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You could tell a lot about a person by their taste in music. Narancia had always believed that. Every kind of music had its own personality, one that resonated in each and every person who listened to them. From metal heads to classical music lovers to rap enthusiasts like him, they all had something admirable about them. Everyone except the pop people.
Narancia never understood how you could like pop. Not once. It was so fake, so shallow, so plastic that he couldn’t see those who listened to it as anything different.
And yet every day as he came into the house that Bruno and Abbachio had moved into to watch over Trish, it’s all he could hear. Everything from The Beach Boys to Christina Agulara, constant overly peppy and unbearably happy music was constantly blaring from the CD player Trish insisted on carrying with her into each and every room of the house, no headphones or anything to mask the incessantly loud music. If her music taste was any better he would be impressed. In fact there was a lot about Trish he admired. She was strong, and kind, and she had treated his wounds with so much care he almost didn’t feel hurt anymore from her touch alone. Sometimes when she walked into a room he couldn’t remember his own name anymore. But the music choice was something he couldn’t forgive. Not ever.
“Trish would you turn that down, I can barely hear myself think.” Bruno groaned, trying to massage his head as he watched Narancia painstakingly draw out his next number, sneaking glances at his capo turned tutor as he went to try to gauge if he was doing it right. After Fugo had split from them Narancia no longer had a tutor to help him with his work, not that Fugo’s overly violent teaching methods were much help in the long run.
“Sorry.” Trish mumbled, obviously still unapologetic as she delicately turned down the peppy music by a few notches. As she pulled her hand away another came to replace it, the blue and white hand of sticky fingers appearing to turn the volume down even further. Trish let out an angry sigh, glaring down at her paper as the arm retracted. Bruno seemed to relax, but not by much.
“Is this right?” Narancia asked, tapping the paper where his answer was written hesitantly. Both Trish and Buccillati looked over, scanning the paper with the same hard to read expression. Sometimes Narancia thought about how strangely similar they could be. Maybe it was best that when hiding her identity they had decided to give her his last name, making her his unofficial adopted little sister. Initially Narancia was hoping that she could come to live with him and Mista, but she seemed happy with Buccellati. That and now Narancia only had to hear her music when he came over for help with his homework.
Since Giorno had taken over, Buccillati had decided that Narancia needed to go to real classes. Especially since he was now in heavy consideration to be a Capo in the future, and even now was a part of his previous teammates elite guard. So as soon as he could Narancia was signed up for adult education night classes at Trish and Giorno’s highschool. He was the youngest one there, the same age as some students who walked the halls during the day, but he wasn’t even close to understanding any of their classes. There was a few hours before his classes when Trish would be at home and getting help with her own lessons when Narancia would come to seek his own help. It didn’t make him feel great that the girl that was two years his junior had papers that made his head hurt just from looking at them. He didn’t know how anyone was able to justify putting letters in math, let alone that many. He could barely handle numbers.
“Well, you’re closer than last time.” Bruno relented, running a tired hand through his hair. “You’re still getting hung up on the addition.”
“Why do I have to add, I thought we were doing division!” Narancia complained, letting his head fall to the table in tired defeat.
“We are but... oh, give me a minute.” Bruno sighed, pulling his now beeping phone out of his pocket. Giorno had recently gotten them all cell phones, but it was fairly rare for them to use them. So when Bruno began talking in hushed tones, getting up from the table and quickly walking down the hallway, Narancia knew he had to follow. He practically threw his pencil down as he got up, hearing the excited whir of Aerosmith’s engine puttering somewhere in between his shoulder blades and his neck. He hadn’t been allowed on a big job in a long time, but tonight might be it. But as Bruno and Abbacchio came out of the hallway, Abbachio handling the phone as Bruno grabbed his coat and the keys to his car.
“Hey, what’s-“
“No. You have class tonight. Stay here, we can handle this.” Buccillati commanded, pointing back over to the chair at the kitchen table before quickly throwing the black and white jacket over his shoulders and grabbing the phone back from Abbacchio.
