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It had been years.
Years since Diavolo had been defeated, years since Fugo had killed Massimo Volpe and won the new Passione’s trust- years since Fugo had won Giorno’s heart and Giorno had won his.
You would assume that Fugo would have undergone more character development by now, but he was still as unsure as he had been in that moment when he stood at land watching the small boat that carried all that he loved, grow smaller as it drifted far away from Fugo.
Fugo was even unsure about what he was unsure about. He just didn’t know. He, Pannacotta Fugo who used to pride himself of his knowledge, didn’t know. The honest truth was he didn’t want to know. He was scared of being wrong, but more than that he was terrified of being right, because the thoughts that swam through his head were far from pleasant.
How many years had it been? 10? 11? A long time definitely. Everything was still a blur for Fugo, a haze if you will. Even now, he felt like he was living his life on auto-pilot. He felt as his life was a T.V. show that he could only sit back and watch and he still hadn’t managed to change the channel.
2011 Italy- Giorno was the Don of Passione and drugs had been eradicated from the syndicate. It was a new dawn and a new day, but in 2011 Florida, America, it was a new kind of darkness and evil that was shrouding the land, slowly making its way across the globe.
Making its way to Italy.
“Is this real life? Is this just a fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.” These were the opening lines to the song ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ by Queen.
It was pretty ironic because the stand named after this song took the victim away from reality into a fantasy world. But then again, perhaps what the song means. Perhaps ‘reality’ doesn’t refer to real life, but the truth and facts behind how life works, that is, living a story that has already been written- someone else’s fantasy. Not being unique or new, but condemned to a fixed fate unable to change the storyline, unable to escape this world.
Whatever the hidden meaning behind the song was, the stand most definitely didn’t hide its powers, unleashing its ability across the globe.
x
Tea time.
No wait, it wasn’t supposed to be tea time. Why did Giorno want tea. The time- it was supposed to be six in the morning, but perhaps Giorno was hallucinating it to be 5:00 in the evening as a result of pulling an all-nighter, his vision swimming, the desk in front of him shifting from a table top covered in documents to a round table with cups of tea. Giorno could swear he saw a little mouse out of the corner of his eye, taking a sip of tea from his cup.
Looked like Giorno really needed sleep. Who knows what insomnia-induced craze would prompt his new insanely powerful, sentient stand to do. If Giorno didn’t take a nap, Gold experience requiem might punt the earth into the next galaxy.
He brought his head to the desk with a soft thud, but when he closed his eyes, there wasn’t darkness, but the clear image of a tea table, with a hare, a mouse and himself sitting around it, bringing their tea-cups to their lips and slowly sipping.
“What the flipity funk dong?” Giorno said, but it wasn’t Giorno’s voice nor what he had intended to say.
“Flapjacking falooda,” he said, trying to swear again. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck’ he thought in his head. ‘I want to say fuck.’
“Fishy forest fungus.”
“Watch that tongue Mad Hatter. Your tea might not burn it but that doesn’t mean you need to set it on fire yourself,” the hare said.
“Who the-, ahem, I mean who are you,” Giorno asked.
“Has the Mad Hatter finally gone sane?” the hare snorted. “I’m the March Hare of course!”
“Right,” Giorno said. “Of course.”
“Of course,” his brain provided, this time with a more sincere tone, as if he were surprised at himself for not recognising the March Hare. “You’ve known the March Hare for all of every tea time silly!”
“More tea?” Giorno said involuntarily, pouring a cup for the mouse. “It’s my special blend.”
“It’s always your special blend,” the hare rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his own cup.
What was happening?! Giorno- that was his name was Gionro! GIonro, Giorno, Gio- wait, who the Frappuccino was Giorno?
“Mad Hatter?” the March Hare said calling out. “Pour me more tea.”
Giorno did as he was asked, except he was no longer Giorno. He was the Mad Hatter.
x
Fugo felt high. Then again, maybe that was because he was smoking from the hookah in his hand. He was so high, that he thought he was a caterpillar. But then, the next second, he wasn’t high. He was running and he was late, and he was also a rabbit. Then he was a pigeon, and then the high hit him like a whirlwind again, making him feel dizzy.
“Giorno,” He forced himself to think. “I have to find Gionro.”
