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Summer was, without a doubt, Fugo's least favorite season. In his opinion, summer was just three months of pure torture and agony. The increased number of bugs that somehow got inside his room despite him keeping his window and door closed at all times never ceased to piss him off. Every single place in Naples ending up crowded because of the tourists fucked him up more times than he could count, whether it was because he was pursuing someone on a mission and he lost them among the crowd, or because he was just trying to live his life, but there were assholes all around him. But the worst of all was the heat. That awful, god forsaken heat. Fugo had really pale skin, to the point that he looked like a ghost, so he got sunburnt embarrassingly easily. He often had to use at least three bottles of sunscreen just so he wouldn't burn to a crisp the moment he stepped foot outside, and he absolutely despised the feel of the cream on his skin.
That all being said, he wasn't happy about his current predicament. In the car, sitting right against the car door while Narancia and Mista talked obnoxiously loudly, while Bucciarati drove them to the beach. He wanted to stay home, he really did, but he got one glimpse of Giorno in a button down that was open at the chest, and well..he was still just a teenager.
After about thirty minutes of driving, they stopped at an empty ocean. Fugo remembered something about Bucciarati buying the entire beach just so they could go without any dangers, but he wasn't quite sure. He was mostly thinking about other things during that entire dinner conversation.
"This is gonna be awesome! I can't believe we've got this entire beach to ourselves!" Narancia exclaimed excitedly as he pretty much jumped out of the backseat. There was a huge grin on his face, as if this were the first time he'd seen the seaside.
Fugo rolled his eyes and grabbed his bag and sunhat. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he would rather that than a sunburn. He stood by the car door silently as he watched everyone else carry the stuff from the trunk towards the shore. Maybe he was being selfish by just standing there and not helping out, he thought. They'd brought a lot of things with them, coolers, umbrellas and foldable chairs. Bucciarati and Abbacchio had even brought out their stands to help them, but he couldn't even grab one umbrella or something. How useless could he be? Before he had time to make himself feel bad any further, he felt an arm thrown over his shoulder. He jumped a bit at the unexpected contact and quickly snapped his head to the side to see who it was. He was met with the sight of a girl with short black hair and three long braids, and he immediately relaxed at the sight of her.
"You look like an idiot." Were the words that came out of the girl's mouth. Fugo rolled his eyes a bit, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the others putting everything in place.
"Thank you, Sheila. I greatly appreciate your input."
A small snort came from the girl until a frown replaced the smile on on Sheila's face after taking a closer look at Fugo. It was as if she could sense that he was beating himself up over something stupid again. Fugo felt bad at the sight. They'd just gotten here, and he was already making her worried.
"You're welcome. Now move your ass, twig. You're ruining the vibe already."
She spoke teasingly, obviously trying to get Fugo's mind off of what was bothering him. He felt a strong push against his back, and that quickly got him moving. It was only once that he didn't start walking when Sheila told him to, and his head still hurt from the noogie he'd gotten.
"Narancia! Stop moving, man!" Mista huffed out. He was attempting to put sunscreen on Narancia's face, which was not going so well, as the boy could not just sit still. "It's cold, dude!" He pretty much whined, and the sight made Fugo chuckle a bit. The sound immediately got Bucciarati's attention, who paused his search inside the cooler in favor of looking at him.
"Ah, Fugo. There you are. Need any help with sunscreen?"
Bucciarati offered, and Fugo shook his head, holding onto the strap of his bag with both hands as he looked down at the older man. "I put some on at home before we left. Thank you, though." He tried to keep his voice even and his eyes on Bucciarati's face, not wanting to give away how he couldn't stop thinking about the visible scar on the man's chest.
He replied, and Bucciarati nodded. He continued digging into the cooler before pulling out a small plastic container of what looked like fish bait. He stood up and turned to Abbacchio, nodding his head at the other man. The white haired man bent down and grabbed some fishing gear that was next to one of the umbrellas, and then turned his gaze to look at everyone else.
"Bucciarati and I are going to that dock over there. If you need anything, just yell for us. And don't do anything idiotic." He said, shooting Mista and Narancia a pointed look at that last bit. He walked over to Bucciarati, grabbing the other man's free hand and slotting their fingers together as they left the shade from the umbrellas and walked towards the dock.
Sheila and Fugo watched them leave for a moment before Sheila turned to look at Fugo, making a gagging notion, a small laugh escaping him at the sight. After a moment, he heard Mista's voice.
"Hey! You guys wanna play with us?" He called out. Him, Narancia and Giorno were a few steps away on the sand, a volleyball in Narancia's hands. Sheila immediately beamed at the sight, patting Fugo's shoulder before quickly making her way over to them. Trish glanced at them before looking back down at the magazine in her hand.
"I'm good." Was the girl's reply as she slipped her sunglasses on, making herself comfortable in the chair she was sitting on. Fugo thought he could see Sheila staring at Trish, but he didn't comment on it.