“But I can help!” Narancia argued, doing his best to keep up as they made their last preparations to leave. Abbachio put a hand on Narancia’s shoulder as Bruno talked, his eyes set in the stern, almost fatherly look that Narancia always hated because he always knew exactly what it meant.
“Right now you need to help yourself. If we need you we’ll give you a call, but until then we can handle this.” He explained before finally looking away to put on a second coat of black lipstick before turning to open the door for Bruno, who was currently reassuring Giorno that they were on their way.
Narancia’s fists whitened as his nails dug into his palm, looking to the floor as he heard the door slam behind them. For a while afterward all he could hear were the light plasticy tones of Trish’s music. Everything else was still. His skin crawled as he felt the girl's eyes trained on him, a mixture of shame, anger and embarrassment pumping through his veins. He did his best to avert his eyes as he turned around, marching back to the table. He almost couldn’t hear the sugary music over his angry swirling thoughts. He felt the bright green eyes on him as he sat, staring down at the paper below him. This was all so unfair. Being forced from his rightful place protecting what had become his family to be relegated to his own personal hell, long division. He grabbed his pencil, gripping it until he could feel the soft wood give way beneath his fingers, creaking in his grip. Suddenly a new sensation cut through the whirlwind in his head, the soft brush of a well moisturized hand on his. Suddenly the music was back, the bubble gum sparkly notes almost soothing after all of the anger. Her hand was only there for a second but she slowly shifted over to look at his paper, sighing a bit as she looked at it.
“I can help you. If you want. With the math.” She hummed, her voice low and as disinterested as she could make it sound. But with the way she shifted over to him, gently tucking her hair behind her ear, he could tell she cared. The bitter angry mess was still there, but much like his pain it all didn’t matter when he caught a whiff of her body lotion and shampoo as she gently tapped her fingers beside his paper.
“You uh, you mean like a tutor?” He asked, his hands shaking as he put down his pencil. She glanced at the new indents in the already beat up pencil, a strange look of determination flashing In her eyes as she picked it up, delicately pulling a fresh mechanical one out of her bag, placing it in front of him.
“Yeah, like a tutor.”
“But, why?” He asked, poking at the new plastic pencil on his desk. She shrugged, continuing to look down at his paper with Bruno’s signature unreadable expression. He could have sworn for a moment her frown twitched into a shy smile.
“Why not?”
+#+
“Then I carry the one...”
“Yes and that gives you?” Trish asked patiently, the tip of her pencil tapping the paper to the tune of her music. After weeks of listening while she helped him study Narancia had gotten to the point where he was beginning to recognize each album Trish tended to play during their tutoring sessions, much to his chagrin. Lately though she had been playing her music at a much lower volume, trying to make up for the lack of volume by quietly singing along to the lyrics. But it just wasn’t the same. She seemed much more melancholy without the sugary music blasting through the house. He almost felt bad, at least, he made sure to ensure himself, he would if he didn’t still hate the music.
“Uh, 47?” Narancia asked? Looking over at her nervously, still half expecting her to jab her pencil into his eye for getting it wrong. Instead her glossed lips pursed into a small smile, nodding in confirmation.
“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?”
“It was awful.” Narancia sighed, splaying himself out dramatically over his paper. As he heard her snicker he turned to pout at her, only earning another laugh. He held back a smile as he watched her, finally getting up and tucking the mechanical pencil behind his ear. Usually he would have long since destroyed his pencil but since Trish had given him one of hers he had been as careful as he could be. Of course he was getting frustrated less often, so that was also a part of it. She was a surprisingly good teacher, better than Bruno even. She had a way of making things seem so simple.
Trish’s smile faded a bit as she stared down at her paper, her tapping falling out of rhythm as she thought. Before Narancia could ask she had looked around, biting the inside of her lip before leaning in a bit, speaking in a low voice.
“Hey um, have you been on any jobs recently?”
