Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Trish texted Giorno around noon, the following day, and asked to meet up for lunch. Giorno hesitated for a whole of five seconds before inviting Fugo with her.

“Ugh,” Narancia said, watching the conversation happen from his seat on the kitchen counter. “Are you going to be one of those couples now?”

Fugo, who was just done putting the dishes away, pointed a threatening fork his way. “One of what?”

“Boo, I’m not scared of you.” Narancia pulled a butter knife out of the sink, pointed it back at Fugo. “And you know. Those couples that always go everywhere together.”

Giorno considered pointing out the group already went everywhere together, but decided not to. She felt it would be more fun to watch this conversation unfold.

“I — god, give me that,” Fugo wrestled the knife away, threw it back into the sink. “I don’t know if I should go. Maybe she wants to talk to you alone?”

“She’d have said that, if she did.” Giorno was very sure of this. Trish tended to make custom stickers, the sparkly ones, that spelled out ‘come alone’. She'd paste them on private messages.

“Huh,” Fugo ducked her head. “If you say so.”

Giorno looked to Narancia. “Would you like to join us too?”

Narancia visibly perked up at that; beamed.

Smiling back, Giorno updated Trish on the plans.

They ended up getting ice cream and going to the beach. Sheila and Trish were sharing a serving; Giorno hesitated too long out to ask Fugo if she wanted to do that too. Looking down at her own cup, she was kind of glad now. Fugo got pistachio flavour. It did not look very appetizing.

“God, this has negative nutritional value,” Fugo was saying, once they'd settled down. “I can feel my body rotting away.”

“We can all feel your body rotting away,” Sheila said, around a mouthful of stracciatella. “That’s just your regular state.”

Fugo half-heartedly kicked her.

Narancia had gotten a sprinkle-covered cornetto, which he was now nibbling away on; there was some ice cream in his hair. Giorno watched Fugo set away a number of her napkins aside, push it his way; smiled.

“So,” Trish said, once she was done licking caramel syrup of each individual finger. “Giorno, when were you going to tell me you and Fugo were dating?”

Fugo visibly froze; Giorno, thought equally caught off-guard, continued portioning her ice cream.

“Narancia,” she said. “Did you snitch?”

“I could tell,” Trish said. “From your face.”

“Sheila found out,” Narancia said. “With her powers.”

“Yeah,” Sheila said. “Narancia snitched.”

Fugo was glaring. Giorno just shrugged.

“Are we?” she asked, instead. Fugo immediately blushed. “Oh — sorry.”

“Oh, what?” Sheila perked up, poked Trish in the side. “God. Finally some good TV.”

Trish snickered.

“I did not mean to put you on the spot,” Giorno was still talking to Fugo. “But I just did.”

Fugo was still red.

“Can we,” Giorno hesitated. “Take a walk?”

Fugo seemed to struggle, for a moment, and then she shoved her ice-cream into Narancia’s hands and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

They walked in silence, for a few beats; Giorno grew nervous.

“I want us to be together,” Fugo finally said. “I mean. I don’t.”

Giorno frowned.

“I want to be with you,” Fugo said. “I don’t want you to be with me.”

Giorno kept frowning.

“I’m making no sense,” Fugo concluded.

Giorno had to agree. “Not really.”

“I,” Fugo sighed. Paused. “You deserve better.”

Giorno took a moment to properly stare her down.

“Then,” she said, finally. “— be better?!”

Fugo stared back.

"And, after all,” Giorno went on. “I think you are good enough.”

Fugo opened her mouth to speak.

“So you could at least respect my opinion.”

Fugo closed her mouth.

Giorno spun around on her heel, and kept walking.

She felt relieved when Fugo broke into a jog to keep up. Had to hide a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo was saying. “I — that was stupid.”

Giorno could not hide a smile. “It was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are forgiven.”

She stopped walking. Turned around to smile at Fugo.

“So," she grinned. "You want to be with me?”

Fugo was, unsurprisingly, red. “I do.”

“Good,” Giorno bounced in place. “I want to be with you.”

Fugo made a noise.

Giorno felt very, very giddy.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Uh,” Fugo made another noise. “Yes?”

"Yes?"

"Giogio —"

Giorno did kiss her. It tasted a little like pistachio ice cream, but she couldn’t even mind.

