blatantly obvious to him, for not reading more into a text, for not thinking through the possible outcomes in a battle. Those were things Fugo could read and analyze and draw conclusions from – ones that were almost always correct.

Reading other people, though, Fugo had never been the best at, and reading Narancia was near an impossibility at times. He knew Narancia, probably better than anyone, and yet sometimes Fugo felt he didn’t know him at all.

He glanced over at his Stand. Purple Haze was looking over toward where Narancia had disappeared to in the dark with a quizzical look in its face.

Stands were definitely a reflection of their users, because Fugo felt exactly the same.

Narancia could feel something tickling his face. He tried to swat at it, but his hand was trapped. He blinked open his eyes and realized it was trapped because Fugo was lying on it. Lying on his arm and drooling on him, too, gross. And who looked so different when he was asleep like this. Kind of cute, in a way. And pretty. God, Fugo was so fucking pretty, it made Narancia ache inside. When Fugo had kissed him – did that count as a kiss? – their lips had barely made contact before Fugo had gone into Full Fugo Panic mode, which was like regular Full Panic mode only way more intense.

He could imagine what would happen when Fugo woke. His eyes would snap wide open, all vivid purple and framed by long blond lashes – a much darker blond than his hair and eyebrows, more of a honey color – and Narancia would find himself lost.

Narancia had mentally made that comparison to honey over breakfast one day – yet another breakfast which had also involved a math lesson (why he’d ever asked Fugo to teach him, he didn’t know) – and once he’d realized it, he’d been fascinated ever since.

Not that he hadn’t always been fascinated by Fugo. There was just something about him, from the day they’d met, that Narancia had been drawn to.

Fugo stirred next to him, and although Narancia was glad that Fugo was propping himself up now, allowing the blood to circulate more freely in Narancia’s arm (and fuck, he really hated those few minutes after an arm or leg went to sleep), he kind of missed the way Fugo had been all tucked in next to him.

They locked gazes, and it was just like Narancia had imagined. He could barely breathe.

“Good morning,” he whispered. “Sleep okay?”

Fugo nodded, and then his face colored and his eyes flicked away, somewhere in the vicinity of Narancia’s chest. Narancia could see the way Fugo’s entire body tensed before he whipped out a handkerchief (from his jacket; Fugo’s pants had no pockets) and wiped awkwardly at the puddle of saliva.

“It’s fine,” Narancia said.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo said. “For…” he sat up and swept his arm around, “for everything, I guess.”

“Fugo.”

Fugo hesitated, then turned his head to look at Narancia.

“I’m still willing to wait until you’re ready, but I thought maybe you should I know that I am. Ready, I mean. When you are.”

“Ready for what?”

“For whatever it is that you want from me.”

“What if I don’t know what I want?”

“That’s fine, too.”

“What if I want to…” Fugo’s eyes dropped to Narancia’s mouth, and he hurriedly looked away again.

Kiss me? Narancia was about to ask, but he wasn’t sure Fugo was ready to hear the words spoken out loud. Instead, he said, “try it again?”

He slid his hands into Fugo’s hair – it was remarkably soft; Narancia should ask to borrow his shampoo sometime – and tipped his face up. Fugo hesitated for just a second before closing the distance, hard and fast, taking Narancia by surprise. But that was Fugo – he thought and he thought and then he overthought about something, but when it was time to act, he wasted no time.

Fugo’s leg was wedged between both of Narancia’s now, and his knee was dangerously close to Narancia’s groin for the second time, but all Narancia noticed was the way Fugo’s mouth fit against his like it was always meant to be there.

“Goddamn it, I’m buying lunch today, aren’t I?” Mista sighed.

“Mista also wants to know how long you’re going to give them before we let them know we’re here,” Number Five whispered into Giorno’s ear from behind one of the other stacks of mattresses.

“A bit longer,” Giorno murmured back. “It’s taken them quite a while to get this far; I’d hate to interrupt them now.”

“It’s still creepy, the way you can always read someone,” Mista muttered.

“Not always. It took me much longer to read you, if you remember.”