Narancia was taken aback. Last year after everything had happened she had been fairly clear. Once Abbachio and him had gotten out of the hospital Bruno had approached them both, saying that Trish had decided she wanted to stay as distanced from their work as she could, even if she didn’t trust anyone else to take care of or live with her. They had strict rules, they weren’t to tell her any details, and only mention their job if it was necessary for her safety or peace of mind. And yet despite that here she sat, leaning across the corner of the table that separated them, her pencil tight in her grip and her breath shallow with anticipation. He was at a loss of words for a moment, clearing his throat and running a hand through his loose curly hair.
“I uh... I thought you didn’t want to know.” He mumbled, picking at the edges of the paper in his lap. Trish sighed.
“I... well have you?” She asked, tucking a stray strand of bubblegum pink hair behind her ear. Narancia sighed in response.
“Not really. It seems like Bruno always has some excuse on why I shouldn’t come. I mean they let me tag along for the really big stuff and a couple smaller jobs but... I mean are you sure you wanna hear about this? I thought you wanted to be as normal as possible or something.” He admitted, searching her face for any changes. He was always good at reading people but Trish was a case he couldn’t quite crack yet, not all the time at least. But from the way she chewed on her lip, the way she ran her nails down her pencil, she almost seemed excited.
“I do. Or... I did. Well I still do but...” She balled up her fist, her long nails digging into her palm. “It’s not fair. I can’t be alone, I can’t be with anyone else and I... I can’t just sit there while...”
Narancia cocked his head, his face twisting without his permission into a look of concern. Maybe it was something in the music or maybe he was just feeling bold that day, but before he realized it his hand had brushed against hers, his calloused finger knocking against her soft manicured ones as if to let her know it was there waiting. She looked over at him, eyes shifting a final time over to the door to the hallway before she took the waiting hand, squeezing it. Narancia was somewhat shocked she had actually accepted his little invitation but did his best to force his blush away.
“Can I tell you a secret? One you can’t tell anyone.”
“Well, I-“
“Narancia please.” Her brows were knit together in determination, her lip set in a pout. He wanted to argue, something about keeping things from Bruno being bad but he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Instead he just gulped, shifting his hand a bit in hers. Her hands were so warm and soft, her face so strong and vivid.
“Alright alright, I won’t tell.”
“Not even Bruno? Not even Giorno?”
“Yeah yeah not either of them.”
“Well...” She paused, her thumb rubbing nervously against his hand. “I fought someone today.”
Narancia froze. Had... had he heard her right?
“You did what?”
“K-keep it down. Yeah, I fought someone.”
“Like, a girl at school?”
“No, I’m not that petty. I mean like,” her voice lowered, a serious but still strangely excited tone entering her voice. “an assassin.”
“A WHAT??”
“Shh! I told you to keep quiet!” Trish pleaded, squeezing his hand. Narancia was completely taken aback. He knew she could fight, she had beaten the notorious BIG before but since then she hadn’t really gotten in any fights at all. Most of the time he had convinced himself, mostly to keep himself from thinking about how precarious her situation really was, that she was your average pop princess, delicate and passive. But she wasn’t. She was so much more than that, and he always knew that deep down. And as much as it fascinated and amazed him it also scared him that she was in danger and none of them knew.
“I... I thought Giorno had a bodyguard every day so this wouldn’t happen.”
“Mista was there but he went to get food for the pistols.”
Narancia made the mental note to leave something nasty under his pillow for putting Giorno and Trish in danger like that.
“Was he a stand user or-“
“Yeah, he had a stand. Honestly I don’t remember it’s name, the fight was over so fast. He didn’t know I was there until it was too late. There was a crack in the wall, all I had to do was knock his stand into it and Spice Girl did the rest of the work.”
“Were you hurt?” Narancia asked, doing his best not to raise his voice. She glared at the floor for a moment, as if considering whether or not she should tell him.
“Well-“
“Trish...”