Giorno did not knock before trying the doors; something she finally got into the habit of doing, after months of Bruno pleading with her to do so. They were unlocked.

“It’s me,” she called out, because if she didn’t, Narancia would sometimes assume itwas Mista and do a rocketball down the hallway. He claimed Mista knew how to catch him. Mista disagreed.

“Giorno?” she heard Trish call from the living room; then Sheila was peering out of the doorway, and Giorno waved.

“Oh, hey.” She nodded. Threw over her shoulder, “Put your weird furry shit away, Giorno is here.”

“It’s not furry,” Giorno head Trish said, partially overlapped with Mista’s, “It’s not ours.”

“What is happening?” Giorno asked.

“Not much,” Sheila said.

“Alright,” Giorno said. “I was asking about the furry shit, but alright.” Her voice got a little quieter when she said ‘shit’. She’d been picking up the group’s language, but still felt awkward swearing.

Sheila snorted. “Worrying implications of you not stuttering over furry aside,” she said. “Long story. Let’s make your girlfriend explain.”

Even after a full month of them dating, Giorno’s heart still did a little leap every time someone called Fugo her girlfriend. She trailed after Sheila, head a little lighter.

Everyone was in the living room; Mista and Narancia were on the couch, Trish was on the sofa, and Fugo was on the floor. There was a large amount of wrapping paper, thrown over every visible surface. And Narancia had a large bowl of what seemed to be cookie dough, which he was eating with his hands.

“Hey,” Sheila said, banging on the wall as she entered. Giorno watched Narancia leap almost a full foot into the air, swear. “Big news. Giorno knows what a furry is.”

All eyes turned to her; Giorno pretended to ignore them, and moved straight for Fugo’s corner.

“Do you now?” Fugo asked, in place of a greeting (she was cutting out shaky letters out of glittery paper). Giorno frowned.

“I will not apologize for knowing things,” she said (Fugo snorted). “And — I mean. I have internet.”

“So you keep reminding me.” Fugo reached out to tug on Giorno’s hand, pressed a quick kiss to its palm. Giorno flushed. “How are you doing?”

“Better now.”

“Ah,” Fugo’s face was red. “Okay.”

“Ugh,” Sheila fake-retched. She was already sprawled out across Trish’s lap. “You realize we’re all right here? Do you have no sense of decency?”

“No sense of — do you see yourself?” Fugo started, just as Giorno cut in.

“We do not.”

“Okay,” Sheila responded to Giorno. Then turned to Mista. “But seriously, put that furry crap away.”

Mista, seemingly amused by the scene, dutifully locked the screen of his phone.

“For the last time,” Trish poked Sheila in the forehead. “It is not — “

“Babe.”

“It’s not — “

“Babe.”

“It’s not a furry thing!” Trish laughed. “Oh my god. Someone back me up here.”

“You go down with that ship if you want,” Mista was saying. “Sheila already has too much ammo on me. I’m staying out of this one.”

“You do know, right,” Fugo started. “— that saying you are stepping down out of fear of incrimination is pretty incriminating in itself, right?”

“Bluh, bluh, big word, dickhead,” Narancia said, using his hands like sock puppets. “That’s how you sound.”

“Thanks.”

Giorno knelt down, got herself comfortable. “What is happening?”

Fugo rolled her eyes, leaned against Giorno’s side. “I’m doing Narancia’s art club project, and Mista is showing everyone the new Cats trailer,” she explained. “Did you see it?”

Giorno did not, but Jean had shared some of his opinions on it, which were all very strong and mostly in French. She felt somewhat informed. Still, she shook her head.

“Do not show it to her,” Sheila warned. “I will not be an accessory to murder.”

“You’re overdramatic,” Trish said.

“Babe," Sheila insisted. "Those heads are so creepy.”

"I mean, yeah, okay.”

Giorno furrowed her nose. “I trust your judgement.”

“Thanks!” Narancia said, just as Mista snorted a, “You shouldn’t.”

“Anyways,” Fugo was cautiously putting a hand over Giorno’s shoulders; Giorno grabbed it, pulled it the rest of the way. Fugo smiled, flustered but seemingly grateful. “They got into a discussion on adapting musical theatre into film, and — “

“They?” Mista laughed. Looked to Giorno. “Do not trust her. She was at the forefront of that conversation.”

Giorno could imagine that. She pouted up at Fugo.

