Chapter Text
Pannacotta Fugo was late. He was so so late. And Pannacotta Fugo was never late. He was a light sleeper, an easy riser, and was absolutely always punctual.
However, on this particular Saturday, Fugo had woken up to a heavy rain leak in his barely functioning apartment. Which normally would not have been a problem because he always set his alarms to account for unforeseen incidents like this one. To Fugo’s extreme misfortune, however, his specified water leak rain bucket for emergencies that he kept under his bathroom sink had been stolen by his boundary-less roommate.
He had finally found it in Narancia’s bedroom, stacked on top of a bunch of Fugo’s books balancing Fugo’s tripod. He must have been trying to make YouTube videos again. Fugo had made sure to grab the bucket as forcefully as he could, causing the entire precarious setup to come crashing down.
By this point there was so much water that Fugo now had to clean up that mess to avoid more mold in their rotting floorboards (no thanks to Narancia’s careless habit of dropping everything everywhere).
Fugo scowled, cursing out Narancia under his breath. He was going to absolutely body him when he arrived at work.
Or maybe not. Fugo looked down at his watch, the minute hand creeping ever so slowly to the hour. Fugo started work at 8:00 pm. It was 7:58. There was no way he would make it on time, especially in the rain.
He picked up his pace, practically dashing across the street to the dimly lit, hole in the wall piano bar where he worked. The large neon sign on the facade of the building advertised “Bruno’s” in cursive so stylized that it was difficult to read. Luckily, Fugo could not only read cursive, but exclusively wrote in it. He shook his head in disappointment at the thought of the many people who no longer took the time to appreciate the style of cursive writing. It was truly a shame.
Fugo’s steps increased in size as he crossed the final stretch of sidewalk - he could make it on time! Suddenly, just as Fugo was reaching to open the door, a figure emerged. He rammed right into the polished glass door and went flying backwards, onto the street, into the wet and the rain.
In front of him, all he could see were two perfectly polished loafers. With…ladybugs? They stared back at him on the cold concrete. That really pissed him off.
“I’m so sorry!” the stranger exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
Fugo scowled. His hair was soaking wet and had completely come down in front of his face. He probably looked pathetic. And more importantly, his expensive and personally tailored green silk lined linen suit was now soaking through with gutter water.
“I’m fine,” Fugo grimaced. He was absolutely not fine.
“Let me help you up.” The stranger extended a hand. Fugo waved it off.
“Don’t worry about-” He looked up. Whoever was standing in front of him was obviously a customer. And he was also obviously rich. Not only did he have the pinkest, most expensive looking three piece suit, but the greenest eyes and blondest hair Fugo had ever seen. He swallowed down a snarky insult. Bucciarati would practically fire him if he turned away a customer like this.
He glowed with radiance. A radiance of wealth… obviously. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The stranger asked. Fugo must have been staring. He picked himself up from the ground in the most self-preserving way he could. There went the rest of his dignity.
“I’m fine, seriously. I should head inside, I have work-” Fugo looked down at his watch. Shit. “Two minutes ago.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I apologize for-”
“Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed Bruno’s. Stay dry out there. I like your ladybugs.” Fugo wanted to scream. What kind of shit customer service was that? He stormed into the restaurant, his scowl returning in full force.
The restaurant was bustling with people. He received a few greetings as he walked past the tables and towards the bar.
“Sorry everyone!” He announced. Piano will be starting a little later today.”
Customers were drawn to Bruno’s not only because of a good drink and good food, but because of Fugo’s exquisite piano playing. He was the main attraction of Bruno’s bar, and he never disappointed.
Fugo walked past the bar, greeting Abbacchio. As he approached the staff lounge, Bruno himself emerged from his office.
“Hello, Fugo! Everything okay? You’re soaking.”
“Nothing to worry about, Bucciarati.” Fugo forced a smile.
“Don’t worry about being late, Fugo. Your punctuality always impresses me. You deserve to cut yourself some slack once in a while.”
