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“—and then he left like… I don’t even know, four minutes later?” Narancia pouted down at the drink in front of him. It was almost empty, and the ice had barely melted. He shifted back and forth on his seat to test the dizziness in his head, but he still felt relatively sober.
“Oh… Um…”
Narancia glanced over. The girl’s face was open, concerned, but also very confused. Narancia didn’t know her name—hadn’t bothered to ask when he sat down. He pushed his lips out a little farther. “Don’t you think that’s crazy?” he asked. “He agreed to come hang out, and even said we could dance!”
The girl’s gaze shifted, sliding over to the other side of her, where a man was leaned around her, elbow on the bar as he also looked at Narancia. His expression was a bit colder, but just as confused.
“Well, he probably left because of the fight,” the girl said, sounding almost hesitant.
“Fight?” Narancia parroted.
The girl blinked. “Umm… you said that you guys started arguing, and then you said he knocked over your drink on purpose, so you smashed the burger he ordered into his face…”
Narancia considered this. “Is that a fight?”
The guy snorted, leaning back in his seat and left the girl to do the talking. The girl looked at Narancia incredulously. “What else is it?”
Narancia shrugged and then swirled his straw around the cup, making the ice spin. “I dunno. We’re always like that.”
“Always?” she asked. “Well, how long have you known each other?”
“High school,” Narancia replied, pouting again. “So isn’t it an overreaction?”
She suddenly looked more thoughtful. “Hmm… Well, if you really are always like that, and you are both just friends… it does seem a little weird for him to storm out.”
“Right!” Narancia cried, turning in his seat to face her completely. The bartender was standing nearby, also clearly listening in. “He storms off all the time, but this time he stormed off and stayed stormed off.”
“Hmm…” the girl hummed again, tapping her chin. “That is weird. Has anything else happened between you two lately?”
“No…” Narancia frowned again, shoulders slumping. “He’s helping me with my math course. He’s been tutoring me. That’s why I invited him out! I was going to pay for his drinks, and we were gonna celebrate the seventy I got on my midterm.”
The girl looked to the guy beside her again. “What do you think?”
“I think he probably got tired of helping you out just for you to get a seventy on your midterm, and then to celebrate, he is offered free food that gets smashed in his face.”
Narancia sucked in a shocked breath at the same time the girl did. “What!” Narancia cried.
“He knocked his drink over!” The girl defended.
“Because he told him he wasn’t a good enough tutor!”
The girl looked conflicted again.
Narancia pulled his phone out and called Fugo again, as though he was going to ask him to prove to this stranger that their argument wasn’t that big of a deal. The phone phone rang for the tenth time since he stormed out. It went to voicemail. For the tenth time. He sighed and slouched again. “Ok, so he was upset that I told him he wasn’t a good enough tutor. But it’s true! I only got a seventy.”
“Maybe you’re just bad at math?” The girl offered. “It sounds like your professor isn’t enough either, and his entire job is to teach you math. Your friend isn’t a professional teacher, so maybe he just doesn’t know how to help.”
Narancia pouted again, starting to feel a sense of guilt. “I guess that’s true… But even if he isn’t a good enough tutor, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“So what?” the guy cut in again. “You basically just told him he wasted his own time trying to do you a favor.”
Narancia did feel guilty then. He put his chin in his hand and let out a long sigh. His head was starting to swim then. “He was right to knock over my drink.”
“Well, let’s not go that far,” the girl said quickly. “That wasn’t nice either.”
“But I started it.”
“Well, he’s not eight years old, is he?” she joked weakly. “That’s elementary school reasoning.”
Narancia didn’t really know what to say to that, because even if she’s right, that’s how they’d always resolved things.
“I think they’re even,” the guy said. “He smashed a burger in the guy’s face.”
“I started it, and made it worse,” Narancia sighed.
“There, there,” the girl said.
Narancia swirled his ice around again.
“Uh… are you done?” the guy asked.
Narancia stared at him, considered for a moment, and then stood up. He walked around the girl and came to a stop directly behind the man. He turned in his seat, frowning.
“You’re rude,” Narancia said. He leaned in, and the guy leaned back further into the bar, looking disconcerted. “I was having a nice conversation with her before you butted in.”
“Before I butted in?” the man cried. He leaned forward then, looking annoyed. “You’re the one who interrupted our date!”
Narancia looked at the girl. “Your date?” he asked.
“Obviously!” The man said. “Did you think we were just randomly sitting beside one another?”
“Yes.”
The man’s face contorted, like he couldn’t decide between confused, impressed, or angry.
“Ah, it’s ok,” the girl said. She reached out with her hands. “We were on a date, but it’s ok. I was glad to help with some advice.”
Narancia looked back at the man and sniffed. “She’s too nice for you. I don’t know what she sees in you. You have weird clothes.”
“I have weird clothes?”
When the man looked at Narancia’s outfit, he looked down, too. He was wearing leggings, a hoodie wrapped around his waist, and a tank-top. He looked back up at the man and stepped closer, until their faces were only about a foot apart. “You have a problem with my clothes?”
“Hey man,” the bartender cut in, standing behind the man, but still behind the counter. “Don’t start something else, when you apparently already started something that none of us staff saw. We’ll kick you out.”
“Then kick me out!” Narancia said, shoving the guy back farther into the bar, which caused him to topple and fall out of his seat.
“What the hell!” The bartender shouted, moving to rush out from behind the counter while the girl gasped and covered her mouth.
Before anything else could happen, Narancia left the bar in a rush and then ran down the street while someone shouted after him. On impulse, he thought of calling Fugo, but remembered they were apparently fighting and Fugo wasn’t answering the phone. He stared at the screen when he came to a stop at the end of the block.
He called Mista.
He picked up on the third ring. “Narancia, baby! What’s up?”
“Mista,” Narancia said, feeling put out again now that he had a more attentive audience. “I got into a fight with Fugo.”
The sound of Mista eating filled his ear. “So?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“So!” Narancia cried. “So what should I do? We’ve never had a fight before.”
Mista sucked in a breath, choked, and laughed. “What? What do you mean you’ve never had a fight before?”
“We argue, but not like this! I spoke to someone about it and she said that we had a fight, and that I started it, and the guy she was with was super rude, and he said that of course Fugo would hate me since I hurt Fugo’s feelings.”
“What the—” Mista seemed to put down his food. “Wait, I’m confused. Start from the beginning.”
“I got a seventy on my midterm—”
“Nice!”
“—and I offered to treat Fugo for helping me, and he said he’d come, and we were just gonna hang out at the bar the whole night, but then we got into an argument because I said that maybe he’s not good enough at tutoring since it was only a seventy, and he got mad, so he knocked my drink over, and then I smashed his food into his face, and then he stormed out, so I waited for him at the bar, but he never came back, so I started speaking to this girl about what happened, and then this random guy, who I guess she was on a date with, was annoyed with me, so I confronted him, and then shoved him off his stool, so I just ran out because I was about to be banned for life.”
“Holy shit,” Mista said.
“He won’t answer his phone.”
“He’s probably just bitter his insane smarts weren’t enough for you to get more than seventy on your test.”
“The girl said that maybe I’m just bad at math,” Narancia offered.
“Well, of course you’re bad at math,” Mista said, almost sounding confused. “That’s probably why he felt so insulted when you said he wasn’t tutoring you well enough. He thinks he’s so smart that it’ll transcend your stupidity.”
“Hey!”
“Oh come on, it’s no secret,” Mista defended. “That’s why Fugo is helping you in the first place.”
Narancia pouted as he toed at a rock on the pavement. “The guy at the bar thought it was all my fault. Was it all my fault?”
“Hm,” Mista hummed thoughtfully. “Well, probably. But it’s ok, you guys argue like that all the time.”
“The girl said it was a fight,” Narancia reminded.
“Uhh… tomayto, tomahto.”
“No, they’re different,” Narancia pushed. “Arguing is just… disagreeing. Fighting is… fighting.”
“Yeah, and you fight and argue all the time.”
Narancia frowned.
“It’s always been that way though, why are you surprised?”
“Fighting seems so… serious.” Narancia’s voice dropped to a murmur. “I get mad, but I’m never really that mad.”
