Chapter Text
The sun is rising steadily in the sky when Fugo blinks his eyes open. Turning his head, he groggily glances at the clock on the bedside table beside him. 6:45am, it reads, in bright, bold red letters. Feeling winded for no particular reason, he sits up in his bed and swings his legs over the side of it, sighing. It’s Monday. Tired grey eyes make their way around the room and then finally focus on the bedroom door in a sleep-induced haze. He can hear his mother humming while she cooks food downstairs, and he puts a hand to his forehead in a futile attempt to stop a sudden ache. Cold, pale sunlight filters through the shades and hit the wooden floor of the room and his puffy comforter in straight, angular rectangles, and Fugo groans and gets out of bed.
It’s early January and it’s fucking freezing. He can see his breath, fogging up the air before him before disappearing into the sky in a puff of white. Trying not to slip on the ice that’s frosted over the sidewalk during the night, Fugo makes his way to the dreaded high school, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Now, Fugo really wouldn’t mind school if it was just learning. But it’s, sadly, a lot more than that. He does have a genuine interest in a lot of subjects, but he just can’t stand the noise, the shouting. It’s like stepping into a prison that is occupied by only immature brats that don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. And on top of that, the teachers are all fucking assholes. Fugo can’t not be bitter about that. Here he is, trying to learn in a nice environment, but the teachers just have to get on his bad side and make learning about new things seem stupid and pointless to him. He steps into the building, swinging the heavy doors open and letting them shut quietly behind him. It’s already loud and he already has a raging headache. Can’t he have any peace and quiet in this facility? The bright white lights above him are harsh against his eyes, and everyone is already gathered in their cliques and groups of friends. He hears little snippets of pointless, mindless conversation and rolls his eyes. It’s too early in the morning for this. The light haired teen gathers himself and makes his way fifteen minutes early to his first class, eager to get out of the crowd.
“We have a new classmate with us today, I’m sure you’ve all noticed.” Mrs. Cray, his extremely boring biology teacher, drones on. Fugo looks up from his concealed book with mild interest. Beside her stands a boy, dressed in fashion disaster-esque clothing (socks and sandals?? really???) with dark almost chin length brown hair, held back from his eyes with a sloppy orange headband. “How about you introduce yourself, young man?” Mrs. Cray prompts, and the boy cracks a… very nice smile and salutes. Dumb. “I’m Narancia Ghirga. I got held back a year… or two, and now I’m here! I skipped classes a little too much, I guess.” Narancia laughs. Nobody laughs with him. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his head and glances around the room. Stupid. He seems nice, and his smile does kind of light up the room (just a little bit,) but Fugo is very very happy sitting alone at his desk in the back of the classroom, thank you very much. He crosses his fingers, hoping that the brown haired fashion disaster won’t get seated next to him.
Fugo’s luck sucks, so obviously, he does. Narancia hops straight to the desk in a very upbeat manner when Mrs. Cray directs him to do so, and Fugo, feeling exceptionally antisocial and rude, shifts his chair away from the other. He smells of oranges and dirt.
A mere 10 minutes into the lesson, Narancia is a puddle of drool on their desk, asleep on top of the papers and notes on the scientific method that the teacher had so kindly given to him. Fugo wrinkles his nose, disgusted, but decides that it’s best to be… kind in these situations. “Wake the fuck up.” He hisses under his breath, prodding Narancia’s shoulder. The older doesn’t move. Irritated, he prods him a little harder, and Narancia jerks up, yelling in a surprisingly clear voice, “That’s your fault, not mine!!” Fugo is so surprised he almost falls off his chair. Mrs. Cray looks over at the two of them condescendingly. “You two, I am just so glad to see that you’re hitting it off so well, but could you please not shout in my classroom?” She says, with a hint of sarcasm lacing her voice. Fugo swallows, and side eyes Narancia. That wasn’t his fault, why is the teacher blaming him? He was just trying to help the new kid. Feeling anger prick up in the back of his throat, he grits his teeth and his pencil almost snaps in his clenched fist. Narancia is asleep again. Fugo hates him.