Fugo headbutted her gently, and Giorno laughed.

“You like musical theatre?”

“Trish does,” Narancia answered. “Fugo just likes being a know-it-all.”

Fugo shrugged, like she couldn’t disagree.

“Do you like musical theatre?” Trish asked Giorno, then, and Giorno bit her lip.

“Kind of?” Giorno answered. “I’ve never seen it live.”

“Oh, yeah, most of us haven't,” Trish said. “It's way too expensive. Your boo over here just finished a rant about the — the fetishization of poverty by an elitist art form, was it?”

Fugo breathed through her nose. Grinning, Giorno squeezed her hand.

“Ah.”

“But, like, bootlegs,” Trish said. “And cast albums. And movies.”

Giorno was nodding. “I liked Les Mis.”

“Ooh,” Sheila sat up at that. “Fugo, how do we feel about that?”

“We?” Fugo asked.

“I’m using therapy speak again,” Sheila nodded. “Entertain me with your reactions now.”

Fugo rolled her eyes.

“Do you not like Les Mis?” Giorno asked. She hoped Fugo wouldn't find it a deal-breaker, but was ready to stand her ground.

“No. I mean — “ Fugo said. “It’s cool that you do.”

“I know,” Giorno responded (Narancia hollered).

“But — okay?” Fugo laughed. “I read the book. And — the — “

“Fetishization of poverty,” Giorno didn’t even stumble over the words. “I understand.”

Fugo bumped their foreheads together again.

“And they cut down Cosette’s lines in the movie,” Sheila said, in what Giorno learned to recognize as her impression of Fugo’s voice. “And really, the musical didn’t need to be a movie, and the sound effects after Javert’s death, and — “

“Okay,” Fugo said. “Okay. Stop.”

“— and then the whole tragic homoeroticism — “

“I’m never talking to you again,” Fugo seemed to be trying to hide her face in Giorno's hair. Giorno, giddy, let her. “Go back to calling your girlfriend a furry, please.”

Giorno frowned at that. Looked to Trish.

“I am not,” Trish said.

“Okay.”

“You have a fursona, though.” Narancia said.

Trish kicked him, and buried her face in her hands.

Narancia was nodding. “You have a fursona, we drew them together.”

“Those were our Animal Crossing OCs,” Trish’s voice came out muffled. “Traitor.”

Narancia just beamed.

“What animal?” Sheila was asking.

Trish made a noise.

Narancia swallowed another mouthful of raw dough. “Flamingo.”

“Fancy,” Sheila said. “Mine would be a possum.”

Trish peered through her fingers. “It would.”

They shared a gentle smile.

“Anyways,” Mista addressed Giorno again. “Any opinions on the musical Cats?”

“I like those sad cat edits.”

“Uh — good enough, I guess.” Mista went on, “Both Trish and Fugo know way too much about it.”

“It was a game-changer!” Trish shrieked, just as Fugo piped up with, “Longest running musical of that era, he — “

“See,” Mista said.

“I am not a furry,” Fugo said.

Mista cocked an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t judge you,” Giorno told her; Fugo just groaned.

“I just — “ she insisted. “— appreciate the ingenuity.”

“Do you also appreciate the ingenuity?” Sheila nudged Trish; Trish nudged her back.

“Yes,” Trish said. Paused. “I might also be a furry.”

Sheila snickered.

“But I do think it is a musical for everyone,” Trish went on. Frowned. “One I probably should not have watched at the age I watched it at, honestly.”

Sheila was rolling over laughing.

“Seriously,” Trish said. “I was, like, five. I don’t think that was good for me.”

“And now you draw Animal Crossing OCs.”

“I will dump you.”

“Why did you see Cats at five?” Mista asked.

“My dad did heroin, Mista.” Trish blew a hair out of her face. “Why did I do anything as a kid. It’s a miracle I made it this far.”

Sheila was nodding along sagely.

“Well,” Narancia said. “That’s cool. But I’m out of cookie dough.”

“There’s more,” Trish said.

“Can you go get it?”

“No,” Trish said. “Go be butch about it.”

Narancia groaned, but stood up. “I want company, though.” He gave Mista a pointed look; Mista, who seemed to busy texting someone back with a goofy grin on his face, did not react.

Laughing to herself, Giorno nudged Fugo in the side.