“I’m sure Fugo feels the same way. Who cares what some random girl says?”
“She said it was probably fine, since we weren’t together.”
Mista sputtered out a laugh. “Like dating?”
“Yeah. She was on a date when I was talking to her. I don’t get why dating would make any difference, and I don’t know why them being on a date was such a big deal.”
Mista laughed again, harder that time. “What do you mean? You totally interrupted.”
“So? It wouldn’t be interrupting if they were just friends, would it? So why was it interrupting if they were on a date?”
Mista was quiet for a moment. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully.
Narancia smiled, feeling triumphant. “See? The guy deserved me shoving him off the barstool.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mista muttered.
“Should I apologize to Fugo?” Narancia asked.
“Sure, why not? Can’t hurt.”
“He won’t answer me,” Narancia said.
“He will eventually, don’t worry.”
Narancia sighed. “Fine then.” He hung up.
Mista texted him right after. Bitch.
Narancia ignored the text and then called Fugo again. He tapped his foot along the concrete. People were swerving around him, but he remained still on the sidewalk, unmoving as the phone rang and rang.
“What do you want?” Fugo eventually snapped into the phone.
“Fugo!” Narancia cheered. “You answered!”
“Yeah, because you’ve called me fifty-seven times. What’s your problem?”
“Nothing,” Narancia said defensively. “I wanted to—uh. I wanted to say sorry.”
Fugo was quiet for a moment. “Sorry?” he asked.
“Yeah, um…” Narancia shifted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you wasted your time, and I’m sorry I only got a seventy on the midterm.”
Fugo was quiet for another moment. And then, when he spoke, his tone was much gentler, even sweet. “Narancia,” he said softly. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s much better than your last test score, you improved a lot. We’ll keep working on it, and your final will be even better, alright?”
Narancia felt a wash of relief, and his mouth stretched. “Yes! You’re the best tutor, I won’t let you down.”
Fugo laughed. “I already knew that.”
Narancia just smiled. “Wanna get food?”
“Sure. I’m not far from the bar, I’ll just come back.”
“Really?” Narancia asked, starting to pivot around to see. “I’m not at the bar, they kicked me out.”
“What the fuck? Why?”
“I got into a fight with someone.”
“What the hell,” Fugo sighed out. “Alright, whatever. Where are you?”
“Down the road, at the end of the block.”
“Stay there, I’ll meet you.”
“Okay!” Narancia said. He hung up. Everything was fine, he thought, just as expected. Everything was always fine with Fugo.
__________
Trish was putting lipstick on, which apparently took up so much focus that she was no longer paying attention to what Narancia was explaining about the playlist he was currently curating to be the perfect listening experience for studying. She was leaning in toward the mirror, alternating between a lip brush and the actual lipstick.
“Are you listening?” Narancia asked, perched behind her and leaning in.
“Do not bump me,” she said, looking at him through the mirror with a warning glare.
Narancia nodded, but he still leaned in to see. “You aren’t listening.”
“I’m trying to get ready,” she said.
“For what?”
“I told you already,” she sighed sharply, looking down to grab lipgloss. “I’m going on a date.”
Narancia hummed. “Oh yeah. Why are you putting on lipgloss?”
“Because it looks nice.”
“You just put on lipstick.”
“Narancia,” she sighed again.
“Just curious,” Narancia said. He leaned in again, and put his chin on her shoulder. “Who are you going on a date with?”
“A girl from my class,” she said. “I don’t think you know her.”
Narancia hummed. “Why did you want to go out with her?”
“She’s cute, we get along… I dunno.”
Narancia thought about it. “Is that why you canceled on all of us a couple nights ago?”
Trish laughed. “Yeah, didn’t I say?”
Narancia considered this with a pout. “I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I joke about that?” She eyed him through the mirror. “What, you think it’s such a shock I can land a date you think it’s a joke?”
“No, I just don’t understand what’s more fun about that than hanging out with us.”
“It’s fun hanging out with you guys, but I wanted to go out with her and spend time with her.”
“Then why didn’t you bring her?”
She laughed again, that time sounding more confused. She turned her head. “Are you joking?”
“No,” Narancia said. “I’m confused. Isn’t dating someone supposed to be fun? Why wouldn’t you want to bring a date to hang out with friends?”
Trish turned a little more and assessed him. “Because we wanted to be alone in order to get to know each other better…”
“That doesn’t sound fun, that sounds boring.”
“Narancia, have you never been on a date with someone before?”
Narancia thought about it. “Umm… I’m not sure. I don’t think so, but I’ve done things with people that sounds exactly like a date.”
“Like what?” she prodded, starting to look curious.
“Like…” Narancia tipped his head up to think about it. “Like, going out to dinner together, walking around town together, sleeping in the same bed, watching movies, going to the movie theater, other stuff like that.”
“Who are you doing all that stuff with?” she asked incredulously. “And don’t say Mista.”
“Fugo mostly… I don’t do that stuff with Mista, we normally hang out in a group. Like, I’d never go ice skating with Mista or Giorno, the way I would with Fugo.”
Trish stared at him for several long moments. “Why… not?” she asked delicately, almost hesitant.
Narancia shrugged. “He’s my best friend, I guess. I’ve known him longest.”
“You know him longer by like, eight months, right? Then you guys became friends with Bucciarati and Abbacchio and Mista, right?”
Narancia nodded. “But Bucciarati and Abbacchio are older, so we never hung out with them after school. They were busy with college first.”
“And Mista?”
“We normally hung out all together.”
“What if it was switched?” she asked, peering at him in a way that made Narancia feel wary. “If you met Fugo second and Mista first. You’d do all that stuff with Mista instead?”
Narancia thought about it. He wouldn’t mind hanging out with Mista. He liked Mista. He’d be sad not to hang out with Fugo though. And sometimes he liked hanging out with just Fugo more than he wanted to hang out with multiple people at once. “Oh!” He said, understanding. “So dating is like hanging out with your best friend.”
Trisha continued to stare at him. “What? That did not answer my question.”
“Oh, well, I was thinking about your question,” he said, “and even though hanging out with Mista would be fun and I wouldn’t mind it, I’d miss spending time with Fugo, since he’s my best friend.”
Trish didn’t seem to be any less confused. “So you think that me, going on a date with someone I find attractive, is the exact same as you hanging out with your best friend, Fugo.”
“Is it not?” Narancia asked. “You want to spend time with her, one on one, even though spending time with others would be fun, but she’s the kind of person that you can have fun with when it’s just you guys together.”
Trish looked compelled by this for a moment. “Well,” she said, considering. “Sorta—no! It’s not like that. It’s—I’m attracted to her, Narancia. Like I want to hold her hand and kiss her, and stuff like that.”
Narancia slumped a little. “Oh. Hm. Then I guess I don’t understand.”
“You’ve never wanted to hold someone’s hand or kiss them?”
“I like holding hands,” he said. He reached out and held onto hers. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “And kissing is fun, too.”
She laughed, looking less annoyed then. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just affectionate.”
“So what’s the difference? You want to be affectionate with her?”
“It’s just different, Narancia,” she said. “It’s like… um…how do I explain…”
Narancia stared at her.
“It’s like you just want to be with that person. You want to be with other people, too, but it’s like… I dunno, more exciting? It feels really exciting, and special. And it makes you feel really wanted or desired, I dunno. It’s a different feeling than with friends.”
“I find it exciting to be with friends, and it is really special to me.” Narancia frowned at her. “And being with my friends makes me feel desired, too. Not like in the way you mean, but in a different way.”
Trish smiled and leaned forward. She grabbed his face between her hands and peered at him. “You’re sweet,” she said. “Maybe friends just mean more to you than the average person, so when it’s compared to romance, it seems the same to you.”
“Other people don’t feel like this about their friends?” Narancia asked, disturbed at the thought. His mind conjured up an imagery of Fugo, not caring as much about their friendship as Narancia did. He thought about Fugo finding it less exciting, not as fulfilling, not special. It made his stomach twist.
“No, no,” she assured, stroking his cheeks. “I think they feel exactly like you. But they maybe just feel even stronger romantic feelings then. Or they feel romance differently than I do, so it’s just more obvious to them that there’s a difference.”