It’s funny how bad Fugo’s luck can be. Narancia is in all of his classes except one, and since Fugo usually requests to sit alone, Narancia sits beside him in all but two. Ah yes, Orchestra and Math. His two new favorite subjects. He can’t escape during lunchtime either. He sits with his friends Giorno and Mista (who are in his orchestra class but no other), and a pink haired girl named Trish occasionally comes to visit them in the middle of their lunch period just to say hi. But Narancia has become a recent addition to their group of friends, barging in like the fucking oblivious piece of shit he is. Mista and Giorno don’t seem to mind. Trish doesn’t voice any complaints. Mista thinks he’s funny. Fuck you, Mista. Fugo has never felt more alone.
Tuesday afternoon Mrs. Cray assigns a project. It’s called “Make A Poster On The Scientific Method And Then Describe The Steps In The Scientific Method.” Its instructions are… exactly that, to make a poster on the scientific method and then describe the steps in the scientific method. Obviously. Fugo thinks this sounds like an easy project. Narancia doesn’t. Fugo thinks that he’ll be able to do this within a couple hours. Narancia is groaning. Fugo thinks that Narancia should shut the hell up. Narancia doesn’t. Mrs. Cray calls attention to the class once more, and Fugo looks up. Narancia keeps groaning. “Quiet, Ghirga!” Mrs. Cray snaps strictly. The brown haired boy promptly shuts his mouth.
“This project will have partners,” Mrs. Cray says, and then continues; delivers the final blow. “-and they will be your desk partners.” Fugo wants to die.
During orchestra that day, Fugo leans back in his chair and groans. He plays violin like all the normies, because his cousin played it at one point and he used to think his cousin was really cool, but his cousin quit soon after and his scorn for the instrument has been rising ever since. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just quit playing already, but all of his friends are in the orchestra. Giorno leans over his piano and asks Fugo what’s wrong. “I’ve been assigned to work with Narancia, of all people, for the science project.” He groans, throwing his head back dramatically. His hair flops limply into his eyes. Fugo doesn’t give a shit. He’s feeling extremely lazy and doesn’t want to partake in life, in general, at the moment. “Is he really that bad?” Giorno questions, looking at Narancia, who is currently joking around with Mista and hitting the drums (that are NOT his) in a very loud and chaotic fashion. “He doesn’t seem that bad when we hang during lunch.” Fugo swings his legs around and sighs heavily. “I just can’t see myself getting along with him.” He states honestly. Giorno shrugs and sits back. “You’ve got no reason not to try.”
And so try Fugo does!! After school, he catches Narancia walking out of the red brick high school and jogs over. “Hey,” he starts breathlessly, “when do you want to work on our science project? I can’t do all of that alone.” Narancia looks up at him (yes, he is a bit shorter than him, despite their age difference-) and yawns. Fugo’s brow twitches. “Uh, whenever is fine!” Narancia says in reply, rocking back and forth on his shoes. He seems excited that someone is actually actively trying to interact with him. “How about Thursday after school then?” Fugo suggests. Narancia pretends to think for a moment and then nods- “It’s a date!” The shorter grins, turns tail, and leaves. ...God, does he hate that guy.
Thursday comes all too fast, but the day itself drags by, excruciatingly slow. Fugo sits at his desk in English class, his second to last period, and struggles not to snap Narancia’s neck. They’re currently working on quiet classwork- emphasis on the quiet- but Narancia is so fucking loud and the teacher doesn’t even seem to notice or care.
“Fuuuugoo, Fuuuuugo, please can you help me??” Narancia’s voice is loud. Fugo grits his teeth. “Can’t you at least be a little quieter in your whining?? I’ve already helped you. I helped you for the past fifteen minutes, I have to do my own work here.” The light haired hisses back in response. Narancia ignores his biting tone and tugs his sleeve, a pout forming on his face. “I just don’t get it, Fugo,” he starts. “What is a… juxtaposition?” Fugo almost slams his own head down on the desk. He’s been patient until now! He’s been so patient with this little shit!! He's proud of himself for this, but Fugo feels like he is just at his limit. Narancia is just the biggest fucking dumbass to ever walk on this earth. “Stop talking to me and ask the teacher.” He answers coldly, and turns his head back down to his book and notes. Narancia is quiet.
After a blissful 10 minutes of silence, the bell rings, and Fugo packs his things up and leaves to go to his next class, which is thankfully math. A class that Narancia isn’t in. Fugo doesn’t cast as much as a glance back his way. He feels a twinge of guilt prickle in his chest, but he ignores it.