“I’ll go with you,” she announced. Kissed Fugo’s cheek, and delighted in the way her girlfriend lit up. “Be right back.”

“Okay,” Fugo croaked.

“Ugh,” Narancia said. “Hurry up.”

Giorno did.

They ended up in the kitchen; Giorno waited for Narancia to do whatever he was there to do but instead witnessed him slam the bowl onto the counter, pout.

“Ugh,” he said. Then, as if remembering Giorno was there, spun around, all wide-eyed. “Shit! No. Sorry. I’m not angry.”

Giorno blinked. Her tolerance for frustrated outbursts had really grown significantly; she only flinched at yelling sometimes now and generally trusted Mista not to hit her even though she was still prepared to get him in the shins and run if that happened. The therapist Bruno got her to see last week assured her that was good progress. “You look angry, though.”

Narancia draped himself across the counter, groaned. “I’m sad.”

“Well,” Giorno said, cautiously climbing up next to him. “Anger is a reaction to hurt.”

Narancia peered up at her. "Huh?"

Giorno nodded. “Hurt and anger are actually incredibly connected. But western society likes to repress the rage inherent in grief as it threatens to undermine our ideals of rational and civilized behavior.”

Narancia hummed along. “You sound so smart.”

That claim was made out of things Giorno had seen in Bruno’s and Fugo’s class notes, respectively, combined with something an instagram influencer posted earlier that day. “Thank you.”

“You are so smart.”

Giorno nodded.

“Ugh,” Narancia groaned again. “I am just — annoyed?”

Giorno waited for more elaboration.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Narancia said. “You’re just a baby.”

Giorno frowned. “You’re two years older.”

“Don’t remind me,” Naranclia sunk down to the floor. “I’m ancient.”

Giorno watched, fascinated, as he pooled down on the kitchen floor. Almost cat-like.

“My teeth are falling out…”

“Okay,” Giorno said.

“My bones are weak.”

Giorno continued watching. Narancia kept making noises.

“Anyways,” he said, after a second. “I’m pissed at Mista.”

Giorno raised an eyebrow.

“But also not,” Narancia went on. Blew his bangs out of his face. “It’s complicated.”

Giorno nodded.

“It’s just,” Narancia shrugged. “Like, it used to be Fugo, Mista and me, you know?”

Giorno kept nodding. Sat down next to him.

“And then you happened to Fugo — but you’re like, super cool, and I am happy for you — “

Giorno felt her face heat up.

“And, like, you two are fine with me, just, hanging around.” Narancia wrapped his hands around himself. “But Mista, like — he’s so into Koichi, and they spend all the time together, and now he left and Mista is even worse.” Narancia groaned. “Like, did you see his face, just now? He’s like that all the time, he’s just always on his phone, or face-timing, or listening to voice messages, and — “ his voice got quiet. “I guess. Like. Sheila and Trish were already a thing when I met them. And Fugo and you are like that — “

“Like what — “

“Hahaa, you look busted — but, yeah, you are still fun.” Narancia puffed. “And Fugo still — lets me share her bed, and, and everything — “ He frowned. “I don’t know? Maybe it’s because she was always — like, I’d send her a stupid vine and she’d tell me to go fuck myself, or just snap at me, that was always us, so if she does that now, it’s not weird —” He shrugged. “But Mista used to join in with all that stuff, you know, and send me videos back, and now I get left on read while he’s texting his boyfriend from Japan — “ He paused. Stared at Giorno. “Do you like me?”

Giorno wasn’t sure how to communicate that she could not imagine her life without Narancia in it. Not without making it weird. So she just nodded.

Narancia sighed. “Maybe that’s it?”

“Maybe what’s what?”

“Maybe Koichi doesn’t,” Narancia said. “And maybe Mista likes Koichi better than me.”

Giorno was, again, at a loss for words. She moved a little closer to Narancia, still cautious.

“He’s looking up student exchange plans.” Narancia pulled his knees to his chest. “Mista is. He started considering college because Koichi is going to college. And is looking up exchanges now, so he can go to Japan.” Narancia pouted. “And — that sounds fun, for him. But.” He sniffed. “If — “

Giorno reached out, and grabbed his hand. Jumped slightly when Narancia spun around, buried his face in her chest.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No problem,” Giorno muttered back. Hugged him properly. “...I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” Narancia said. “I’m overreacting, I think.”