“I should ask the others what they think then?”
Trish smiled and released him. She turned back to her makeup. “Sure, why not? Maybe it’ll be easier to understand then.”
__________
Though Trish had almost seemed like she was joking, Narancia did think about it. He had actually thought about asking the only couple he knew. They’d been together so long, however, that sometimes Narancia forgot that they were even a couple, in the way that everyone else seemed to be. And even though they were a couple, that never seemed to stop them from spending time with their group of friends, so he wasn’t even sure if they would be an accurate representation.
Even still, since they were all attending a party that some of the people they knew were putting on, Narancia thought if he could find Abbacchio, he might get a decent answer. Abbacchio never really liked big parties, but he’d go if Bucciarati asked, so he was always easy to find somewhere off in a corner.
When Fugo went to go do some sort of drinking challenge with Mista, Narancia slipped away to go find him.
He searched around the rooms for a while, before he went to the kitchen as a last resort. But, luckily enough, that’s where he’d found him. And, as luck would have it, Bucciarati was there, too.
Narancia went to approach them, where Bucciarati was sitting up on the island. Abbacchio was between his legs, hands on Bucciarati’s hips. Narancia opened his mouth to interject, but Bucciarati had just reached up and held Abbacchio’s face in his hands.
Thinking they were about to kiss, Narancia shut his mouth and was about to turn away, but they didn’t. He watched them instead.
Bucciarati was speaking quietly, too quiet to hear over the music and chatter. His hands just rested against Abbacchio’s jaw as they spoke. His thumbs smoothed over Abbacchio’s skin, as they murmured low together. Abbacchio’s hands slid up to his waist, and then back down again, just an affectionate gesture.
Narancia, as he watched them, felt an odd sense of understanding in that moment. Trish had held his face the same way, but this was different. And she was right that it was difficult to explain. In essence, the actions were the same. Bucciarati held Abbacchio’s face like Trish had held Narancia’s, but it hadn’t felt intimate, the way it seemed with them.
Trish didn’t lean in so close, or speak so gently. And Narancia hadn’t held her back. Another difference Narancia noticed was that Bucciarati seemed to look at every inch of Abbacchio’s face as he spoke. He looked at his eyes, sure, but he also looked between each of them, down his nose to his mouth, and then back up to make the same loop, over and over.
Abbacchio looked the same way. He listened to Bucciarati with rapt attention, like even if Narancia had tried to butt in, he wouldn’t have noticed. Abbacchio reached up then, fingers encircling Bucciarati’s wrist, and stepped a little closer, even though the counter itself didn’t allow him much room. Bucciarati, like he was being considerate, scooted forward instead.
“Wow,” Narancia muttered to himself. It really was different.
It had always been different, if he really thought about it. Bucciarati really loved his friends. Narancia knew that—it was why he felt comfortable with him, and why he could depend on him. True affection had been the one thing that seemed to win out over everything else. Not actions, not being particularly kind or gentle, but ever-present affection. Bucciarati was like that, so Narancia trusted him.
He’d always been different with Abbacchio though. Narancia remembered knowing vaguely of them in high school. They were upperclassmen, so he hadn’t known them well. Bucciarati had a good reputation and Abbacchio didn’t. Narancia remembered when they got together, because it was news for the entire school. And at first, people had been skeptical and people had even been disappointed. But once Narancia had become friends with them, he understood better.
Bucciarati, even though he loved everyone else, only really loved Abbacchio. The rest was sacrificial and true and honest, but with Abbacchio it was companionship. There was a difference. For them, that was the difference, Narancia thought, that probably helped them realize that they weren’t just friends.
When Bucciarati began to smile, and his hand made a more solid presence on Abbacchio’s face, practically cradling his cheek, Narancia realized that for them, romantic love was something completely different. They weren’t really good to ask either. They were outliers. Narancia had seen a lot of couples interact, but none had interacted like that. They interacted like they were only ever really relieved when they were together.
In fact, what made it especially different, in Narancia’s mind, was that if they weren’t together, the world would feel off-center. Even for Narancia, the world would feel different. It’d feel less right. The thought of them breaking up was incomprehensible. Not being side by side was so wrong that it’d feel wrong to even be around them. That was much too different of a experience than to what Narancia wanted to ask. No one else was like that. No one would feel like the world had gone awry if Trish and the girl she was going out with didn’t work out. But if Bucciarati and Abbacchio separated—Narancia knew that he, and everyone else, wouldn’t rest until they were together again.
Bucciarati laughed at something Abbacchio said, and then leaned in to press their cheeks together in a half embrace. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and then turned his head to kiss Abbacchio’s jaw and throat. It was sweet, the way greetings and friend kisses often were, but Bucciarati made it look almost scandalous. He kissed slow, savoring, and deep somehow, even though he wasn’t kissing Abbacchio’s mouth. For a moment, Narancia wondered if he was licking him.
That was different, too. Narancia had kissed Trish, and it hadn’t seemed like that at all. Even though Bucciarati’s kiss felt innocent, too, in some ways. It was still different. Abbacchio returned the hug, and the kisses, and when Bucciarati lifted his head, they were both smiling.
Bucciarati seemed to feel Narancia’s gaze. He turned his head. When he caught Narancia staring, he smiled and waved him over.
Narancia moved forward without thinking. He wasn’t sure what his excuse could be, but he went anyway.
“Hi, Narancia,” Bucciarati said. “Did you need something?”
Narancia shook his head, and looked between them. Abbacchio was staring at him, too, not necessarily pleased or irritated. He did shift to the side though, so his shoulder was pressing to Bucciarati’s stomach. His arm was still around him, and his other hand was on his thigh.
“You were looking,” Bucciarati said. He leaned his head against Abbacchio’s.
“Um…” Narancia looked for a valid reason, but then realized the real reason was valid enough, wasn’t it? “I was curious about you both.”
Abbacchio raised a brow. “About us?”
“Yeah, like… How you knew you wanted to be together.”
Bucciarati smiled and then looked to Abbacchio. “Mm, I’m curious, too, caro. How did you know?”
Abbacchio side-eyed Bucciarati, seeming unimpressed. “I believe you were asked, also.”
Bucciarati’s smile widened, but he looked to Narancia with a tilted head. “Why the curiosity?”
Narancia shrugged. He wasn’t sure the answer to that question either. “I’ve just been thinking about it lately.”
The two of them exchanged glances, as though they were both thinking of the same thing.
“What?” Narancia asked, feeling defensive though he didn’t know why.
“Are you interested in someone?” Bucciarati asked.
“No,” Narancia said immediately, scrunching his nose up. “I just realized that I don’t really get it.”
“Get what?” Abbacchio asked.
Narancia gestured vaguely toward them. “Wanting to be with someone.”
Abbacchio snorted.
“So you wanted to ask us how we knew we liked one another?” Bucciarati looked amused.
“Yes, but I decided not to ask.”
“Oh?” Bucciarati’s brows raised then. “Why not?”
“Because you’re different.”
“Different?” Abbacchio started to sound defensive, too.
“I don’t know, it makes sense with you guys,” Narancia muttered, feeling shy suddenly. He glanced away. “It doesn’t make as much sense to me when it’s Trish and the girl she likes, or the couple I talked to at that bar when me and Fugo fought. With you guys, I get it. It’d be weirder if you weren’t together.”
Bucciarati stared at him for a moment, and then his expression softened. “What if it is the same?” he asked. “For the others, I mean.”
“It’s not,” Narancia argued. “With you guys, it’s like… you make more sense. You fit together better this way. With other people, they don’t.”
“Isn’t that just your opinion?” Abbacchio challenged. “Other people’s relationships have nothing to do with how much it makes sense to you, but how much it makes sense to them.”
“Then why do you guys make sense to me and no one else?” Narancia snapped back.
“Hell if I know,” Abbacchio scoffed.
“I’m curious,” Bucciarati cut in. “I’m curious, too, why it makes sense to you, but it doesn’t make sense for anyone else.”
Narancia slumped a little and threw up his hands. “I don’t know either.”
“Uh, maybe because they’re happier together, you idiot.”
Narancia jumped. He turned.