He crawled two steps forward at the highest speed his intoxicated mind and fat caterpillar body could take him when suddenly he was in a completely different place staring at a giant girl who animals were throwing rocks at, except the rocks were cakes.
Before Fugo could ask what was going on, he was high again, but not mentally. He was a pigeon soaring in the sky, presented with the head with the same girl stretching above the canopy of trees. He was about to crash into her when he was suddenly sliding down a rabbit hole, back in the white rabbit’s body.
What?
Stand attack. This had to be a stand attack right? Giorno could be in danger and here Fugo was smoking a god damn hookah.
“Okay Fugo maybe you just need to consciously pick and choose a form to take. The rabbit seems like the best option. While the pigeon can soar the sky in search of Giorno, he might be underground, where the rabbit would be able to reach,” he told himself.
“Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.”
And for a second it worked. But only for a second because in the next he had a hookah in his hand again.
“Come on Fugo you need to figure out which animal you are supposed to be! You need to figure out who you are!” he scolded himself before freezing. Was that it? The reason Fugo wasn’t staying as one animal? Because he didn’t know who he was?” No, that wasn’t true. Fugo didn’t have to know who he was because he was nobody. Not a caterpillar, not a rabbit and not a pigeon. He was nobody.
Just then his form and location switched again and he found himself in a garden.
“Off with their head!”
That’s when it clicked.
The caterpillar with the hookah, the white rabbit, the pigeon who saw a girl’s head in the sky- Fugo was in the story of Alice in Wonderland. Right now, he was a gardener in the queen’s garden and her highness had just ordered for the gardener’s execution. According to the story, Alice was supposed to save the gardeners by hiding them in a flower pot and that’s exactly what she did before going to play croquet with the queen. Fugo slowly snuck out of the pot carefully making his way out of the garden. He had to find a way out of Wonderland.
Thankfully, Fugo stayed as a gardener as he walked around trying to think. That’s when he heard the sound of chatter in the distance.
Huh? That was weird. It had barely been 5 minutes since he’d left the castle. What were people doing so close to the palace?
He turned back to see that the castle had suddenly disappeared. No, it hadn’t disappeared, it had just gotten very far away. Had Fugo really walked that much in that little time?
He hadn’t realized that he was still walking until he bumped into a table.
“Boy, you look like you’ve seen your cousin’s uncle’s mother’s ghost!” a mouse who sat at the table squeaked.
“The castle,” Fugo muttered. “It was here just seconds ago-,”
“Haha! I remember when seconds and minutes had meaning!” a hare spoke, also at the table. “over here, it is always tea time. Of course, that isn’t true for all of Wonderland, only for the garden where the Mad Hatter has his tea party.”
This drew Fugo’s attention to the third person at the table and he recognized him immediately.
“Giorno?” What’s going on?!” Fugo asked.
“How rude of you, barging into my tea party and yelling at me,” the Mad Hatter huffed. “Just for that, you are not invited to my tea party for those who have wronged time.”
“Giorno, it’s me! Fugo!” Fugo tried.
The Mad Hatter just sipped his tea. “I don’t know a Fugo. Who is Fugo I wonder.”
“Fugo is…” Fugo trailed off. Just then he realized something.
The tea party was for those who had wronged time, that’s why Giorno was the Mad Hatter! He had defied Diavolo’s time stop! And Fugo was a gardener because he was nobody- a background character that no one remembered, but that definition of himself didn’t seem to resonate with Giorno making him unable to recognise his lover.
In the beginning, Fugo’s form was unable to remain stable because he didn’t know who he was. But now, he had to think about who Giorno saw him as- what Giorno loved about him.
“The thing I love about you Fugo, is that you’re Fugo,” Giorno had once said.
Fugo kept trying to but himself in boxes like ‘the background character’ and ‘the nobody,’ but in reality, none of that defined him.
The title that defined his identity was ‘Fugo.’ Fugo was who he was, is, and always will be.
Just then, somewhere on the globe, a man named Ungalo died, and Wonderland faded away, leaving Fugo and Giorno as their true selves.
“Fugo!” Giorno said, wrapping his arms around the other.
“That’s me,” Fugo smiled. “I’m Fugo.”
“That’s what I love about you,” Giorno smiled.