“I’m a special case,” Mista whispered into Giorno’s ear.

“You’re definitely that.”

“You know, Gio, that whole princess and the pea thing from earlier – it got me to thinking.”

“It did, did it?”

“What do you say to maybe augmenting our room a bit?”

“You want to fornicate on top of a stack of luxury mattresses.”

“Hell, yeah. You know, it’s weirdly hot when you use words like fornicate instead of fuck.”

The cat that had woken Narancia with a twitch of its tail just a few minutes earlier was back, winding its way between Mista’s legs. He glanced down at the temperamental beast.

“Are those Narancia’s shoes?” he asked, noticing them for the first time. “What the fuck are they doing way over here? And you,” he said, wagging a finger at the cat. “Don’t try to butter me up now; I have to repair all these snags and tears in my hat now because of you.” He pulled off his hat and poked his thumb through one of the holes.

“They are Narancia’s shoes,” Giorno commented. “Fugo’s are over there, next to the second bed. As for the cat, I can’t blame him for wanting to butter you up. Sometimes you deserve it.”

“Only sometimes?”

Giorno merely smiled at him, one of the indulgent smiles he gave to Abbacchio when he wanted to wind the ex-cop up.

“You know, this isn’t really fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“Fugo and Narancia are over there, sucking face, and I haven’t had a chance to kiss you at all today.”

“You turned off your phone, knowing they were out here on a dangerous mission.”

“I turned it down, not off. Besides, they’re both Stand users with tempers. I knew they’d be fine.”

“If they were fine, we wouldn’t be here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Giorno tapped Mista on the nose. “I do.”

“Someday, Gio, you’re going to say those words under completely different circumstances.”

“Is that a proposal?” Giorno asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Hell, no. You’ll know when I propose, because it’s going to be the most romantic fucking thing you’ve ever experienced in your life.”

Giorno didn’t doubt it. “I look forward to it, then, whenever that day arrives. That is…”

“Gio, you have that look in your eye.”

“I was just thinking of how you continue to surprise me, even after all this time,” Giorno replied smoothly.

“I guess two years does seem like a lot of time in our biz, huh?” He leaned in and gave Giorno a peck on the cheek. “That doesn’t count, by the way,” he said. “Barely a kiss, but we’ll make up for that later, yeah?”

“We will,” Giorno promised.

“What the fuck is that!” Narancia screeched.

Mista and Giorno peered around the stack to see a mongoose sitting on Fugo’s back, peering over his shoulder at Narancia.

Fugo sighed. “I don’t know how long you’ve been spying on us, but you can come out now.”

Oops.

“Hey, is that the kind of thanks we get for saving your sorry asses?” Mista said, scooping up Narancia’s shoes and walking over to where his friends were still on the bed. They were slightly more mussed looking now than they’d been ten minutes earlier. Mista noticed those sorts of things.

Giorno joined them, observing the trio fondly. Like Fugo, Giorno enjoyed being right about things, and he’d told Mista months ago that Fugo was close to cracking, to letting Narancia know how he felt. Mista had insisted that Narancia would be the first to make a move, because while he had a knack for winding Fugo up, he also had an uncanny ability to unwind him, too.

Perhaps there was something to that romantic comedy cliché of being locked in a room together after all.

And now Giorno knew that Mista was dangerously close to proposing. He was likely waiting until after Giorno’s birthday, as if being old enough to (legally) drive mattered when Giorno had been successfully leading the mafia since he was barely sixteen.

I look forward to it, then, Giorno had said, just moments before, whenever that day arrives. That is…

There was a reason Giorno had deliberately left that statement unfinished. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched Mista get Fugo into a headlock and ruffle his hair. Narancia was laughing so hard at the way Fugo was threatening to destroy Mista, he was almost crying – and then his loyalty to Fugo won out, and he leaped on Mista’s back, giving a long lick to the side of Mista’s neck so he’d let go of Fugo.

When it wasn’t a matter of life and death, Giorno rather enjoyed seeing Mista taken by surprise.

That is, Guido, unless I propose first.