Fugo was standing behind him, a beer in his hand as he watched the conversation. Narancia frowned at him. “Where did you come from?”
“I was looking for you. Making sure you didn’t drown yourself in the bird bath.”
Narancia almost punched him, but then his mind caught up to what he said. “What do you mean happier together?”
Fugo narrowed his eyes at him. “What the hell do you think I mean? What I said.”
“I think he wants you to elaborate on your point,” Bucciarati said.
Fugo blinked, looked annoyed, and then rolled his eyes. “There isn’t anything to elaborate on. They make sense to you because they’re better when they’re together. Trish is fine whether she continues to date that girl or not.”
“Oh,” Narancia said. “That makes a lot of sense.” He smiled then, turning to lean into Fugo’s space. “You’re so smart. I’d been thinking about it for days and couldn’t come up with an answer. I should have just asked you from the start.”
Fugo’s face turned pink, which was funny, so Narancia poked him in the cheek and laughed, until Fugo stormed off, shoulders drawn up to his ears. Narancia chased after him.
__________
Despite the straightforwardness of Fugo’s suggestion, at the end of the day, Narancia’s question still seemed to go unanswered. He was sitting in the library of his university, brain melting and exploding all at once after an hour long session with Fugo about the four different formulas that would be on his math final in a month. It’d been weeks since the fateful celebration in the bar.
Narancia, amongst other things, also felt confused as to why this was the time his brain decided to fixate on the fact that he didn’t exactly understand what the fuss was about when it came to relationships. Was it the couple in the bar he interrupted? He wanted to say yes, but he also couldn’t imagine caring so much about two random strangers that he would still be thinking about how he’d interrupted their date so long after it had happened.
If anything it was what happened with Trish not long after, when she’d elected to go out with her girlfriend rather than hang out with Narancia and their other friends. That hadn’t made sense to him. And, maybe, it hurt him a little bit, too. And, maybe also frightened him in some ways.
Which was why, Narancia had determined, that Fugo’s answer was good, and also true, but still not exactly what Narancia had been looking for. It was accurate that Bucciarati and Abbacchio fit together, even in Narancia’s mind, because they were happier and better together. But he was starting to realize that maybe a big part of it was also the fact that they’d always been together, since Narancia had been friends with them. He didn’t know what things were like without them together. And, Bucciarati was with Abbacchio so often, and Abbacchio with him so often, that the rest never missed out on time with either of them. They just came together. Everyone was happy that way.
Narancia, while he sat with Mista and Giorno in the library, who were both reading books after Fugo had left for a class, found himself thinking about what would happen if Trish decided she liked hanging out with her girlfriend so much more that she ended up skipping out on them all the time. And Narancia, who had no clue what made someone like someone like that, would never be able to see it coming for the others, just like he hadn’t seen it coming with Trish.
If Mista met someone he liked, how much less time would he spend with Narancia and the others? What if that person didn’t like them? What about Giorno? Or, god and all the heavens forbid, Fugo? Narancia suddenly felt nauseous, and he quickly buried his head into his arms, hands coming up to cover his head.
“Whoa,” Mista said, setting down his book with a quiet thump. “What’s got you in a bind, baby?”
“Nothing,” he murmured into his arms. He didn’t want to admit that the thought of them all getting into relationships haunted him. And that if Fugo did, Narancia wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Amazingly, his eyes stung at the thought, and he blinked the feeling away quickly.
“Aww, come on,” Mista said coaxingly. He reached out and began to pet Narancia’s head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Narancia felt like steam was rising out of his ears. “I don’t know.”
“Is it about the romance stuff again?” Mista sighed. “I know Trish skipped out on us again last night, but it’s really gonna be alright, you know? This stuff happens, it’s a part of life.”
Well, that really didn’t help. It just made Narancia feel worse. “I just don’t get it, Mista.”
“You don’t have to,” Giorno cut in, almost sounding amused. “Besides, I’m starting to think maybe this isn’t really about you not understanding romance, but something else.”
Narancia lifted his head just a little, enough to put his chin on his arms. He looked at Giorno on the other side of him, who was leaning on his hand, elbow on the table. He had a soft expression on his face, and it reminded Narancia of Bucciarati in some ways. “What do you mean?”
Mista continued to soothingly stroke Narancia’s head while Giorno spoke. “This isn’t something you’ve just discovered you don’t relate to,” he pointed out. “What’s new is someone choosing that person over their friends.”
Narancia blinked at him.
Giorno laughed a little, but not in a mean way. He just looked endeared. His hand joined Mista’s for a moment. “You know we’ll always be your friend. No matter what. All of us.”
Narancia was remiss to admit that Giorno’s words were somewhat soothing. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning forward again.
Mista laughed, too. “Why are you still worried about that? I thought after you talked to Fugo about Bucciarati and Abbacchio, you were feeling better.”
“I was,” Narancia said. “But they’re just different, you know?”
“Yeah,” Mista agreed. “They are.”
Giorno also hummed his agreement.
“It wasn’t enough to really explain it. They aren’t a general enough example.”
Mista laughed again. “So true.”
“Have you talked to Trish about it?” Giorno asked.
“I did back when this all started,” Narancia muttered. “It didn’t really help me understand. But I feel ok with her.”
“So what aren’t you ok with?” Giorno leaned in again.
It took Narancia a few moments to come up with the words. But when he did, he didn’t want to say them. “I like how things are,” he eventually settled on. “I don’t want things to change.”
“I understand,” Giorno said.
“Change isn’t all bad,” Mista said, leaning in too. “It was just you and Fugo at first, and then me, and then Bucciarati and Abbacchio. And then Giorno, and then Trish. Things changed a bunch, but it was all good. Who’s to say Trish’s new girlfriend won’t end up your new best friend?”
Narancia rolled his eyes. “Fugo is my best friend.”
“Don’t we know it,” Mista muttered.
Narancia turned to glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He means we know, it’s a well-known fact,” Giorno said, sounding amused again. Then he paused in a contemplative silence. “Narancia…”
Narancia was hesitant about that tone, but he turned to look at him. “What?”
“Is all this about Fugo?”
Narancia blinked at him. “Huh?”
Giorno suddenly started to look concerned. “It’s about Fugo.”
Narancia thought about it, though it seemed unlikely it was only about Fugo. “I… don’t think so?”
Mista hummed, and then sighed. “Narancia,” he said, “if me or Giorno started dating, did what Trish did, but assured you we would always be friends, we’d always be good, and we told you we would still hang out with you, how’d you feel?”
“A little disappointed. I’d want things to stay the same.”
“Do you think you’d adjust?”
“I think so.”
“What about Fugo?” Giorno pressed, holding onto Narancia’s arm.
“What …about Fugo?” Narancia asked, wanting to avoid the inevitable next question.
“What if all the same stuff I just said happened with Fugo?” Mista clarified.
Narancia stared at the table. He’d thought about what they said before. But being asked about Fugo caused a flood of thoughts, as though they’d been waiting to burst out. Fugo, telling Narancia no to spending time together, not tutoring him as much, not answering the phone whenever Narancia called but instead answering someone else, only getting half his attention, Fugo storming off but storming off to someone else. Narancia was supposed to be the someone else. He’d always been the someone else.
“I…” he started, voice weak and frail. “I would not like that.”
Giorno hummed sympathetically.
Mista sounded almost smug, but like he was trying not to be. “Figured, baby. You should talk to him about it. Maybe it’ll help.”
Narancia shrugged, not wanting to talk about it anymore. But he did consider it. Talking to Trish had helped. Fugo wasn’t even dating anyone. It couldn’t hurt.
__________
They hadn’t talked much that night. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. Fugo was as much talkative as he wasn’t. He talked when he wanted to, and then was quiet when he wanted to be. Narancia, after knowing him for so long, had gotten to a point where he didn’t mind being in silence with Fugo. When they watched movies and shows, Fugo wanted to pay attention, and Narancia had questions, but he’d learned there was a certain level in which Fugo could put up with that.
Fugo had a threshold for everything. Before the threshold was met, he was sweet, helpful, kind, and then past the threshold, he was angry and temperamental. Narancia had found it difficult to manage when they were young. Especially the first few times, when he had no clue why Fugo flipped the switch like that. But, at the same time, Narancia had a quick switch, too, and even though it was difficult to navigate, he knew that he himself wasn’t easy to navigate either.
