Chapter Text
I could use a love of some kind,
I’ve read all the books, I’ve tried it all, I’ve lived behind a curtain,
And maybe life is protocol, but I still feel uncertain.
★
It was an average morning. 7:30 am.
The sun hid behind the clouds, the sky was a faint, baby blue, the morning breeze was chilly (yet it wasnt freezing), birds chirped, cars buzzed, people walked and talked..
And Pannacotta Fugo was sat in his apartment, dressed and ready for the day. His eyes were darting over a book in his hands, a cup of tea left on the table, steam still slowly flowing out of the top.
Mornings always went very routine-ly for Fugo, they were simple, and almost always the same.
He would wake up at 6:00 am, quickly put all his things together for the day, double-check every little thing.. Only then would he go shower and freshen up.
At 6:30, he’d immediately run to make breakfast. It was always something simple. Scrambled eggs, omelettes, toast, a sandwich made out of any ingredients he could find in the fridge, sometimes it was just plain cereal.
It was simple, but it gave him energy for the day, the food did its job.
At 6:40, he’d wake up Narancia, not exactly trusting the older teen to wake up himself. That either says a lot about Fugo, or a lot about his roommate — Fugo couldn’t care for either, really.
Narancia took forever to get ready in the mornings. If he did let him wake up on his own, Narancia would probably end up being late to school by an entire hour rather than just a few minutes.
His showers were long, he always put on loud, obnoxious CD’s in the morning, CD’s that he had to take minutes looking through for the perfect one (His reasoning behind it was that it ‘made him get ready faster’, Fugo knew it was a bullshit excuse. But Fugo couldn’t say much in retort.), he wasn’t one to do his homework the night before so he had to take up time for that.. Luckily, he always scarfed down his food and was always in such a rush to get dressed and leave the apartment, which was surprising to say the least?
It was good in a way, though, Fugo always had a window of time in the mornings without the rowdiness of his roommate. It was perfect, and fairly peaceful.
Around 7:30 was when he got his moment of peace, at least 30 minutes to sit and take pleasure in the morning before he had to make his way to work.
This time was taken up by flipping through a few pages of a book, by enjoying a fresh cup of tea, by looking through any texts he may have gotten.. Just doing anything that wasn’t worrying about his schedule.
And like so, 8:00 am came.
Fugo’s keychain jingled as he locked the door,
Fugo’s shoes made small, silent noises as he walked through and down the tiled floors of his apartment complex,
Fugo clutched his bag as he closed his buildings door from behind,
And then, Fugo walked through a less-crowded street, his mind blank as he stared at the ground.
His days were always the same, they followed the same routine, he did the same things.
The only divergences were days when he had to go grocery shopping, hang-outs with his small group of friends, some days where Narancia would beg Fugo to come with him to some sort of concert or show nearby.
The question of, “Why not ask Mista? Or any of your other friends?”, was met with the response of, “They’re all busy.”
Fugo didn’t have anything else to do on those days anyway, so he obliged. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t fun.
Some would ask if Fugo was tired of replaying the same days and weeks over, and over again.
He would answer it was fine, it didn’t matter anyway.
But it was likely obvious that Fugo was starting to become numb to the repeating days, I doubt he would admit that, though.
He didn’t have a reason to complain, punctuation and the essence of a schedule was important! He was being a functioning member of society, and he was getting by.
Pannacotta Fugo, despite the countless hardships he had faced while only being in his youth, was getting by.
He was privileged in that right, not every person disowned by their own blood managed to pick themselves back up.
He was privileged.
Even so, his gratuitous schedule was his own comfortable misery. He wasn’t out-going, he stuck to the same old, he had every week and month planned out to a tee.
He was wallowing in his own decisions and life, like a dog who had attacked an innocent child and still had the nerve to look up with regret and terror in his eyes.
Fugo stopped in his tracks, his hands reached for his bag and he pulled out his phone — It was now 8:30. 30 minutes left until he had to be at work.
He let out a sigh as he pushed his phone back into his bags pocket, and immediately started speed walking.
His mind was eternally preoccupied today, thoughts raced through his mind as though they were on a marathon.. Maybe it was about time that Fugo pulled himself together.
Maybe being given something to do would get his mind off things, maybe he could instead focus on remembering catalogues of books instead of the pointless array of thoughts in his head.
Maybe it was about time he found something to do rather than letting everything run rampant.
He wasn’t doing himself any good.
And so, he continued to blankly stare at the ground. Counting his steps in sets of 10, simply trying to pass the time. A simple distraction.
Maybe that distraction wasn’t the best thing in the world, though.
Before he knew it, Fugo was on the ground, his bag had fallen off of his shoulders, resulting in a few of his items cascading onto the street.
One of Fugo’s hands was cradling his forehead, as if he was dizzy or as if he had managed to bump his head on the stones making up the boulevard.
“Ay, dios mío.. Papá, I’ll call you back.” He heard a foreigner speak, a Spaniard accent lacing every word that left their mouth.
Fugo let out a low groan as he sat up, his eyes darting over his clothes, sighing as he noticed a partial amount of dust and grime on the knees of his pants.
“Scusa. I should have been watching where I was going, I’ll help you pick up your belongings.” The foreigner said, they quickly slid their phone into the pockets of their pants and crouched down, a tanned hand reaching over for the spilled contents of Fugo’s bag.
Fugo sighed, blowing a strand of hair from his eyes. “It’s no issue.“ A monotone tone laid over his words as he turned his head to look at the stranger, catching sight of beautiful golden curls drooping down the side of their face.
“If you insist,” The stranger turned to look at Fugo, lips curving into a small smile as they slowly stood, reaching a hand down to Fugo. “Here, let me help you up.”
Fugo’s eyes simply followed every movement the stranger made, eyes looking over them as if trying to make a mental note.
The stranger was dressed in a light pink button up and a pair of light blue jeans. They wore a few adornments on their wrists, a single piece of jewelry around their neck that was made up out of silver and pearls.. And lastly, their face.
The strangers face had a faint tan, their cheeks covered in freckles, a few beauty marks spread across their features. Their eyes were as green as emeralds and shined like a prism of light in the morning sun.
Their hair was a golden blonde, three distinct curls laid at the top of their forehead, while the rest was put together in a neat braid. They were a preservation of beauty, of radiance..
Of.. Something.
Fugo didn’t mean to stare or ogle.
He didn’t mean to act so foolishly.
This wasn’t at all how this day was supposed to go.
Fugo shook his head and sighed, taking the hand offered by the belle, and finally standing up right.
He quickly dusted off whatever grime had managed to stick to his clothes, before taking his bag from the stranger.
“Thank you.” Is all he said, his face shifting into a grimace as he continued to try and compile the situation at hand.
It was embarrassing, that’s all he could gather for now.
“It’s the least I can do, again, I’m really sorry for bumping into you,” The stranger spoke, shifting their heel to grab their.. Suitcase? They must have just landed in the city. “I hope you’re not hurt or anything?”
“I’m fine, there’s no need to worry.” He assured, immediately pausing into an awkward silence as if trying to piece together what to say next.
“Uhh.. Addio, straniero.” Is what Fugo landed on, quick to walk off before the other had the chance to reply with their goodbyes.
Today had a divergence in schedule, but even after the millions of complaints that ran in his mind today — Fugo could’ve done without.
Pannacotta Fugo could’ve done without tripping in the middle of the street, could’ve done without laying his eyes on someone so radiant.
And he definitely, could’ve done without the obvious, light red tint on his cheeks.
On the bright side, he wouldn’t have to meet with the foreigner ever again.
Today was filled with enough embarrassment and frustration anyway.