When school ends his phone buzzes from a text, not once, not twice, but a total of seventeen times. He fishes the device out of his backpack. Scrolling through the texts, there is only one who’s contact is saved into his phone.
Mista: [ gave nara your # so you guys can work on your sciece projct togethr dude have fun ;) dont get too crazy ]
Fugo wants to kill him. Or himself. Hasn’t the guy gotten the hint that he doesn’t like Narancia? Like, at all? Why the hell would he give out his number to someone Mista knows he doesn’t like? Sighing, he scrolls back up to read the sixteen other notifications from presumably Narancia.
Unknown: [ hey mista gave me ur number!!!!!!!! ive gotta thank him alot :D ]
(A lot is two words, dumbass.)
Unknown: [ so i was wondering when u ]
Unknown: [ wanna work on the science? ]
Unknown: [ we can meet after school by the front doors !!!!!!!!!!! ]
Unknown: [ ill be waiting for you? ]
Fugo doesn’t read the other messages and just unlocks his phone to reply, wishing Narancia would just send everything in one message instead of 200 different ones. It’s annoying as hell when his phone vibrates over and over and over when he could just read one message. As if on cue, the phone vibrates again.
Unknown: [ fugo this is u right? answer ur txts man ive been waitign for like 5 minutes for u ]
[ Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way. I’ll be there shortly. ]
Fugo texts back, curtly, and turns off his phone and tucks it into his pocket, ignoring the fifteen more vibrations against his fingers.
---
“Took you long enough,” Narancia jokes, nudging him casually. Fugo tries to lighten up a little. Narancia hasn’t done anything all that annoying in the past hour or so. “Uh, yeah.” He responds awkwardly. He reminds himself to look up how to act around people you don’t like (just for future reference.) A moment of extremely awkward silence follows before Narancia breaks it. He seems kind of nervous.
“Who’s house we heading to?” He questions. Shit, Fugo doesn’t know. He hadn’t really planned ahead. He’d kind of expected Narancia to drop out last minute and make him do the project by himself. In fact, he had been kind of certain that that would be the outcome. But he had been wrong, and Narancia is standing right here in front of him, looking at him with question in his eyes. He’s kind of cute. Fugo catches himself staring and snaps himself out of it. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Uh, yours? Mine? Whoever’s is closer. I live 15 minutes away walking.” Fugo responds after a good six seconds of silence. He looks away, unnerved.
“Mine’s closer then! I’ve got a five minute walk from here. Plus my parents are working right now, so we’ll have some peace and quiet for the project, if we work on it!”
Fugo frowns. If we work on it? If we work on it? Of course they’re going to work on it! That’s the reason Fugo’s going over! Despite these indignant thoughts spiraling through his head, he just lets out a sigh and a simple, “Okay.” and follows Narancia’s footsteps out of the school’s property.
They walk in silence the whole way to Narancia’s house. The older seems mildly nervous, playing with his hair and picking at his fingernails. Fugo feels bad. Despite his dislike for Narancia, hypocritically, he doesn’t want Narancia to dislike him back. Which is probably the dumbest idea Fugo’s ever had (but he’s too dense to realize the stupidity of his own thoughts.)
When they reach Narancia’s house, the brown haired teen seems to lighten up a bit, humming a little made-up tune before swinging the unlocked back door of his house open. Fugo’s shoulders become less tense with the sudden change in atmosphere. He closes the door softly behind him as they step into the household.
“I got some cool white cardboard stuff and some nice markers for our project, Fugo!” Narancia informs him as soon as they step inside. They’re inside what seems to be a kitchen, but it’s tiny as hell and kind of dirty. In the corner a little wooden table with three foldable chairs is set up, pressed against the wall. Things are piled up on top of the countertops, papers and pens and half-filled notebooks. An empty carton of milk sits on the countertop next to the refrigerator. Narancia seems excited. “I also did some research on the scientific method or wha-ever it’s called so I don’t bother you too much.” Fugo is pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t expected this in the slightest. Eager to please, Narancia all but hops over to the cupboard in the corner of the little room and grabs the poster board he’d bought for the project. “The markers are upstairs in my room,” He explains, and he grasps Fugo’s arm and drags him up the steps.