Narancia’s cheek smushed into the bone of Fugo’s shoulder so that he got a decent view of the laptop screen that rested on Fugo’s lap. “What does that mean?” he murmured, referencing a phrase one of the actors had said.
Fugo murmured quietly back, “It’s a euphemism for using the bathroom.”
Narancia hummed, then whispered, “What’s a euphemism?”
Fugo sighed sharply through his nose and shot Narancia a look.
Narancia twisted his face up to look at him, and he used his best puppy-dog eyes. “I just wanna understand what’s going on so I understand what you think about it when we’re done.”
Fugo softened and he settled back down. “A euphemism is a way to say something more gently, so it doesn’t sound too harsh or crass.”
“Oh,” Narancia said. He wriggled closer, feeling a pulse of warmth. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Fugo sounded happy too.
Narancia rested his head more comfortably against Fugo’s shoulder. He wondered if they’d still be able to do things like that, and sit so close, if Fugo were to start dating someone. Trish had told him they could still hug and stuff, but that her girlfriend might not like it if he kissed her cheek all the time. He thought that was weird, considering people kissed each other’s cheek all the time, but she’d said she meant it for situations outside of greetings. Narancia still didn’t get it. Trish said he didn’t have to.
“You seem distracted,” Fugo said eventually. He paused the movie. “Are you even paying attention?”
“I’m trying,” Narancia argued, trying to turn it back on. “Play it, play it.”
“No, not if you’re not paying attention.”
“Ugh, Fugo—”
“No,” Fugo said testily. He sat up, dislodging Narancia from his shoulder.
Narancia pitched after him, holding onto his arm. “No, stop! Don’t stop it, I want to watch with you!”
“You clearly don’t!”
“It’s not like that, Fugo, it’s hard to pay attention, even if I really want to! I can’t just turn it on and off like you can.”
Fugo frowned at him.
“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t even bother,” Narancia said, tugging on his arm again. “Please, Panna.”
Fugo continued to frown, and was unmoving.
“We haven’t gotten to spend time together, just us, in forever.”
That seemed to soften him up a little more. “Well, what’s distracting you then?”
Narancia opened his mouth to reply honestly, but the words froze up his throat for some reason.
Fugo tilted his head, catching on that there was something Narancia wasn’t saying. He set the laptop aside. “Is it something bad?”
“No…”
“Then tell me.”
Narancia held his arm tighter. “It’s stupid. And you’ll get mad at me.”
“No I wont!” Fugo snapped.
Narancia eyed him, but didn’t comment on it. He sighed and then flopped back onto the bed. He covered his face with his hands. “I just—I’ve been thinking about, like, romance and stuff.”
“Romance?” Fugo choked out.
Narancia nodded. “I just don’t understand it. And I don’t understand why it makes things change. Like with Trish. And it made me think about how things would be different if my other friends started dating.”
“You—huh?”
Narancia peeked at Fugo through his hands. “I understand it with Bucciarati and Abbacchio, but I don’t know if I’d understand if it was anyone else.”
“What’s there to not understand?” Fugo said through gritted teeth.
“Ugh, I knew you’d get mad,” Narancia said. He let his arms flop out to the sides as he stared up at the ceiling. “I wanted your input, but didn’t want to ask because you’d be annoyed I didn’t understand.” Narancia himself got a little annoyed when he thought about it. “You always want me to understand things but then get mad when I ask. It’s not fair.”
Fugo sucked in a long, deep breath, as though trying to calm himself. “Fine then,” he said, tone barely managing to remain neutral. “Ask me your questions.”
Narancia eyed him carefully. He pushed himself back up to face him. “I just don’t understand why things have to change, when they like someone. And I don’t understand what the point is of dating, when it just sounds like hanging out with your best friend.”
Fugo’s frown returned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Whenever people have described what it’s like to like someone, it just sounds like they’re describing a friend. Or their best friend. Why aren’t their best friends enough?”
Fugo looked contemplative for a moment, which made Narancia feel relieved. “I don’t think everyone feels the same way about their friends.”
Narancia felt a sinking in his stomach. “That’s what Trish said,” Narancia muttered.
“So what aren’t you understanding?”
“That, I guess. I didn’t know people felt differently about their friends.”
Fugo frowned again, deeper that time. “What is it that you feel about your friends?”
“Happy,” Narancia said immediately. “No, that’s not quite right… Um… Happy but also ok with things staying exactly the way they are. I don’t need anymore than that.”
“Content?” Fugo asked, voice quieter.
“Yes!” Narancia said excitedly. “Yes, content. I feel perfectly content, just the way things are.”
Fugo stared at him, and something about his expression made Narancia feel nervous again.
“What?” Narancia asked.
“So… You don’t ever think you’d like someone like that?”
Narancia thought about it. “I mean, I don’t know… I don’t think I have liked someone like that before, so it’s hard to say. I feel like this is enough. Especially with you. I feel happy with how things are. Why would I want to change that?”
Fugo sucked in a breath. “Oh.”
“What about you?” Narancia asked, feeling his heart rate spike at the question. Even just the thought of hearing the answer made him nervous.
Fugo had a look of incredulity on his face. Then his expression twisted up. “You’re an idiot, Narancia.”
Narancia blinked, not expecting that reaction. “Huh?”
“You really don’t understand shit, you know that?” His voice was venomous. Without another word, he slammed his laptop shut, got off the bed, put his shoes on and left Narancia’s room with a loudly slammed door.
Narancia just stared at the wood in a shocked silence. He felt hurt, but in a different way than he normally did when Fugo stormed off or said something insulting. Something about this topic had felt personal to Narancia, and even though he trusted his other friends, he had hoped the most that Fugo would understand.
Unbidden, he felt his eyes sting.
He waited for Fugo to come back, but he didn’t. Just like the bar, he had stormed out and then didn’t return. Even though Narancia had been most worried about his friends dating someone and that changing things, he felt like things were changing with Fugo even without it. Unless, he suddenly realized, Fugo already did like someone.
The thought made Narancia sick. He dug around his sheets for his phone and called Mista.
“Hey,” he said into the receiver.
Narancia sniffed when his nose started to run. “I tried to talk to Fugo, but he got mad at me.”
Mista sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “He’s here.”
Narancia frowned. “What?”
“He came to see Giorno,” Mista explained. The sound of him moving filled the background, like he was leaving the room he was in. The sound of a door shutting reverberated through. “He was upset.”
Narancia was at a loss. “He went to see Giorno?”
“Yeah,” Mista murmured. “He was absolutely fuming when he got here. What happened between you two?”
“I asked him about what’s been on my mind lately,” Narancia explained. “He got so mad and I don’t even know why. He was annoyed at first that I didn’t understand, like usual, but then he seemed fine. Curious, even! Then he randomly got super mad and stormed off.”
“I doubt it was completely random,” Mista said. “What’d you say?”
“I asked him how he felt about the friendship and romance thing. I had explained why I feel satisfied with friendship and I just wanted his input on it. He insulted me a few times right away and then left.”
“Really?” Mista sounded surprised. “That’s it?”
“I swear!”
“Huh,” Mista said. He was quiet for a moment, and then hummed low. “Just let him cool off. You should probably talk to him again, but next time, really try to understand his perspective, ok?”
“I don’t understand,” Narancia said, voice wobbling. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“Baby,” Mista said sympathetically. “He knows that. You know how he is. He’s a defensive guy, there’s probably just something bugging him that’s hard for him to say, and you accidentally reminded him. He’ll come around.”
“He’s been acting weird for weeks,” Narancia said, “and he’s only gotten weirder. What if he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?”
“I really doubt that, baby,” Mista said. “Seriously, just let him cool off, and then you can talk again.”
Narancia considered for a moment. “What’s he talking to Giorno about?”
“Not sure. They went into Giorno’s room.”
Narancia felt sick all of a sudden. “Why’d he go to Giorno?”
“They like to talk about serious things,” Mista said. “Fugo likes asking for his advice.”
