Chapter Text
There’s no mistaking it. That’s him. It’s been months, maybe closer to a year, since I’ve seen him at all, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever mistake him for anyone else.
It’s just like him, too, to show up out of nowhere and act like he’s above everything that happened. He looks just like he always has, with his weird hairstyle and vibrant amber eyes and a vacant yet strangely aware expression that I’ve never been able to read.
As usual, he sees me first. I’m just walking into the common room of the dorms to hopefully get a snack from the vending machine, and then I see him, sitting casually on one of the sofas. And his eyes are locked onto me.
I stop in my tracks, and he smiles, though there is definitely more to the smile than just happiness to see me that I can’t pinpoint. Still, it’s brighter than the sun and doesn’t fail to make me reminisce a bit.
“Fugo. I was wondering when I’d see you.”
My voice is taken from me as he’s often taken it before, and nothing comes out when I open my mouth. What I want to say is, “Where the hell have you been? What happened to you and everyone? You all left me alone and never told me what was going on, and none of you ever called or texted or answered me once! And you come back now of all times? What the fuck, Giorno?”
Eventually, two words escape me. “Y–you’re back.”
He laughs, the sound like music to my brain that hasn’t heard it in so long. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”
There is only one major question on my mind, and I can’t go without asking it any longer. “Where are the others? Where’s Narancia?”
Something happens then, and it scares me to the deepest depths of my soul. His calm demeanor breaks. For just a second, his face contorts into something much less blank and content than it usually is, and that only happens when— oh my god.
“Are they okay? Mista, Abbacchio, Bucciarati? Is Narancia okay?”
I make a point of picturing Narancia’s face as much as I can in my mind’s eye, as if that would solidify a positive state for him. A specific moment comes to mind: he had just finished a homework assignment and was beaming at me after I told him he did well. Smiling, happy, safe.
Something in me is about to break, I can feel it. It’s all too familiar, and I do not want to let myself snap, but that depends entirely on Giorno’s answer.
He knows; his face changes into something resembling concern, at least I think that’s what it is. He always knew what was happening in my head somehow, even if I controlled myself enough not to let it show on my face. Either that or he knows that his answer will definitely push me to that point, which I am desperately hoping isn’t the case.
“Fugo, there’s...” he seems to be choosing his words carefully, “...a lot that you don’t know. That you need—that you deserve—to know. But you have to let me tell you everything first. Can we agree on that?”
He isn’t talking directly to me; he’s appealing to the part of me that always takes over when I snap. He’s good at it, and his talent has not dissipated one bit, though I never expected it to.
So I begin walking back to my dorm room, which I’m somehow still alone in despite Narancia having been gone so long. I kept all of his stuff too; every Squishmallow, every 80s movie poster, every hip-hop CD. His side of the room looks just like it had the last time I saw him.
I sit down on my bed, and Giorno, for some reason avoiding Narancia’s bed, sits in my desk chair instead, shifting it slightly to face me.
And as he begins to speak, I am finally aware of the absolute ruin that my life had become, all while I wasn’t even present to see it destroyed.