Narancia’s room is a mess, and that’s putting it lightly. Clothes are scattered all around the thinly carpeted floor, and trash that has not been placed into the can lie crumpled and smeared over the carpet. The curtains are drawn halfway shut as if to prevent sunlight from entering. A playstation is hooked up to a small TV in the corner of the room. “Make yourself at home, we’ve got all day! You can even stay for dinner, if you’d like,” Narancia offers. Politely, Fugo declines the second offer, (his parents are expecting him home by 6,) but takes a seat on the very edge of Narancia’s bed. His blankets are a geometric pattern in orange, black, and mild yellow squares that overlap each other. It is a pleasing design, Fugo has to admit, although the color scheme is a little bit halloweeny and questionable at best. Narancia sits down on the carpet before him and pushes the trash and clothes to the side to make room for the poster board, which he lays before them. Reaching over to the dresser, he pulls out some markers from the bottom drawer. They’re average, regular magic marker type things that you can find in any CVS, but they’re new and Fugo appreciates that Narancia cares enough about this project and their grades to actually go out and buy some stuff for it.
“So… wanna get started?” Narancia asks him, and Fugo slides off of the bed and onto the floor with a “Sure.”
“Narancia! You misspelled hypothesis.” Fugo looks down at their nearly finished project. It’s not bad, he’s done better on his own, but it was kind of fun to work with someone else for once. Narancia looks down at the poster board. “H-i-p-o-t-h-e-s-i-s.” He spells out aloud. “Hypothesis.” Goddamn, this kid is dumb.
When the time comes for him to leave, Fugo takes the poster with him. “I don’t trust myself with not losing it,” Explains Narancia, although that makes no sense considering the poster board is huge as shit. Fugo doesn’t question it, though, and takes it home with him anyways. Besides, the project itself could use a little bit of proofreading.
It’s 5:56 when the light haired boy gets home. He’s kind of exhausted from dealing with such an idiot all day long, but he can’t really bring himself to be very mad. Narancia has a way of sucking your energy out of you, and it’s almost like he absorbs it into himself. Fugo finds that he doesn’t really mind. He eats dinner with his parents and they talk about how his day was and blah blah blah, and then he goes up to his room to finish his homework. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and the corners of his lips curl up a bit at the text he receives.
Narancia: [ hey fugo!!! thanks for helping me out it was fun i’ve never done a project bfore bc i think theyre dumb but its fun when u do it with a friend ]
A friend. Fugo doesn’t really know how to respond, so he doesn’t, turning off his phone and setting it down on his bedside table. He finishes his work and then promptly falls asleep.
The next morning, Fugo wakes up to another 24 text messages. He’s finds that he’s not too irritated, but he still doesn’t read every one and instead reads the last three.
Narancia: [ hey we should hagn out agiian sometime soon! ]
Narancia: [ i kinda need help with some school stuff ]
Narancia: [ and mista told me that youre great at math ]
Inwardly, Fugo groans. Learning math is one thing, but teaching it is another. He often loses his temper if the person he’s teaching is especially dense, and Fugo doubts that Narancia will have all that great of a time. But he figures he should work on his temper anyways, because people have kind of been commenting on it recently, especially teachers who don’t particularly like him.
[ Yeah, I can help you at some point, Narancia. When are you free? ]
Fugo texts back, fingers moving fast against the keys. He waits patiently for a response, twiddling his fingers over the small touch sensitive keyboard in his hands. His leg jiggles a little bit in his bed. It’s 6:50. He should really start getting ready for school. He rolls out of bed, stands up, stretches, and goes to take a shower, leaving his phone sitting on his nightstand. When he gets back, he’s only got one new notification.
Narancia: [ i cam do moday after school if that’s okay wit u! lemme come to ur house i wanna see it ]
Fugo rolls his eyes a bit at this. Inviting yourself over to someone else’s house, what a classy and great idea. He doesn’t really mind it, though. His parents don’t particularly care what he does as long as he gets good grades.
[ That sounds good to me. I’ll see you first period. ]
Fugo rubs the bottom of his nose with the back of his finger, staring at the texts. A few moments pass before he finally gathers his things for school.
Maybe he's in deeper than he thought.