Narancia, with a wash of heat even he didn’t understand, felt furious. “Advice?” he snapped. “He’ll go ask Giorno for advice for a situation that he caused when he could have just fucking asked me? I don’t even know why he’s pissed, I could probably give him some great advice about what I fucking meant if he asked me.”
“Whoa,” Mista said quickly. “Narancia, relax. Giorno gives good advice, even if he’s not involved. I’m sure he’s not shit-talking you.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Narancia spat out. “Why wouldn’t he go to me?”
“You’re the one he fought with…”
He ignored Mista’s comment. “This is all so fucking stupid.”
“I agree,” Mista said flippantly. “What’s got you so twisted up about Giorno, huh? You jealous?”
Narancia wasn’t sure what to call the burning in his stomach, or the conglomerate of rage and hurt he felt. “I don’t know, probably.”
Mista laughed, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. “Just talk to him, Narancia. It’ll be alright, I promise.”
__________
Several days later and Narancia still hadn’t spoken to Fugo. He tried texting and he tried calling, but everything had gone unanswered. Narancia might have contacted Giorno for advice if he hadn’t been clearly giving advice to Fugo, and the fact that Narancia felt unreasonably annoyed with Giorno for doing it.
He’d exhausted his options with Mista and Trish, since they seemed to feel caught between the two, and seemed awkward and apprehensive whenever Narancia brought it up. He would have loved to talk to Fugo about everything, but unfortunately Fugo was the entire problem.
The longer they went without talking, the more upset Narancia became. He felt discombobulated, he felt brushed off, and he felt a sinking dread that maybe they wouldn’t be friends anymore.
Narancia loved his friends. He’d do what he could for them, and he’d concluded that the list of things he’d do was long and maybe even never-ending. Fugo, however, was different. Narancia would do anything. There didn’t need to be a list. It was just anything. And the thought of something driving them apart made him feel afraid.
The heavy misery he felt brought him to Bucciarati’s door, knocking urgently.
Abbacchio opened the door, took one look at Narancia, and then stepped back to let him inside.
“Hi, Abbacchio,” Narancia murmured, slumped as he shuffled his way in.
“Did you want to talk to Bruno?”
Narancia nodded. “Is he home?”
Bucciarati appeared from around the corner and looked at Narancia. “I’m here.”
Narancia padded his way over and let his forehead thunk onto Bucciarati’s chest. “Bucciarati,” he muttered, “help me.”
“Come sit,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and taking him to the couch in his living room. Abbacchio disappeared then, likely to their bedroom, while Bucciarati settled onto the cushion and brought Narancia down with him.
Narancia half-lay on the couch, and half sat up. He didn’t move for several moments, and instead chose to mope as he tried to conjure up the words he needed to say.
“What’s wrong?” Bucciarati prompted, when Narancia still didn’t speak.
Narancia rested his head against the back of the couch and looked to Bucciarati. “Fugo would know what to say.”
Bucciarati looked amused. “So it’s about Fugo. I figured.”
Narancia nodded. “Have you heard anything about the last few days from any of the others?”
“Just that you were fighting again. What happened?”
Narancia felt like all of his body parts were heavy, like they were full of lead. He almost didn’t want to explain it again, but he wanted Bucciarati’s input. “We were talking about the liking people thing.”
Bucciarati nodded along.
“He didn’t seem mad at first,” he explained, “and I haven’t been able to figure out why he got so mad at me. He really seemed like he was understanding me, and was even thinking about what I had to say.”
“What made him angry?”
“I told him I was happy with how things have been for me. And that was why I didn’t understand the romance stuff, because I feel satisfied with how things are. He seemed put off by that, but not angry.”
“And what made him angry?” Bucciarati prompted again.
“I asked him about his experience,” Narancia said. “He called me an idiot and said I don’t understand anything and stormed out. He won’t talk to me.”
Bucciarati sighed deeply. “I see.”
Narancia shifted toward him. “Do you? Please tell me what I did. And how to fix it.”
“I think part of the problem is that you keep needing it spelled out for you, Narancia,” Bucciarati said, not unkindly. “Fugo always tends to get frustrated when he has to over-explain.”
“What’s there to even over-explain?” Narancia asked. “I’ve only been asking about people’s experience, how am I supposed to know about how someone else feels unless I ask?”
“That’s a good point,” Bucciarati said, “but maybe he’s hurt that you don’t understand him well enough to have to ask. You always say he understands you—do you understand him?”
Narancia felt a crushing guilt at the suggestion. “No, I guess not” he said, voice low and strained. “Well, I do, but not all the time.”
“Perhaps he feels that for this, you have really misunderstood him.”
“I don’t know what there could even be to misunderstand.”
“The topic was romance, correct? Perhaps it has to do with his romantic experiences.”
“I’ve never known Fugo to have romantic experiences, that’s why I asked.” Narancia’s tone was sharp, he knew that, but he was starting to feel defensive at the thought of not understanding Fugo as well as he could have. “I can’t know things unless someone tells me.”
“You’ve been very critical of this entire topic, you know,” Bucciarati said, tone simple. “You’ve spent this entire time talking about how it makes no sense, people should be happy with what you prefer, and perhaps he felt hurt by this.”
“I’m just scared, Bucciarati,” Narancia said, his tone a cross between angry and tearful. “I don’t want things to change, so I’m trying to understand.”
“I know that,” Bucciarati said, “and the rest know that, too. You know how Fugo is. He gets scared, too.”
“About what?” Narancia cried, starting to get annoyed even with Bucciarati.
“It would be unfair for me to speak on his behalf.”
“He won’t talk to me, so how else am I supposed to learn what’s upsetting him?” Narancia snapped. “He’ll talk to Giorno, but not me.”
Bucciarati raised his eyebrows. “Why the venom about Giorno?”
“Because he’s talking to Giorno and not me!”
“You’re jealous,” Bucciarati said, sounding amused again.
“I guess,” Narancia said, exasperated. “I’m Fugo’s best friend.”
“You are,” Bucciarati agreed. “He can have other friends, too. Especially when he’s fighting with his best friend.”
“He shouldn’t go to Giorno about that stuff,” Narancia argued. “It’s not—right.”
“Why not?”
“Because he—” Narancia struggled for the words. “I don’t know, it just feels wrong.”
“Why?”
“Fugo is mine,” Narancia eventually squeezed out, voice sounding petulant and childish even to his own ears. “Fugo is mine, he’s supposed to be just for me.”
Bucciarati’s eyebrows were raised again, and he seemed amused and disapproving all at once. “Just because he’s your best friend doesn’t mean that you own him. Or, that he can’t also confide in others.”
“What’s the point of a best friend if not for that?”
Bucciarati tilted his head and studied him for a moment. “Narancia, what is a best friend to you?”
“Your favorite person,” he replied. “The friend you’re closest to, and want to spend the most time with.”
Bucciarati nodded along.
“Who you go to for support, and for help, and to feel happy.”
“And that for some reason also means ownership?” Bucciarati asked, seeming genuinely curious.
“I… guess so?” Narancia started to feel confused about it himself. “I… that makes sense, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t he be mine?”
“People don’t own friends,” Bucciarati pointed out. “You feel closer to Mista than to Leone, right? Do you feel more ownership over Mista than you do for Leone?”
“…No.” Narancia looked at the coffee table so he could think. “No, I don’t feel like I own Mista. Not like how I feel Fugo is mine. But Mista isn’t my best friend.”
“Narancia,” Bucciarati began, gentle and almost hesitant. “Do you think it’s possible that you have perhaps been defining this feeling as best friendship, when really it’s been something else?”
“What else would it be?” Narancia looked at Bucciarati again.
“Oh jesus christ,” came Abbacchio’s voice from the other room.
Bucciarati laughed suddenly, hand covering his mouth as he tried to stop and muffle it. He exhaled softly with an endeared smile. He leaned toward Narancia and held his face in his hands. “Close your eyes.”
Narancia shut his eyes, though he felt confused.
“Imagine something for me.” At Narancia’s hum of acknowledgement, he continued. “Imagine Fugo spending all of the time he spends with you with someone else. Like Giorno.”
Narancia’s face scrunched up, but he did it. It made his stomach churn.
“Do you feel more than jealous? Like he’s betrayed you?”
“Yes.”
