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Where were they?
Rushed hands fumbled through their drawers, through papers and books, nightstand and desk tops. The jewelry box Abbacchio had given them for their 15th birthday was on the ground, it’s drawers disembodied from the base.
Fugo had begun to look in illogical places, places that they knew they didn’t put them, but was desperate enough to look. Under the bed, in between books on the shelf, on the floor, anywhere they could lay their eyes on. They knew the phrase: ‘If you’ve lost something, it’s likely no more than two feet away.’ One of their grade school teachers had muttered it under his breath during class one day after looking for his expo marker. Fugo had stored it for later use. Though, it didn’t seem to apply in this situation.
They had looked everywhere. All the nooks and crannies, all the logical places. They clearly remembered placing them nearly away in the box! They recalled it clearly. Yet, they were nowhere to be seen.
Fugo’s strawberry earrings. A gift Bucciarati had given them after Fugo lost their own pair through the transfer from the streets to the house they would soon call home. They owned them for years and kept the utmost care of them. Every night, they would take them off, place them in the second drawer of the jewelry box, neatly in the middle. They would clean and polish them. Make sure the clasp and hook were solid, stationary.
Those earrings were special. It was their first real taste of individuality. Their first ever gift. Bucciarati had bought them specifically for Fugo, spent money towards them, money that was unnecessary to spend, but he still did it because Bucciarati was selfless. The earrings were probably inexpensive in comparison to Bucciarati’s income, but it was the idea that mattered. Fugo treasured them dearly. But now...
They were gone now. Completely vanished.
There was no reason as to why they would be missing. Maybe they just skimmed over them?
Kneeling down, low to the ground, Fugo righted the jewelry box. The second drawer was the only one still in it’s place, the top and bottom laying forgotten to the side. They jangled the drawer out. It was empty. Just as it was five minutes ago. And the ten minutes before that.
Their earrings were truly, hopelessly gone.
It was a silly thing to be so upset about. They were embarrassed at how it was rousing them up so badly. It was causing Fugo such grief over an insignificant thing that anyone else would laugh at.
They were just earrings—they could always order a new pair online. But those earrings were special. Another pair wouldn’t do them any good, if anything, they would just serve as a reminder of their carelessness for losing the previous pair.
The urge to rip out their hair and cry was overwhelming. They wouldn’t—no, they couldn’t. Fugo wouldn’t allow themselves to cry over something so trivial. It was stupid. They needed to toughen up, they told themselves cynically, they were just a worthless pair of earrings, nothing to shed tears over. It would be mortifying to them if they did allow the dam of tears to crack and shatter under the weight of the dread building in their stomach.
Their emotional side was overtaking the intellectual side. Beginning to become blinded by pure emotion, they forced themselves to cool down for a moment. After a few minutes of rocking back and forth on the bed, hands absentmindedly tapping against their collarbone, they cooled down.
If the earrings weren’t in their room, they were somewhere else in the house. Maybe their memories had gotten confused and blurred. The motions of them putting the earrings into the second drawer which they swore was yesterday was perhaps the day before or some other time. That had to be right, because the earrings sure as hell weren’t in the jewelry box.
“Fuck,” Fugo grunted, running a hand through their hair. They tugged lightly, feeling a sense of catharsis. God, they needed to get up and look somewhere else. The helpless feeling over losing something was not one they wanted to stick with.
Their hand made contact with the knob when it suddenly jerked the other way. The door slammed right past them, opening on its own accord. Fugo stepped back in shock.
Narancia stood in the doorway, a beaming smile on his face and looking all too proud. The smile slowly dropped as he looked at the sad excuse of Fugo’s room. The once pristine floors were covered in table top items, pens and pencils, picture frames, the jewelry box, and many other things. Purple orbs looked back up to Fugo and scanned their features in confusion. Red flushed at their cheeks in embarrassment.
“Wha—?”
“It’s nothing,” Fugo hissed. They seemed unwilling to even allow Narancia to get a word out.
Narancia rolled his eyes. “Your rooms never a mess! What’s up?”
“It’s nothing.”
The older stared at them a little harshly, then shrugged playfully; the smile was back on his face.
He looked too peppy, far too cheerful. It was a Tuesday morning with no plans as far as they were aware. What had Narancia so ungodly happy this morning?
If it didn’t involve them, then they really didn’t care. Fugo shoved past him and made their descent down the stairs. They were still in pursuit of the earrings. The overpowering feeling that they were close struck them. It was so frustrating.
Once they were in the kitchen, they started to shift through the magazines, around the counter and behind things.
Narancia followed hot on their trail. There was a bounce in his step. It set Fugo’s suspicion on high alert.
“What are you so happy about?” They scoffed, lifting up a couch cushion in the living room.
“Oh,” Narancia hummed. “Nothing.”
It was obviously not ‘nothing,’ but Fugo was busy. Ignoring Narancia’s all too cheerful self, they continued the search. Their findings had ascended underneath the couch. A lot of bottle caps, likely from Mista, wrappers and coins, but no earrings.
They rose from the crouching position. A hunched figure looking over the couch watched Fugo with confusion. It momentarily gave the younger a spook to rise to the suddenness of another presence. It was Bucciarati.
“What are you doing?” He asked, not looking super pleased at the state of the couch. The cushions were on the ground and pillows thrown across the room.
Fugo rose and ran their hands through their bangs. “Looking,” they snapped, a bit miffed at losing their earrings—a real, genuine gift. They didn’t want Bucciarati to know. They didn’t want to make him angry. Admitting they lost something like the earrings made them seem disorganized, absentminded.
“For what, may I ask?”