Giorno thought back on more things she’d read from Bruno’s notes. “You’re reacting.”

Narancia snorted. “Okay, miss textbook.”

Giorno grinned. “Maybe so.”

Narancia pulled away. “Sorry. Gah.”

Giorno continued squeezing his hand. Like he was a stressball.

Narancia let her. “I just — don’t want, to not be friends any more, with him, I guess.”

Giorno nodded. “That’s understandable.”

“Or less of friends,” Narancia sniffed. “I want things to go back to how they used to be.”

Giorno nodded. Kept squeezing.

“I guess,” Narancia pouted. “I think I should talk to him about this.”

“Probably.”

“But I might come to you for more hugs, you’re good at hugs.”

Giorno ducked her head. Narancia cackled.

“I am glad,” Giorno added. “That you don’t feel like — that, around me.”

“M-hm.”

“And Fugo.”

Narancia was starting to look amused.

Giorno ducked her head again.

“You like her.”

“Yes,” Giorno said. “We are dating.”

“You liiiiiiiiiiike her.”

“We have been for two months now.”

“You like-like her.”

Giorno shoved him. He fell over dramatically, still laughing.

“Giorno,” he said, then, still from the floor. “Do you think Mista could go away forever?”

Giorno wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m not sure what to say.”

Narancia nodded. Curled up into himself.

“Hey.” Giorno poked him. “That’s why you are going to talk to him.”

“I guess,” Narancia poked her back. “But what if he just. Confirms it?”

Giorno frowned.

Narancia was staring up at the ceiling. “What if things really — never, go back to how they were?”

Giorno hesitated to answer.

“Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be?” Giorno said. “It — would, get boring, if everything was always the same.”

Narancia sniffled. “It never gets boring with Mista.”

Giorno bit her cheek.

“You did not experience that future yet,” she said. “You don’t know what it will be like. Maybe it’s even better than — than what was?”

“Well,” Narancia scoffed. “Maybe I don’t want better.” He ducked into himself again. “Maybe I just want my friend back.”

Giorno had no response. Instead, she scooted over, lied down next to Narancia.

“I would normally tell you not to worry,” she said. “That you decide what your future is going to be like and to — not allow it to become, something you don’t want.”

Narancia looked over to her, waggled his eyebrows.

“Is that what you do?”

She arched one back. “Yes.”

He grinned.

“But,” she looked away again, because eye-contact was distracting. “You cannot really do that when it comes to relationships.”

“Yeah,” Narancia sighed. “You’re right.”

They were quiet for a moment longer.

“I’m sure Mista cares about you,” she added. “I’m sure he wouldn’t want a future without you in it either.”

Narancia sniffled. “I guess.”

Giorno started rebraiding her hair.

“I just,” Narancia sucked in a breath. “My mom, like, died.”

Giorno nodded.

“And my dad was — not really, uuh, very fond of me.” Narancia kicked his legs up. “And then I, just, had some friends, but they weren’t really friends, and — “ he groaned. “I was alone, a lot, and it sucked.”

Giorno hummed.

“And not just, cause, being alone sucks but because — “Narancia rolled over. “Like — you’re not just alone. You’re left alone.”

Giorno felt like she understood the difference.

“I — used to be alone,” she said.

Narancia frowned.

“But I got used to it,” she went on. She focused on Narancia’s hands; he was tapping out a beat against the floor. “I don’t think...I could do that again.”

Narancia nodded, seemingly relieved. “You get it!”

“Yes,” Giorno’s chest felt heavy. “It is — cruel.” She tugged at her braid. “That we can do that to each other.”

“Leave?”

“It is normal,” she said. “I suppose. But — “

“Sucks ass.”

“Yes.”

Her chest kept feeling heavier.

“Well,” Narancia said. “At least you know you’ll never be alone again.”

Giorno scowled.

“Don’t give me that face. You won’t.” He poked her in the chest. “I’m like, never leaving you.”

She smiled.

And then tears started flowing.

“Oh.” Narancia's eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

Giorno found herself shocked still. “I am — “

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said. She was more than okay. She was also drowning, maybe. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Narancia said. “Do you — can I hug you?”

She thought on it for a second. Then just acted, without thinking, and buried her face in his chest.

