Work Text:
There’s a lot of things Pannacota Fugo knows. He knows advanced mathematics. He knows civil law. He knows how to pick locks, hotwire a car and, siphon gas. Which, when he thinks about his short 16 years of life, is insane.
He knows his friends. He knows Bruno hates Fall because everything is Apple and Pumpkin flavored. He knows Mista never wears gold because it has four letters and that would mean he’s always unlucky. He knows Narancia stays up late writing rap lyrics he heard on 106 & Park. He knows Leone keeps a box with all the birthday cards he’s been given over the years from their group. He knows Trish actually loves screamo music but won’t let anyone but him know. He knows Giorno is a huge weeb and records anime songs on his beat up phone.
He knows he loves them all in his own way.
And late at night he definitely doesn’t think of a certain blonde’s laugh at his jokes. He definitely doesn’t think of how a certain blonde still wears the earrings he got him for his 16th birthday. He doesn’t think about that blonde picking him up from school in his car and always having coffee ready for him in the cup holder.
He doesn’t think about said blonde sneaking him into his house when he got kicked out. He doesn’t think about hiding under the covers together quietly whispering about his parents. He doesn’t think about cool hands wiping away his tears that night.
He does think about cool lips falling on his forehead and curly blonde hair curtaining around him. He does think about bright blue eyes, even in the cover of night, shining with justice vowing to make his parents pay.
He does think about falling asleep being held in a way he’s never been in his life.
Pannacota Fugo knows what love is. He’s read about it: the butterflies, the rapid heartbeat. The feeling of falling and being glad for it. But he’s not a romantic, a sap. He’s not the lead in some romcom. He wears holes in most of his clothes as a choice and loiters in FYE. He’s been arrested for aggravated assault twice. He’s rail thin and his hair is stringy and heat damaged. He’s not someone people fall for.
And yet here he is pining like a Victorian school girl for Giorno Giovanna. Someone who is his total opposite.
Gio who has a large loving family. Gio who wears trendy clothes and knows most of the associates by name. Gio who styles his hair and has weekly appointments at the salon to maintain it. Gio who’s never been arrested once (but that might be because of his lawyer dad). Gio who everyone has had a crush on at least once since he moved to town.
And Pannacota Fugo knows he loves him.
He knows because he feels his heart speed up like Mista’s coupe on the highway in summer. He feels it hammer in his chest like a bass drum, rhythmic and loud. He feels lighter than air yet like he’s stuck in wet concrete, frozen.
He knows his friends, he knows himself. He knows he’s helplessly in love with the most perfect boy to walk the streets of his shitty small New Jersey town. He knows he’s not worth that boy’s shine. Because for all their whispers and jokes and small moments, Giorno Giovanna is perfect and he isn’t, never will be.
Pannacota Fugo knows so much. And he knows first love always leads to heartbreak.