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It was a lazy summer afternoon like any other. Narancia was curled up in the armchair, enthusiastically bobbing their head to the new Snoop cd that Fugo got them. Giorno was absentmindedly making flowers wherever he went, much to Abbachio’s displeasure. Mista, Fugo, and Trish were sprawled over various couches and chairs, chatting to their heart's content.
It was a perfect day. Naturally, Mista felt the need to make it weird.
After a brief lull in the conversation, Mista spoke up.
“What do you guys think Bucciarati’s weird lace thing is?”
Trish frowned. “I thought it was a tattoo.”
“That’s what I thought too, but I asked him the other day and he said no,” Mista replied, sitting up straighter. Clearly this was a conversation he had been excited to start.
“Well then what is it?” Giorno interjected.
“It must be part of his suit,” Trish said. “I mean, it’s always there.”
“Ah, but his suit has a zipper down the middle!” Mista cried, obviously building up to something. Fugo decided not to encourage it.
Unfortunately, Giorno did. “So?”
“Well you see, my dearest Giorno, the lace thing doesn’t have a zipper!” Said Mista, raising a finger dramatically. “Thus, we can conclude that it is a separate piece of clothing.”
Now Fugo was intrigued. “What are you getting at?”
“Hold on, can we acknowledge that Mista just said ‘thus’ and ‘conclude’ in a sentence?” Trish interjected. “This isn’t an essay, dude.”
“They’re good words!” Mista retorted. “Using them is valid!”
Giorno snorted. “In this essay, I will…”
Mista busted out laughing, the rest joining in. Really, Fugo couldn’t help but admire his over the top reactions to Giorno. It was obvious he had a crush ( not that Fugo was one to talk ).
The room settled down after a few seconds of laughter. Trish piped up, “So where are you going with this, Mista?”
A smug look crossed his face. “Well you see… if we know it’s not a tattoo, and not part of his suit, this can mean only one thing.”
“Christ, just say it.” Fugo snapped, irritated at his dramatics.
Mista spread his hands slowly, basking in the theatrical tension he had built.
“Well…” he said, smile in his voice and face deadly serious. “It’s lingerie.”
A beat of silence. Then Giorno started cackling as Trish and Fugo shouted “no way!”
“Yes way!” Mista shrieked, positively elated at their reactions. “It can’t be anything else!”
“He’s a professional, he wouldn’t wear that to work!” Fugo argued.
“You wear a thong!” Mista said. “It’s completely possible!”
Trish shook her head. “No, Bucciarati wouldn’t do that. He’s so uppity. He makes us skip sex scenes if we’re watching a movie.”
Mista scoffed. “That’s ‘cause you’re like, five. All of you. I’m telling ya, Bucciarati is a freak in the streets and the sheets!”
Giorno, Trish, and Fugo all made noises of disgust. “Gross, man, that’s our capo!” Trish said.
“Ugh, you all suck,” Mista groaned, “I bet Narancia will listen to reason.” He turned to the gang member in question, who was still obliviously enjoying their music. “Hey, Narancia!”
They didn’t respond. Mista yelled again, to no effect. Fugo, irritated, threw a grape at them.
Narancia looked up as a grape hit their face. “Wh- oh, nice, grapes! Thanks, Fugo!” They proceeded to eat it and gesture for Fugo to toss another.
Fugo flushed red ( out of anger of course, nothing else ) as Mista signaled for Narancia to take their headphones off. They did with an irritated huff.
“What?”
“Mista’s saying that Bucciarati wears lingerie under his suit,” Trish said. “He’s wrong, tell him!”
Narancia let out a shriek of laughter and burst into a giggling fit. God, they were immature , thought Fugo ( god, they’re so cute ). Through their laughs, Narancia managed a response of “God, I fucking hope so. That would be awesome.”
“See, they agree with me!” Mista yelled, pointing triumphantly at Trish and Fugo. “Suck it!”
“This doesn’t prove anything, dickhead!” Fugo yelled back. “It’s two versus two!”
Mista’s face dropped. “Oh no. That makes four. Oh no.”
Trish snickered. Mista’s gaze dropped to Giorno at his side, who was calmly observing the shitstorm.
“Yeah! Giorno, you agree with me, right?!” Mista pleaded, making the saddest face he could manage. “Right?”
Giorno suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Oh, uh-”
At that moment, Bucciarati decided to walk into the room. Everyone froze, staring up at him.
“Hello everyone, I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Bucciarati said, confused at the odd reception. “I’ve got orders to-”
Narancia piped up, “Hey, Bucciarati, do you wear lingerie under your suit?”
The room fell chokingly silent. Bucciarati blinked in surprise. A beat.
“Yes, I do. Anyway these orders-”
Five incredulous shrieks interrupted him. Mista looked ecstatic. Narancia was crying. Bucciarati was very confused.
“No, I think you misheard,” Fugo said. “We asked if you wear lingerie under your suit.”
“No, I heard you correctly. Yes I do. Can we get back to-”
“No fucking way!” Mista yelled. “You do?!”
Bucciarati was beginning to look very annoyed. “Yes, I wear lingerie under my suit. An-”
“You wear lingerie under your suit?” Abbachio poked his head through the doorway. His stoic expression had melted to one of intrigue.
“Yes, I do,” Bucciarati said once more, looking slightly embarrassed this time. “Can we please-”
“No way, capo, I think you’re gonna have to give us time to recover from this.” Mista interrupted, looking dazed but happy. “I don’t think any of us are up for anything right now.”
Bucciarati looked at the group before him. Narancia was on the floor laughing, Trish looked as though she was reevaluating her life, Giorno and Mista were both snickering to themselves, and Fugo looked as though he had no idea what to feel. Bucciarati sighed.
“I can do this one by myself,” he muttered, exiting the room, Abbachio following him to see if he needed a partner on the mission.
The Great Lingerie Incident, as it was thus dubbed, would go down in history. And it all happened on a summer day like any other.