His hug was very firm, and very bony, and very warm. Giorno had seen a video, earlier that week, of a melting glacier breaking in half, causing a giant wave to wash over the camera. She realized, half-coherent and hyperventilating, that crying was a lot like global warming.

“Sorry,” she gasped, into Narancia’s chest. “I did not do this before.”

“Cried on someone’s kitchen floor? You’re pretty good for a newbie.” he laughed. “It’s super fun. You should do it more.”

She wasn’t sure if she’d describe it as fun, but she had to admit it was a little cathartic. She shook her head.

“Cried, in general,” she said. “I did not do this before.”

Narancia pulled away then, wide-eyed.

“Shut up,” he said. “That’s so bad.”

Giorno blinked. Sniffled. Her whole face felt congested.

“You gotta do it, like, at least once a week,” Narancia assured her. “I do it all the time. When things are sad. When things are funny. If I’m out of snacks.”

Giorno kept nodding.

“It keeps me young and exuberant,” he added. Beamed.

Giorno sniffed. “That’s an interesting word.”

“Thanks. Mista had to learn it for his finals.” He pulled her back into the hug. “Thank you for crying with me.”

Giorno patted his shoulder. “You are welcome.”

“Same time, next week?”

“I will get back to you on that,” she sat up. “I need to wash my face.”

“There’s a sink!”

“Yes.”

That was when Mista walked in; noticed them on the floor, still mostly tangled up, and walked out.

“Go text your boyfriend about it!” Narancia yelled after him; Giorno, still a little light-headed, decided that was the funniest thing ever said.

__

“Hey,” Giorno’s voice, coming through the phone, was muffled. Fugo grinned.

“Hey,” she responded. Stretched out across her bed, pushed against the new headboard. “Do you have me in your pocket again?”

A moment. “Maybe.” Fugo snorted, and delighted in hearing Giorno snort back. “Sorry. I’m feeding my turtle.”

Giorno had seen a turtle, in a pet shop, two weeks ago. She took five minutes to google-check if she was right about the dimensions of its tank it being too small, and then had Narancia distract the world’s most apathetic cashier as she stole the entire thing. Fugo could still remember her walking into Bruno’s kitchen with a 30-gallon tank in her arms, and a reptile, and all faux-innocent. Bruno made her take the tank back. The turtle stayed.

“Say hi to Polnareff,” Fugo said. She still thought it was stupid to greet animals, and that it was weird that Giorno named the turtle after her landlord, but she had recently decided that she was no better than stupid. “Are you two having a good day?”

“I hope so,” Giorno sighed. “He seems happy. He better be happy. I got him fresh tomatoes.”

“I don’t know,” Fugo whistled, grinned. “Is feeling the full range of emotion not a human right — “

“Living being right, gosh, Fugo.” Giorno mock-sighed. “He is not human.”

“Sorry.”

“If you are going to tease me, at least be correct about it.”

Fugo was, kind of, really in love.

“Well.” She sat up, drummed a beat against her thigh. “That was an update on Polnareff. How are you?”

A moment. Then, “Weird.”

Fugo hummed.

“Bad weird?”

“Weird weird,” Giorno said. “Sun is too bright. And fabrics.”

Fugo nodded, like Giorno could hear her.

“But I’m sure it’ll be okay by the time I come over.”

“You don’t have to come over,” Fugo said. “If you can’t.”

More silence.

“Like, we always have more days,” Fugo added. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Another beat of silence. Then a breath, from Giorno’s end.

“Thankyou,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You have nothing to make up for.”

“But I will.”

“Okay,” Fugo rolled her eyes. “Feed me fresh tomatoes too, or something.”

“If that’s what would make you happy…”

“I mean, it’d make me suffocate,” Fugo fell back against the pillow. “I’m allergic.”

“Right,” Giorno said. “Sorry.”

“I don’t think I told you this one before.”

There was a sound of fingers tapping against the speaker. “No, you didn’t.”

“I — are you,” Fugo frowned. “Are you checking?”

“What?”

“On your phone?”

A snort. “Maybe.”

Fugo spluttered.

“I have a note!” Giorno laughed. “I keep track of your allergies.”

“You do?”

“I don’t want to forget about any.”

“Oh!” Fugo scowled at the ceiling. “Ugh. That’s thoughtful.”

“I am thoughtful.”

“You are!”