Trish rolled her eyes, doing her best to play it off but still shifted in her seat, pulling the slit of her skirt over so she could show him her upper calf, a large patch of slightly blood soaked gauze carefully taped into place. Narancia’s eyes widened at the blood, his anger flaring up. Mista was getting more than something under his pillow for this shit, Narancia had half a mind to go kick his ass now.
“It’s not that big a deal, I took care of him pretty quick. By the time Mista got back I had trapped his stand, all Mista had to do was... well, you know.” She grumbled, picking at her nails.
“But-“
“Narancia I told you because I thought you wouldn’t do this.” Trish complained, covering up her leg again and tugging on his arm, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
“I know but you got hurt, of course I’m gonna be upset!”
“Are you upset when the others get hurt?”
“Not always-“
“So why do I have to be treated any differently?”
“Because you...” he paused for a minute. Since he had begun hanging out with her more he’d begun to recognize when she had caught him in a trap. If he said she was different she would get angry but if he said she was the same it would be proving her point. He’d tried to get out of these before but never once had he pulled it off. He knew there wasn’t a right answer so instead he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Because I’m used to it from them. They get hurt a lot. So do I. It’s part of the job so I’m used to it but... I don’t want to get used to it from you.”
Trish was silent for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing a finger across his knuckles. She sighed, for the first time he had seen giving up her perfect trap.
“I guess... well, fine. But you have to admit, I’m just as capable as all of you. I have a stand, don’t I? And I just... I don’t want to be in a gang but I feel...”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew how she felt. He used to feel the same way when Buccillati wouldn’t let him into the gang. Left out. He thought about it for a bit, finally looking up at her.
“Do you want me to tell you about it? I can’t tell you everything but... do you want to know?” He asked, eyes tracing the scar on her wrist from where it was loosely zipped back on all that time ago, still without her knowledge binding them together as one. She didn’t respond for a while, shifting a bit in her seat, face screwed up in thought. Finally she locked eyes with him, nodding.
“Yeah... just a little. I’d like that.”
He smiled at her, and before he could react she had pulled him into a hug, arms tightly wrapped around his waist. He was caught off guard for a moment, flustered and unsure of how to react. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, squeezing back just as tight. The light sweet tones of what he now knew to be The Beach Boys were strangely soothing as he held his friend, and despite himself he almost started humming along.
+#+
The first thing Narancia heard when he got to the front door was yelling. It was muffled, but he knew that it was Abbachio. He had heard the man yell enough times to recognize it as soon as the muffled words hit his lips.
“Trish! I can’t focus with that damn music playing! It’s all the time with you, give it a rest!” The shout was harsh and stressed but sober, he could tell Abbachio was in a hurry.
“Leone please, just focus on finding them, we were supposed to leave an hour ago.” Bruno’s calm but stern voice interrupted.
“Don’t you think I know that; TRISH!” What little of the music could be heard through the door was suddenly shut off, and as Narancia went to open the door it swung open, Buccillati almost running into him.
“Ah, Narancia, what are you doing here? Is your class over?”
“Oh, yeah but I forgot my jacket here, is now not a good time?” He asked, eyeing the suitcase in Bruno’s hand before peeking around him and into the house, Abbacchio rummaging around the coffee table, glaring harshly down at all the loose papers and random nick-nacks. Behind him Trish was balled up, staring lifelessly down at her feet, her CD player resting silently next to her. It nearly broke his heart to see her so upset.
“There’s a slight emergency, mostly political and nothing Giorno and I can’t take care of. We’ll be back by Thursday. You’ll have to find your coat yourself.” Buccillati informed him, his tone as steady and stern as always.
“Found them.” Abbacchio finally announced, holding up the keys to their car before grabbing his suitcase. Bruno nodded, giving Narancia a final nod goodbye before heading to the car, Abbacchio stopped for a moment, grabbing Narancia’s arm.
“I trust you and Mista can keep her safe?” He asked, eyebrow raised threateningly. Narancia nodded, giving him a strained smile.