Fugo didn't answer, he was too busy staring at Giorno. He looked so perfect standing under the sun. Instead of his usual braid, the boy had his hair running down his back, and it looked absolutely divine under the sunlight. Like it was the purest kind of gold. He looked like a genuine angel, the smile on his face bringing out his eyes. Fugo thought he could get lost in them. He already was. He honestly thought that Mother Nature herself had given him those perfect eyes. It'd make sense for someone like Giorno Giovanna to be that blessed.
"Fugo! Stop ogling Giorno and answer! You coming or what?" Narancia asked, louder this time so Fugo would hear. His face immediately flushed from embarrassment, especially at the small chuckle from Giorno. He quickly shook his head. "No! And I'm not ogling Giorno!" He attempted to defend himself, ignoring the other's laughs and teasing comments as he walked over to the chair next to Trish's, plopping himself down on it and crossing his arms.
"Hey, you alright? You seem kinda on edge." Trish questioned after a few seconds of silence. Fugo bit the inside of his cheek at her words. Was it really that obvious? They literally just got here, can he not look normal for a few hours? He should've stayed home.
He rubbed the side of his mouth, right where his scar was. It was a nervous habit he'd picked up, the slight pain of his nails against the scarred skin kind of eased him in a way. He could see Trish eyeing his hand, but if she had anything to say about his little habit, she kept it to herself.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I just don't really like the beach, I guess. I don't know."
The girl next to him hummed at his response, taking a sip from the soda she was holding as she flipped a page in her magazine.
"I don't really like the beach either, honestly." She admitted, turning her face to properly look at the boy next to her. "My mom did, though, so we went a lot because I felt too bad to tell her I didn't like it. It was her company that made me have fun."
Fugo felt a bit guilty at the girl's words. Starting to beat himself up over Trish being upset at recalling memories of her mom. If he just kept his big mouth shut, she wouldn't have to actually talk about this right now. He was awful. Truly awful.
"So.. It's just the company that matters, you know?" She finished, a melancholy smile on her face as she spoke.
"..Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, by the way. About your mom."
"It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, but it's fine. It's not like you shot her dead or something."
They sat in silence for a moment, Trish going back to her magazine and Fugo staring at the ocean in front of them. After a few seconds of silence, Trish leaned over next to him again, but kept her eyes on Mista, Narancia, Giorno and Sheila. But specifically Sheila, watching intently as the girl jumped to hit the ball.
"Hey, Sheila's single, right?"
She whispered to him, and Fugo blinked in slight confusion for a second before understanding where she was going to go with this. He ducked his head forward as he let out a small snort, his bangs falling in front of his face and his glasses sliding down his nose. "What? You interested? I didn't really expect Sheila to be your type."
He spoke teasingly as he looked at Trish out of the corner of his eye. The girl just scoffed and playfully punched his shoulder.
"Come on. Just tell me. Don't be a dick."
Fugo grinned and sat back up properly, pushing his glasses up to sit better on his face before responding. "She's totally into you."
A small bush immediately crept it's way onto Trish's face, her lips pressing into a thin line before she nodded profusely. "Perfect. Thanks, Fugo."
"Oh, shit! Watch out!"
Fugo heard Narancia call out, but before he could realize what was going on, he was hit in the face. Hard. There was an audible crack as the volleyball crashed against his face, and he didn't know whether it was his glasses or his nose, or both. It was probably both. He fell from his chair at the impact, landing on the sand with a pained grunt.
He could hear voices around him, but he couldn't tell what they were saying or to whom they belonged, as he was too busy feeling blood running down his nose. He braced his hands on the ground under him and pushed himself up to his knees, and then he noticed that his glasses were, in fact, broken. He grit his teeth tightly, already feeling anger bubbling deep inside of him.
"Fugo! Are you okay? Oh man, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Narancia spoke frantically, his voice very clearly apologetic as he leaned down to help Fugo up. Fugo immediately slapped his arm away, grabbing his broken glasses off the sand and standing up, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his wrist.
"Damn it, you idiot! You seriously can't even play volley right?! How the hell did you even throw the ball all the way over here?!"
Narancia took a step back at Fugo lashing out, his expression hardening in annoyance at his friend's yelling.
"Hey, I didn't do it on purpose! You don't have to be an asshole!"
They all heard footsteps approaching, and soon enough Bucciarati and Abbacchio were also with them. Bucciarati quickly glanced at the ball on the ground, Narancia, and then Fugo. Specifically, the blood dripping down his nose and the broken glasses he was clutching.
"Fugo, are you alright? What happened?"