She could almost imagine Giorno’s giddy grin; it was really funny, how Giorno prided herself on her poker face, while also having one of the worst ones Fugo had ever seen. Really funny, in a way that made Fugo weak in her knees.

“What are you doing?” Giorno asked; with another sigh, Fugo rolled over.

“Well, Mista and Narancia are at the movies, because Mista is making up for ignoring him in favour of his budding relationship,” she started. “So I’m enjoying some quiet time.”

“That is nice,” Giorno responded. Teased, “writing more essays?”

Fugo rolled her eyes. “More essays you’ll ask to read and then never do?”

Giorno made a noise (Fugo laughed). “It is your fault, you always distract me — what are you doing?”

Fugo realized she was grinning into the pillow. She quickly sobered up.

“I’m reading this book Sheila recommended,” she answered. Poked the front of Why does he do that? she had on her bed. “Well. Trying to.”

“Hm,” Giorno said. Fugo could hear her walk around. “What is it about?”

“It’s — uh.” Fugo hesitated, realized this could get personal. “About abuse.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Fugo tapped out a nervous beat. “Like — between partners. And why it happens.”

“I can tell you why it happens,” Giorno said. “It happens because abusers are abusive.”

Fugo snorted.

“Funny enough, that’s what the book says too,” she added.

“Why is that funny?” Giorno said. “I am often right.”

“Often? Not always?” Fugo teased. “Wow, Giogio, are you sure you’re okay?”

She imagined Giorno rolling her eyes. “I am not being self-deprecatory. I am only allowing myself room to err.”

Fugo swallowed. “Smart.”

“I am.”

“Ha.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Is that the Why does he do that book?” Giorno finally asked. Fugo sucked in a breath.

“Did Sheila make you read it too?”

“So much faith you have in me,” Giorno said.

“Sorry,” Fugo rolled over again. “Did you find it on instagram?”

“Twitter, actually.”

“Ah.”

“And then recommended it to Sheila.” Giorno paused. “It helped me a lot.”

Fugo bit down on her lip. There was a beat of silence.

“I kind of used to blame myself for my stepdad’s behaviour,” Giorno broke it. “I didn’t want to. But I think I did.”

“Oh,” Fugo said.

“But now I don’t.”

“Good.”

“But the book helped.”

“I’m glad.”

Another moment.

“You’re really,” Fugo said. “A lot smarter than me.”

Giorno laughed. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am just less stubborn.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Giorno insisted. “I am not stubborn at all.”

“Giogio.”

“I am not!”

“Giogio,” Fugo would never get used to her girlfriend. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I am selectively stubborn,” she could hear the smile in Giorno’s voice. “I am stubborn about the right things.”

“I mean,” Fugo stared up at the ceiling. “That is true.”

“Glad we agree.”

Fugo bit down on her lip. “I can’t believe we met because you tried to buy drugs from me.”

Giorno laughed. “Oh, we did.” A pause. “I was not going to actually buy drugs.”

“I know.” Fugo gave up on not grinning into the pillow. “What were you going to do, if I’d been selling them?”

“I don’t know,” Giorno answered.

“Huh.”

“I did not think things through that far.”

Fugo pinched her nose.

“I love you,” she said.

Giorno giggled. “Ambrosia.”

“Balsam.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Google it.”

“Hm,” Giorno was saying. “I think I’ll make a meaning up, actually.”

“Okay.”

“For myself.”

“O-kay.”

“I should really start inventing new flowers,” she added. “With new meanings.”

Fugo's face hurt from smiling. “Sounds fun.”

“The existing ones lack the words for how I feel about you.”

Fugo’s breath hitched.

“Okay,” she said, after a beat. “You win.”

“Win what?”

“I don’t know,” Fugo hid her face, even though she was alone in the room. “Everything.”

“Well,” Giorno was saying. “Every day with you does feel like winning.”

Fugo made a noise.

“We are such a cliche.”

“I know,” Giorno sounded proud. “I like it.”

“It is pretty cool.”

The front doors opened then; Fugo heard Narancia yelling about something, Mista laughing along.

“Oh,” she started, only to be cut off.

“Yes, I hear them.”

She snorted. “Talk later?”

“I’d like that.”

“Snapchat me your turtle, or something.”

“You know I will.” She could hear Giorno moving again. “Oh, and your grandmother added me on facebook.”