“Yep, we got it.”
And with that they were gone, the house eerily quiet as he could hear their car screech out of the driveway. Narancia closed the door behind them, sighing in relief. They always got really intense whenever they thought they might be late. He was fairly used to it, he had lived with them for a while and had gotten just as argumentative in the heat of things. The main thing he was worried about was-
“Trish? Hey, you ok?” He asked, quickly getting over to her and, not knowing what to do with himself, took a seat next to her. She was quiet for a while, only sighing a bit. She shifted a bit, pulling his jacket out of her grasp and offering it to him, averting her eyes.
“This is what you’re here for, right?” She asked. When they first met he would have taken her tone as strict indifference but he knew it now to be hurt. He felt his heart pang in his chest. He took the jacket from her hand, holding it for a second before wrapping it around her shoulders. This finally got her attention, and she looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Keep it, looks better on you anyways.” He mentioned as casually as he could manage. She looked back down at her feet with the same melancholy expression, but wrapped the jacket tighter around her shoulders. Narancia felt his chest swell a little with pride, the happy hum of Aerosmith’s engine in his chest. Maybe she wasn’t all better but it was a step in the right direction. His mind began to race. What made him feel better? Well, goofing around with Mista always helped but he was asleep. And Trish always made him feel better but she couldn’t really help herself. It was all on him, so what really mattered to her, something that would take her mind off of it all, something like...
“Hey, Trish?”
She looked up at him, head resting on her knees.
“What do you like about pop music?”
The question caught her off guard. She looked at him for a few seconds, just blinking in response.
“What do you mean?” She asked, shifting to face him better but keeping the jacket tightly wrapped around her shoulders.
“I mean what do you like about it? Like, I like rap because it means anyone can be successful. They talk about being on the streets but they climbed their way up to being powerful people, powerful enough to help the people they love. It’s like, celebrating that they finally made it, you know? Makes me feel powerful too.” He explained, hoping that his rambling somehow made sense to her. She sat there for a while, thinking about it as he got more and more anxious that he had just sounded like an idiot.
“I think...” she finally replied, “I like pop because it makes the world simple. When people in pop songs are in love they’re perfectly in love. When they’re sad they know exactly why. When they’re happy the world is happy with them. Real life is... messy. And scary. But pop helps me pretend for a while.” She sighed, looking longingly at the CD player before shifting her eyes down again. Suddenly Narancia felt really bad for reacting so poorly to her music. He felt mad at both himself and everyone else in their team for making fun of her and trying to silence her music. As he thought he grabbed her hands, meeting her eyes.
“After you graduate you’ll move in with me and Mista.”
“W-what?” Trish asked, shocked by his sudden outburst.
“Yeah, you can move in with us, Mista is never around anyways, so we can play our music all the time, as loud as we want! We can listen to whatever we want whenever we want!”
Trish sighed, a subtle and sad smile just barely gracing her face. “That’s sweet Narancia, but you don’t have to lie. I know you don’t like-“
“No! I do! Well, I didn’t like it before I met you but...” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, face heating up a bit as he spoke. “It’s grown on me.”
Trish stared at him, expression complicated but not sad anymore. She let go of his hand, standing up and shuffling her arms awkwardly into his jacket to fully wear it. She silently pressed at the buttons of her CD player, smiling as familiar notes filled the room. Wannabe, by the spice girls. The sacrine music that used to make Narancia’s spine crawl filled the room, but all he could feel now was a strangely hopeful joy as Trish extended her hand to him, smiling.
“Prove it.”
He smiled wide, taking her hand and letting her pull him up. She spun back, her light voice filling the air as she sang along to the song. As she rocked her hips to the beat he joined in, awkward at first but dancing nonetheless. She laughed as she saw him try, still attempting to sing the song as she did so. As the music and laughter from the both of them filled the air, in spite of the years of elitism and hatred, because of her he found himself singing along.
+#+