“I appreciate it Bucciarati. Now excuse me, I have to go change.” Fugo kept a backup suit in his employee locker just for situations like this.
Fugo entered the staff lounge, which was never really used and therefore more of a storage room. In his haste to reach his locker, he accidentally kicked over a box of Halloween supplies, sending lights and plastic pumpkins rolling across the floor.
Fugo cursed loudly as he grabbed his suit, promptly slamming his locker shut and storming into the employee bathrooms.
****
Fugo was sitting and chatting with Mista, who was sitting on the piano. Which bothered him, but he was too tired to care. It was 2:00 am, and most of the restaurant customers had gone home, which meant there was no demand for the piano. Only the late night stragglers were left behind.
“...so then, she invited me to her apartment.” Mista went on. Fugo wasn’t really listening. “And I thought we were gonna, you know, but turns out she was one of those scammer types who was trying to make a buck out of me. Her living room was set up with vacuums of all things! She tried to sell me one.”
Fugo nodded along. He was still mourning his suit. He would have to carefully wash and steam it. Or drop it off at the dry cleaner’s. Hopefully it hadn’t gotten too muddy,
“...can you believe how elaborate sammers are these days? Just the other day, too, I saw…”
Fugo thought back to the stranger he had bumped into earlier. His suit had also been nice. He bet it was also silk lined. He wondered if the lining had little ladybugs on it, like his had strawberries.
“Fugo? Are you even listening to me?” Fugo startled.
“Yes. You were talking about scammers.”
“Yes, exactly! Like I was saying-”
“Mista, Fugo!” The soft clicking of boots approached the pair at the piano. “Bruno wants to talk to you.”
Abbachio towered over Fugo, sitting at the piano. Mista slid off his seat, adjusting his waiter's apron.
“What about?” Mista inquired.
“Don’t worry, it’s not serious. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Abbachio continued his walk out of the restaurant, the little bell ringing as he exited the building.
“I wonder what Bucciarati needs us for.” Mista wondered aloud as he walked towards the bar. “I hope it doesn’t take long. I’m beat.”
Fugo followed silently. Logically, it wasn’t about his tardiness, since Mista was requested as well. But it still worried him.
“Big boss!” Mista exclaimed as he entered Bucciarati’s office.
“Please don’t call me that.” Bucciarati chuckled good naturedly. “This won’t take long, I’m just requesting that you two come in before opening tomorrow. Abbachio will be there too.”
Mista gave a sideward glance at Fugo. This meant all the staff would be there. What could be so important that everyone needed to be there?
“We have a new hire that I want you to meet. Fugo, I would like you to show him the ropes.”
“Me? But I just play the piano.” Fugo had no cooking skill and almost always ended up yelling at customers as a waiter. A lot of them were absolutely insufferable.
“Yes, but you’ve got experience working here and you’ve been here the longest. I believe your knowledge and dedication to this establishment will be the most beneficial.”
That was true. For a short time Fugo had been a waiter. (He assumed the new hire would be a waiter, that was the most logical explanation. Narancia always complained about being the only opening waiter…stupid Narancia).
“Anyways, make sure you both are here on time and make our new hire comfortable. You’re dismissed.”
“Bye, Bucciarati,” Mista eagerly took his leave. Fugo lingered behind.
“Bucciarati? I want to apologize again for my tardiness.”
“Don’t worry about it, Fugo. You know I appreciate your dedication, and the restaurant really benefits from your talent. If you ever need a break just let me know.”
“Okay, well, thank you Bucciarati. I’ll take my leave now.” Fugo turned to exit.
“Take care, Fugo. See you tomorrow.”
Outside, he could hear the rain continue to pour down. Fugo sighed. He supposed it didn’t matter if his suit got any more wet. Yet, he took care to bundle it up in one of the restaurant’s to-go bags.
Fugo left the restaurant, opening up his umbrella. The streetlights cast an eerie glow on the damp, empty streets. The only sound aside the rain was the solemn footsteps of Fugo, who planned to drop off his suit at the all-hours dry cleaners near his apartment. And then return home and beat up Narancia.