Fugo paused at that. “She did?”

“Should I accept her?”

“If you want to?”

“Your grandma is on facebook?” Mista was at the door. He frowned. “Why did I think she was dead?”

Fugo swatted at him. “Because you’re dumb.” She spoke back to Giorno. “Uh, sure.”

“How does she know about me?”

Fugo felt her face heat up. She didn’t need Mista to laugh at her.

“I told her about you.”

“Oh!” Giorno said.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes!”

Fugo hesitated. “She...would like, to meet you.”

“I’d — I’d love that.”

Fugo grinned into the phone.

“Okay, I need to go now,” she added. “Mista is making fun of me over here.”

“We do not want that.”

“Guess we'll have to put him down.”

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a joy to be around?" Mista was saying.

“Eat shit,” Fugo responded. “Uh — that was at Mista.”

Giorno was laughing.

“God, hang up already,” Mista said. Started leaving the room again.

“You should hang up,” Giorno said.

Fugo awkwardly giggled.

“Cause I won’t.”

Fugo just giggled again. “I am okay with that.”

“When I meet my family, I’ll tell them about you,” Giorno kept going.

“Oh, god.”

“They will all add you on facebook.”

“I'm looking forward to that.

“Good,” Giorno paused. “Go hang out with your friends now.”

“Okay.”

“And let us hang out tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” Fugo started getting up. “What did you have in mind?”

“I would be happy just getting to feel your heartbeat.”

“— okay,”

“But I also want to see a movie.”

“Sounds good,” Fugo said. Then added, “I can tell you I love you in twenty languages.”

Giorno took a moment to respond. “You do not speak twenty languages.”

“No, but I can say I love you in twenty.”

“Ah.”

“You can invent a language to respond in.”

“I’ll respond in actions,” Giorno said. Fugo’s heart sped up.

“— okay.”

She could imagine Giorno grinning.

Narancia appeared at the doorway then — pointed a menacing finger her way.

“Uh— wait,” Fugo said. “I think I’m being threatened?”

“Damn right you are,” Narancia said. “Get off that phone right now. Or I’ll put an egg in the microwave.”

“What — seriously?”

“What? No.” Narancia snorted. “Oy, put Giorno on speaker.”

Fugo did.

Narancia immediately yelled, “Hi, Giorno!”

Giorno responded at a much lower volume. “Hello.”

“How is Polnareff?”

“He is doing fine — wait." Some shuffling. "The turtle or the man?”

“I mean, the man too, I guess.”

Mista was back at the door. “So Fugo won’t get yelled at for ignoring you, huh?”

“She’s not ignoring me.” Narancia pouted, "And you didn't get yelled at."

“Yeah, true." Mista shrugged. “Hey, Giorno.”

“Hello.” Fugo could hear Giorno giggling. “Moonlight, would you put turn off the speak now?”

Fugo did as asked — pointedly ignored Mista’s amused face, Narancia’s hissed ‘she calls you moonlight?’. “Uh — I did.”

“Forget-me-not,” Giorno said.

Mista and Narancia started waggling their eyebrows at her. Fugo turned around, mortified.

“What does that one mean?”

“You don’t know?”

Fugo rolled her eyes. “I want to know what it means to you.”

She knew Giorno was grinning. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

And just like that, it was like Mista and Narancia weren’t even there. “Okay.”

“Now go talk to your friends.”

Narancia still ended up putting an egg in the microwave. Fugo let them clean it up, as Giorno sent her five pictures of Polnareff the turtle napping, and one of the human Polnareff trying to pet the turtle Polnareff. Fugo responded with a short video of Purple Haze chasing its own tail, which Giorno screenshoted.

They ended up eating some cookies, off a very ugly intricately decorated platter. Narancia explained the plot of the Invader Zim movie. It hit Fugo, midway through the exposition, that she felt safe.

Fugo was not stupid. She knew, the calm could not last forever. She knew there would be more sleepless nights, and situations out of her control, and bad dreams, and bad thoughts, and bad feelings. But with two warm bodies sharing a couch with her, and Giorno's messages flashing up on her phone, and Bruno's blanket thrown around her shoulders, and Leone, and Sheila, and even Trish;

Fugo felt everyone would be able to power through anything, with that kind of a support system. She had to admit, she could not be an exception.