“What could he possibly betray you about?” Bucciarati prompted, voice a little softer. “Friends aren’t committed to each other the way you describe it. We owe our friends to be loyal, and supportive, and kind. We don’t owe them all of our time, attention, and energy.”
“But with Fugo—”
“What else could it be then, if you feel that way with Fugo?”
“I’m—I don’t know,” Narancia whispered back.
“Then imagine more,” Bucciarati said. “Imagine Giorno and Fugo watching movies together, teaching each other things, cuddling, relying on each other.”
“Like they’re dating?”
Bucciarati was silent for several long moments. Then, strained, he said, “Yes, like they’re dating.”
Narancia’s eyes stung and dampened behind his closed lids. “This is making me sad, Bucciarati,” he said quietly.
Bucciarati hummed softly, but continued. “Why?”
“I want to be with Fugo like that,” Narancia replied, voice starting to wobble. “He’s mine.” Narancia’s tears spilled over. “And, back at that party, we talked about how you and Abbacchio worked because you guys made each other better, and happier. And Fugo is always mad at me. And he never gets mad at Giorno. And he can rely on Giorno because Giorno knows things and can help him, and I can’t do that.”
“Oh, Narancia,” Bucciarati said, sounding sympathetic.
“And now he’s choosing Giorno over me.” Narancia’s chest hurt.
“Narancia,” Bucciarati said, “all of those times you’ve asked about dating, and romance—were you asking about Fugo?”
Narancia opened his eyes. He stared at Bucciarati, surprised, and then he looked down and thought about it.
“Would you have understood, if someone had just said they feel about someone the way you feel about Fugo?”
Narancia ran back each scenario in his mind—what if someone random at the bar had slid into his and Fugo’s booth and took up Fugo’s attention? What if he had plans to hang out with everyone but Fugo offered to spend one on one time with him? What if he felt that way because he felt happiest with Fugo?
He looked back up at Bucciarati. “Do I like Fugo?” he whispered.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Narancia said miserably.
Bucciarati laughed, in a fond way. “Do you want to kiss him? Hold his hand? Be close? On top of everything else we’ve talked about already?”
“I don’t know,” Narancia said. “I—” The thought of it made his face turn red. And then he thought about it again after the initial shock and horror. And then he thought about how smug he’d feel, especially if Giorno saw. And he thought about how he definitely didn’t want Fugo to do that with anyone else.
Bucciarati looked satisfied for one singular moment before Narancia shot up, ripped himself out of Bucciarati’s grip, and fled the apartment.
__________
The march to Mista and Giorno’s place was life-changing and eye-opening.
He’d fled Bucciarati’s apartment in a dichotomous impulse to run away to think and to find Fugo and ask for his help. However, on the journey there, he realized asking Fugo for help was not the best idea, and would likely end in something even worse happening than getting the silent treatment.
The walk was long enough that Narancia at least felt comfortable enough taking the time to think. He muttered to himself as he went, needing to hear it aloud in order to even try to make sense of it.
He tried to think about when it started, and why he hadn’t realized it at the beginning. It was difficult to come up with an answer as to when, but he thought that it must have been quite early on. Thinking back on their high school days, back when it was just them even, before Mista, Narancia had always felt a sense of ownership, that Bucciarati had said was abnormal for friends.
Narancia had not known this was abnormal. He’d had friends before, but it was after Fugo and Mista that he realized that those previous friends had merely been people he hung around, not people to trust or depend on. Narancia, with that pitiful lack of experience, had only just assumed the difference between his feelings for Fugo and Mista was that Fugo was closest to him.
He tried to compare it to Bucciarati and Abbacchio, since they were the only couple he knew well enough to bother comparing to. They were, as he’d determined at that party, different. But, if he thought about Fugo, there did seem to be some similarities. Perhaps they wouldn’t interact exactly like Bucciarati and Abbacchio if they were to be together, but Narancia would want to be together all the time, the way the older two were. He’d want to be close, and he’d want to be able to say that Fugo was his, and that they were a package deal. Narancia had always felt happiest when he knew that they were being considered as a duo, as though not to be separated.
The thought of kissing, or having sex, felt more foreign to Narancia, though it wasn’t unpleasant if he thought of it with Fugo. In fact, Narancia came to a dead stop in the middle of the road when he had a sudden image of Fugo lying on top of him and kissing his neck, and it made his entire body heat up and his heart rate skyrocket. Narancia wanted to try it. And he wanted to experience what it’d feel like to have Fugo’s entire attention on just him.
He pressed forward, face as red as a cherry as he made his way down the street and toward where he knew Fugo was hiding from him.
When he got there, he knocked rapidly on the door, shoulders drawn up, and he wasn’t sure if it was in discomfort or anger.
He waited impatiently, and when the door opened, Narancia felt nauseous.
Mista stared down at him, looked caught between nervous and happy. “Narancia…!”
“Is he in there?” Narancia demanded.
They stared at one another.
“You know, you’re really putting me in a weird position.” Mista’s tone was awkward, as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Is Giorno in there?” Narancia demanded next.
“Uh—”
Narancia pushed past him with a quick shove and marched further into the apartment.
He didn’t have to look for long. They were sitting on the couch, watching tv, and Narancia’s eyes honed in on the minimal space between them before they even looked up at him.
Giorno looked at Fugo, and Fugo stiffened.
Narancia opened his mouth, prepared to ask what the hell was wrong with him, or maybe to demand that they finally talk. Instead, he burst into tears, to his shock and everyone else’s.
Mista made a strangled noise in the back of his throat while Giorno sat up ramrod straight. Fugo looked stunned, frozen to his seat.
“I—You—” Narancia tried to come up with something, but nothing came out except a torrent of tears. “Panna,” he said helplessly.
“Narancia,” Mista said, almost as desperate as Narancia himself.
Giorno pushed himself up, face pinched, and took a few steps toward Narancia. “What is it?” he asked, earnest. Narancia appreciated that about him, but in that moment, he just felt more annoyed.
Fugo sat up, too, eyebrows pinching, and he started to look conflicted.
Giorno looked back at Fugo again, considered for a moment, and then rested a hand briefly on Narancia’s shoulder as he passed by him and went to tug Mista out of the room. Narancia stared at Fugo while the other two vacated the premises. He could appreciate the privacy.
When the door shut and they were bathed in silence, Fugo shifted on the couch, and then his frown deepened. “Narancia…”
Narancia shuffled over to the couch and sat down heavily beside him. He faced him, one leg pulled up to lean in. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” was the first question out of Narancia’s mouth. “Please don’t ignore me anymore.”
Fugo continued to frown at him, but he seemed to be searching for the words. His frown started to turn more irritated. He looked away. “I’m angry with you.”
“Why?” Narancia asked desperately. He reached out and held onto his arm. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. And why are you going to Giorno for help and not me?”
Fugo blinked several times, like he was both shocked and angry. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“I mean if you have a problem with me, you should be talking to me, not Giorno!”
“Why the hell would I want to talk to such a clueless idiot?” Fugo said through his teeth.
Narancia, for the first time, was able to recognize the pang of hurt on top of his regular fury whenever Fugo said something like that. “Who cares if I’m clueless or an idiot?! You’re the one who gets angry all the time and can’t have a normal conversation, and avoids things that are hard to talk about! Maybe I don’t understand, but at least I try to actually figure it out.”
Fugo started to pull away, but Narancia held fast. This annoyed Fugo, so he lurched back, snarling, “Get the fuck off!”
“No!” Narancia snapped back, holding onto his sleeve so tight that he toppled after Fugo onto the couch. The angle was off, so they hit the side of the cushion and then tumbled onto the ground between the couch and the coffee table. Fugo’s head hit the corner, and Narancia’s elbow slammed onto the side, and they both winced in pain.
“What the fuck!” Fugo cried, grabbing Narancia’s shoulder and shoving his knee up to push Narancia off of him.
Narancia fought to stay on top of him. “Fugo!” He said breathlessly. “Please!”
Fugo caught Narancia’s wrists to stop his flailing hands. “I’m angry with you!”
“Why?” Narancia cried again, eyes filling as he stared down at him. “I just want to fix it! Let me fix it!”