Fugo didn't pay any mind to Bucciarati, still seething as he stared at Narancia. He let out a loud, annoyed groan, both hands balling into fists and crushing the broken glasses in his hand even more. He shoved past the other boy, getting away from their prying eyes and walking along the shoreline. He ignored the others calling out his name, doing his best to focus on the sand under his feet and the pain from digging his nails into his palms rather than the rage beneath his skin that was threatening to consume him.
The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore did little to ease his anger, but he slowly started to calm down, even if just a bit. He started to berate himself for how he reacted the moment he could see straight. Narancia was right, he didn't do it on purpose. This was just another example of him being awful for no apparent reason. Like when he'd stabbed the boy with that fork for getting one math problem wrong. Or when he'd abandoned everyone because he was only thinking of his own safety-
"Fugo!"
He froze right on the spot at the voice behind him, turning his head to the side and watching as Giorno pretty much jogged to catch up with him. He just stared at the blonde stupidly for a few moments before he finally spoke. "What are you doing here? How did you know where I went?"
He immediately cursed himself at the question. What a dumb thing to ask someone like Giorno Giovanna. The boy wasn't an idiot. He probably just followed the footsteps he'd left on the sand.
"I followed your footsteps in the sand."
Of course.
"And I got worried about you. You walked off quite suddenly." He added, and Fugo felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of Giorno being worried about him.
"Well, you didn't have to do that." He mumbled, crossing his hands over his chest as he kept walking, as if he was trying to hide his heartbeat from the blonde. Giorno quickly followed him, putting his hands behind his back as he walked next to him, not taking his eyes away from Fugo's face.
"Well, I wanted to." Giorno spoke, mimicking Fugo's words almost teasingly. "How's your nose?"
He scoffed at Giorno's question, but he slowly brought his hand to his nose to get a feel of it. He immediately winced at the pain from the slight contact.
"It's fine."
"You're lying."
"I am."
Giorno frowned a bit, and Fugo immediately felt even worse at the sight. Here he was once again making someone feel bad for no reason whatsoever. Giorno's face was beautiful. Too beautiful to have a frown like that because of him.
He let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair with his free hand as he thought over what to say. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe I've ruined another outing because of my stupid temper. I'm awful." He grumbled, and Giorno shook his head next to him.
"You haven't ruined anything, Fugo. Your nose was bleeding, and your glasses broke. I'd be pretty pissed too." The blonde responded, and Fugo let out a laugh at the idea of Giorno getting pissed. He'd seen Giorno be threatening, and he'd seen him be annoyed, but for some reason, he couldn't picture him full on pissed.
Giorno smiled next to him at the sight of his laugh, letting out a small chuckle himself. "No, no. I'm serious. What's so funny?" He asked, and Fugo turned his head to look at the boy. He felt himself heating up at the smile he was met with. Did Giorno even know how much prettier he was when he smiled? He didn't know how one boy could genuinely be so perfect, as if he were sculpted by God himself.
He shook his head, building up courage to reply like a normal person would. "I'm sorry, GioGio, but I just can't picture you full on mad like that. You're too..cool." Was his reply, and he immediately started laughing again. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry, that sounds really stupid."
The blonde laughed harder at his words, and Fugo could swear this was the most he'd seen Giorno laugh. He could get used to it though, he thought.
Giorno leaned close enough to Fugo to put his head on his shoulder, and Fugo felt as if he might overheat even more than he already was. He prayed to whatever God there was that Giorno couldn't feel his heartbeat, because he thought he might make the other boy think he was having a genuine heart attack.
"I can totally be angry, Panna."
Everything immediately got worse at the sound of that nickname. Panna. Only Mista and Narancia called him that to get under his skin, but he loved the way it sounded on Giorno's tongue. Did he know what he was doing to him? He had to. There's no way he didn't know. He had to be doing it on purpose, right? There was no way.
"I..Panna?" Fugo breathed out, and he could feel Giorno's smile against his shoulder. "Mhm. I always hear Mista and Narancia call you that. You don't mind if I use it too, right?"
Fugo pressed his mouth into a thin line, his palms starting to get insanely sweaty. He couldn't find it in himself to speak, too scared that his voice would come out embarrassingly squeaky and make him look like even more of a loser than he already probably looked like, so he just shook his head instead.
"Good. That's good." Giorno hummed and pulled back from Fugo's shoulder, the boy immediately missed the warm contact. "I can see you're more relaxed now. Would you like to head back to the others? They're worried, you know."
In all honesty, he didn't want to head back. He wanted to stay here with Giorno. To keep saying stupid things that contradicted his intelligence, because it felt good. It felt good to say stupid things. It felt good to say stupid things and hear Giorno's gorgeous, gorgeous laugh. Giorno's head on his shoulder felt good, and his presence felt good. He just wished he could say that. He wished he could say that he wanted to be with him, not just platonically, and not just as his co-worker, because being with him felt right, and it felt good, and he wanted it so, so badly that the thought kept him up at night.
"Okay."