Narancia perked up from his position on top of the kitchen table. He was not supposed to be sitting there, but Fugo didn’t mention it. “Stuff,” came the cryptic answer.
“Ah,” Bucciarati nodded, face impassive. “Stuff,” he said in a deadpan tone. Fugo nodded stiffly.
They continued their search downstairs for another ten minutes. Narancia and Bucciarati watched them all the while, bored, yet amused. It was crystal clear they were beginning to grow aggravated. Anger was starting to bubble red hot in Fugo’s stomach again. They weren’t down here. They weren’t up in their room. Where the fuck were they?
The hopelessness that they were gone forever was dawning on them. It made them feel sick to their stomach, made their chest tighten, nausea start to rise. Tears started to edge at their eyes and they couldn’t help it one bit. Crying in front of Bucciarati and Narancia like a toddler who lost a toy would be an all new low for Fugo.
They felt oddly exposed without the strawberries hanging from their ears. It felt wrong to be without them. Every single day for the past few years, they weren't seen without them. The weight was familiar, the brushing of the hard plastic against their neck when they moved.
A soft hand reached over their own on the kitchen counter. A jolt ran through them at the touch, but they quickly recognized the calloused hand with a golden band on the ring finger. Fugo calmed their shaking, unaware that they even were trembling. Bucciarati looked at them strongly.
“What did you lose?”
“Nothing,” Fugo argued. Bucciarati did not look impressed.
Their Capo sighed. “Fugo.”
Fugo didn’t want to tell him, admitting that they lost something special Bucciarati gifted him. He had already seen how Fugo had reacted to this supposed ‘nothing.’ To Bucciarati, it was a little sad, but to Fugo? It was impossibly embarrassing.
They sucked up their pride.They violently wiped away any tears and wiped their nose, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum. It was mortifying. “My earrings. I-I can’t find them. I looked everywhere.”
Bucciarati’s eyebrow twitched and he let out a heavy sigh. Fugo flinched at the sound, feeling their stomach drop.
“I’m sorry,” they said, but their voice was oddly weak. “I swear I didn’t mean to lose them. I—“ Their voice died in their throat. They were getting choked up. They didn’t like to be wrong in front of Bucciarati; they didn’t want to disappoint him, truthfully.
But Bucciarati didn’t respond. He just blinked. The bags under his eyes appeared more prominent this morning than usual. Then, he slowly turned to Narancia, who was beaming suspiciously.
Fugo could feel now that the exhaustion Bucciarati was presenting wasn’t geared towards them. Fugo may have been the smartest in the gang, but emotionally? Situationally smart? They were lacking quite a lot of intellect.
Narancia just continued to smile. He was sitting on the stool of the kitchen. It was a spinning stool, something Narancia took advantage of, like he was now. His hands were gripping the leather as he tilted right to left in the seat.
“Huuuh?” The boy playfully questioned. His eyes crinkled at the edges with how wide he was smiling. Fugo stood there dumbly, not quite understanding.
Bucciarati groaned out, “Narancia.”
The smaller ran a hand through his unruly hair, brushing past locks of coal hair. He tucked strands behind his ear and Fugo saw a flash of silver, along with a familiar scarlet color.
In Narancia’s ears, lay two shiny strawberry earrings.
The relief that washed over Fugo was instant. All the anxiety that wracked them over losing the sentimental jewelry vanished and was deemed vapid almost immediately.
Fugo’s shoulders slumped, their heart stopped the strange contractions. The spiky vines that gripped around their lungs and made it hard to breathe, finally withered. In it’s wake grew butterflies that flew around in their stomach. They bumped into each other and caused a stir.
The small red line of anger was still tight, but the color was less vibrant. Narancia stole from them, didn’t tell, and caused overall havoc. Fugo’s room was a total mess, their belongings now ruined on the floor. They were even near tears when they couldn’t find the jewelry!
But Fugo just couldn’t stop the flush spreading across their face, nor could they do anything to eliminate the slight smile spreading across their lips as they stared fondly towards Narancia.
Bucciarati just watched, dumbfounded. He was getting ready to prevent a fight, no doubt with some variant of weapon and wounds to result. Bucciarati couldn’t even recall the last time he’d seen Fugo smile like that.
Narancia, on the other hand, looked downright confused. His eyebrows pinched together in bewilderment and his eyes squinted. It seemed he was expecting more of an outrage, a volatile reaction.
Red eyes bore forward, a look of surprise spread across their face. It was...cute. Narancia was cute. Really cute. He was wearing something of Fugo’s. It was like sharing clothes, or an item that just screamed Pannacotta Fugo. It was too sweet—too much emotion for Fugo.
“Uh—“ they stammered, heart beating so loudly they feared everyone else could hear. Their neck, cheeks and ears held a violent flush, one that stood out stark with how pale their flesh was. “Just. Just, um, drop them off when...you’re done.”
Bucciarati and Narancia watched as Fugo walked back up the stairs, literal hearts in their eyes. Then, it was silent.
Bucciarati sighed, regardless. He wished he didn’t have to be a pseudo parent the members in his gang, but without a good childhood or without guidance, they all seemed to be pretty lost. It didn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting. “You shouldn't take their things without informing them. You saw how worked up they got, Narancia.”
“Yeah, yeah, but still, what the hell?” Narancia muttered under his breath. He waved his hand. Fugo was one strange dude!
The strawberry earrings swang back and forth as he moved his body. He giggled at the motion. Maybe he’d get some for himself, or, better yet, little oranges. Then, he and Fugo could match!
Even so, Narancia didn’t drop them off until late that night. He savored the way Fugo looked at him the whole day, star struck.
Yeah, he’d definitely be getting his own pair.