“You can’t fucking fix it,” Fugo hissed back.
Narancia felt like the floor fell out from under him. He hovered over him, tears wobbling precariously on his lashes. “I can’t?”
“No,” Fugo said through his teeth. “No you can’t.”
Narancia sucked in a shaky, painful breath. “But I—I don’t want to lose you.”
“That’s not up to you,” Fugo said, a bit weaker that time.
“That’s not fair,” Narancia said, voice warbling. “After everything, that’s not fair. You won’t even tell me why.”
“I don’t owe you that.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Narancia said, and when he blinked, his tears fell and splashed on Fugo’s throat. “It doesn’t make sense. You’re talking like—saying things like you never cared about me, but that doesn’t make sense. You wouldn’t do everything you’ve done if you didn’t care about me.”
“When did I say I did or didn’t care?” Fugo’s voice was defensive, as it always was.
Narancia felt very caught between two urges—he wanted to pin Fugo down until he told him what was wrong, and he also wanted to get away from him. “I… don’t understand.”
“You never do.”
Narancia swallowed, throat so tight that it hurt. He thought of Giorno. He pulled back and sat down onto the floor. His back hit the sofa. He pressed his palms into his eyes. “I didn’t think that you, out of everyone, would ever do this to me,” he said, the tears starting to bubble up and choke him. “It’s not my fault I don’t understand. I try.”
Fugo was slowly sitting up as Narancia spoke. He didn’t say anything, but the silence was heavy, as though he was thinking about what he should say. “I know you try,” he eventually said, more subdued.
“But it’s not enough,” Narancia said. “I wish you had told me there was a—I don’t know. A line, I guess. I would have tried harder not to cross it.”
“Narancia…” Fugo started to sound upset, too, then. He settled beside Narancia on the floor. “It’s not really your fault.”
“So there was nothing I could have done, you’re saying,” Narancia said, voice stuffy. He swiped at his eyes. “I would have liked to know that, too.” He put his arms over his knees so he could hide his face in them. “Do you really mean it? We can’t be friends anymore?”
Fugo didn’t answer, like he couldn’t. He put a hand on Narancia’s back and leaned in. “Don’t cry, Narancia.”
“This is stupid,” Narancia said. “You won’t even tell me why we can’t be friends.”
Fugo swallowed audibly.
“Is it Giorno?”
Fugo scoffed weakly. “I don’t know why you keep bringing Giorno up.”
“Do you like him?”
“Like him?” Fugo repeated, sounding surprised. “No, why would you think that?”
Narancia shrugged. That was a mild reprieve at least, despite everything. “You talked about how Bucciarati and Abbacchio worked because they were happy. And you and I—I always make you mad, and I don’t know much, so we can’t be equal. But Giorno can have deep conversations with you, and is smart.”
“Why are you comparing us to Bucciarati and Abbacchio?” Fugo sounded incredulous, and already seemed to be getting annoyed again.
Narancia scrunched up and stuffed his face further into his arms to muffle the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “Because I want to be with you like that. The way Bucciarati and Abbacchio are.”
Fugo was silent for an alarming amount of time. Then, when he spoke, it was like the air had been punched out of his lungs. “What?”
“Since we aren’t friends anymore it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Fugo snapped. He shifted, hands pulling on Narancia’s arm. “Narancia, look at me.”
Narancia resisted. “No.”
“Fucking look at me,” Fugo hissed, pulling on his arm until Narancia unfolded. He caught Narancia’s face in his hands and peered at him. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Narancia frowned. “Of course I do.”
Fugo stared at him like he was studying a problem rather than looking at a person. “Narancia, be more clear.”
“I like you,” Narancia said, voice wobbling again. “I like you in every way. We don’t have to be together, but please can we still be friends?”
Fugo blinked rapidly, and then slumped back, letting go of Narancia’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Narancia whispered. “I don’t know what to do without you.”
Fugo stared at the floor. “What does being together even mean to you? You’ve spent the last month asking people why they even like someone.”
“It means what everyone says it means,” Narancia said, feeling his face heat up. “Like… kissing and stuff.”
“Then why the hell were you asking everyone about it if you knew?!” Fugo practically exploded, turning to him again.
Narancia startled. “I realized that I got confused.”
“About what?!”
Narancia glanced away, and his face heated up more. “I didn’t realize that what I felt for you wasn’t what other people felt for their best friends. I was confused about how someone could like someone more than I—um—liked you.”
Fugo was silent for a beat, and then another, and then he moved into Narancia’s space, held his face with one hand and tilted his face up to kiss him.
Narancia let out a strangled sound, but Fugo reached up to hold him in place with his other hand. The kiss was a bit painful due to impact, but after a moment, it was more pleasant. Fugo pulled away for a moment and then pressed back in. “Narancia,” he whispered against him desperately.
Narancia felt like his entire body had reached a fever pitch. He felt frozen, mouth parted against Fugo’s, and unknowing of what to do next with his lips. When he felt Fugo’s tongue brush past the opening of his mouth, Narancia released a shaky exhale and reached up with unsteady hands. He slid his fingers into Fugo’s hair at the back of his head and held him to himself.
Fugo made a soft sound in the back of his throat. Narancia felt a hesitant, unsure sort of hope unfurling in his chest as Fugo kissed him.
“I dunno how to do this,” Narancia murmured.
“Me neither,” Fugo said. “I don’t care.” He turned his head to kiss him from the other direction.
Narancia felt confused, but he didn’t want to stare a gift horse in the mouth. “You haven’t kissed anyone before?”
“No,” Fugo whispered. His mouth pressed surprisingly gentle kisses over his skin, down his jaw, toward his ear. “I’m always with you.”
Narancia held to the back of his head, feeling ticklish and tingly when Fugo’s face moved to his neck and he pressed kisses there, too. “Don’t get mad.”
Fugo kissed back up to Narancia’s mouth. “Let me guess—you don’t understand?”
Narancia nodded, an involuntary sigh escaping him when Fugo’s mouth found his again. “I’m confused.”
“Couldn’t stand not kissing you,” Fugo muttered. “I thought we’d end up here, inevitably, and it pissed me off when you started talking like this sort of thing made no sense and was impossible.”
“Oh,” Narancia said, before he really understood it. “Wait. You like me, too?”
Fugo pulled back and stared at him with a frown. “Don’t ask such stupid questions.”
Narancia continued to stare at him as he held his face. “Are we ok then? Does this mean we’re ok?” he asked quietly. “Please say we’re ok.”
Fugo’s expression softened into a more neutral expression. “Do you want to try this? Being together?”
Narancia nodded. Then he shrugged. “I do, but I also will do what you want. I just want to be with you.”
“If I wanted what you wanted, what would you want?”
Narancia swallowed. “To be with you. Like this.”
Fugo smiled, a soft thing. He leaned forward and nudged his forehead into Narancia’s. “Were you jealous of Giorno?”
Narancia frowned. “Yes.”
Fugo laughed. His mouth touched Narancia’s again, and he kissed him.
Narancia melted into it. The knots in his stomach, the tightness in his chest, finally loosened. “Panna,” he whispered against him.
“I have you,” Fugo murmured, hands sliding down to pull Narancia further into him. “Come here.”
Narancia rested his arms around his neck and settled on his shoulders. He returned the kiss eagerly. “Sorry,” he said, messy against him. “Sorry for taking so long to figure it out.”
“It’s ok,” Fugo murmured, mouth dusting gently over his in a gentle kiss that almost seemed out of character. It made Narancia’s stomach swoop. “I like you, clueless as you are.”
“Would you really have never spoken to me again?”
“…Probably not.”
Narancia smiled against his mouth. He pulled away, but remained close. “I get it now.”
Fugo tilted his head in question.
“Why people like to spend time with who they like.”
Fugo’s face turned pink.
Narancia felt so pleased by that his own face turned pink. He hugged him, tucking his chin over Fugo’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut. “It feels really nice. Really happy.”
Fugo returned the hug. “Me too.”
Narancia’s smile widened. “Now that we’re together, I better get at least a ninety on my math final.”
Fugo pinched him. Narancia giggled and squeezed him. Fugo squeezed him back. Narancia really did understand it now. It turned out he’d understood the entire time.