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“No way!

Frankly, Narancia’s reaction to the cheap hotel suite that the group finds themselves staying in kind of makes up for the vague feeling of overall shittiness that often comes with aforementioned cheap hotel suites. The others watch half bemusedly, half apprehensively as he immediately flops down onto the couch in the common area and looks around the common room in awe. “Dude. This is so cool.”

Fugo eyes him warily. “I wouldn’t go on that couch, Narancia,” he advises. Abbacchio seems to share the sentiment, glaring at Narancia and jerking his chin upwards. 

“Get off. You don’t even want to know about the type of shit people do in these places.”

“You say that like you have some kinda first-hand experience with it,” Narancia comments. 

Abbacchio scoffs, opening the door to the master bedroom and poking his head in to glance around. “Yeah, because I do. I was a cop, remember?”

“That’s so weird to think about,” Mista says fervently, joining Narancia on the couch that Abbacchio quite literally just told them to get off of. “I’m never gonna get over that fact.” Abbacchio raises an eyebrow and he elaborates with a vague gesture, waving an arm at him. “I mean, look at you. Imagine getting pulled over and when the cop walks up to your window it’s a teenager with purple hair and black lipstick.”

“How do you know I didn’t change my look after joining Passione?”

“Pretty sure you were born looking exactly like you do now,” Fugo says, leaning against the counter in the kitchenette and crossing his arms. “I know I’ve never seen otherwise.”

“Hey. Hey. Abbacchio. Did you ever listen to music on the job?” Narancia snickers. “Like, just driving down the street in your cop car blasting heavy metal or whatever?”

Abbacchio rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to get off that couch?” 

“I don’t care what’s happened on this couch, I’m staying,” Narancia says firmly. “And no amount of cop stuff can stop me.”

It looks as though Abbacchio is ready to prove him wrong, but whatever he was planning to say is cut off by Trish, Giorno, and Buccellati coming into the main room.

“This place kinda sucks,” Trish is saying disdainfully. “The armchair in my room is moist.”

“This suite’s a hell of a lot better than most of the arrangements in this organization,” Abbacchio says, but the second half of his sentence is drowned out by Narancia indignantly bursting out with, “Wait, Trish gets her own room?”

Mista rolls his eyes. “Yeah, duh. You think she’s gonna room with us?”

Narancia frowns. “I mean, I guess not. It’s just, like, kind of weird since she’s basically part of the group by now.”

“It’d be weirder if I was rooming with you,” Trish points out. Narancia crosses his arms.

“I guess.”

“Oi, let it go for a minute,” Mista says, jostling Narancia’s knee with his leg and nodding towards the bedrooms. “We gotta go claim our bed before Giorno and Fugo can.”

“Why would it matter which bed we get?” Fugo says disdainfully. Mista and Narancia exchange a look before, without another word, leaping up and making a break for the bedroom.

“Sounds like something a loser would say!” Narancia yells over his shoulder. “Suck it, Pannacotta!”

Abbacchio steps back just in time to narrowly avoid being trampled by Fugo as he charges after them. Yeah, he can feel the headache forming already.

 

“Hey. I just realized something.”

It’s been a couple hours and, for the most part, everyone has settled into their own separate activities. Mista, Abbacchio, and Buccellati are in the living room area; Giorno, Fugo, Narancia and Trish are in the bedroom shared by the former three and Mista, or “the dumbass twelve-year-olds” as Abbacchio so affectionately put it. No one responds to Narancia’s sudden announcement, but Giorno looks up from his book to show he’s listening.

Narancia continues. “Y’know how the room setup is always the same? Like, the four of us in one room, Trish in her own, and Buccellati and Abbacchio in the other?”

“Yeah?” Fugo says without looking up

“Okay, well… not counting Trish for a sec, why do we always do it four and two like this? Why don’t we do it three and three?”

“’Cause that’s how the bed setup works,” Fugo responds, glancing up from his own readings for a moment. “You can’t put three people in a bed without it getting cramped. If one room has two beds and the other has one, it makes sense for everyone to pair up.”

“Yeah, but…” Narancia seems to struggle to articulate his point for a moment. “Like, I know we’re in the suite right now, but when we’re just getting rooms… you could just get two bigger beds and do three and three, right? Wouldn’t that cost less?”

“Not necessarily. Usually a room with two queen-sized beds costs around the same as a room with one king-sized bed, so it wouldn’t make a difference. Plus it’s more room for everyone with the way we do it.”

Narancia frowns. “Wait, but… wait. If they cost the same, then they could just get two rooms with two of the smaller beds. Two people could double up and one could get the other to themself.”

“But then they’d have to deal with everyone fighting like kids over who gets to sleep alone. You know, like how it was before Giorno joined and it was the two of us and Mista in a room.”

Narancia snorts. “Yeah, ‘everyone fighting’ meaning you and everyone else. Remember when you got us a noise complaint ‘cuz you were yelling at Mista?” Narancia falls silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. “Hey, wait a second.”

“The suspense is killing me,” Trish mumbles, flipping a page in her magazine.

Narancia disregards her, a look of confusion falling across his face. “If it costs the same to get two smaller beds then why do Abbacchio and Buccellati always get one bigger one?”

“God, I don’t know, Narancia,” Fugo groans. “Maybe they just want to share.”

“Well, right now they’re sharing because the suite has a master bedroom,” Giorno points out. 

Narancia’s expression doesn’t change. “Yeah, duh, but we aren’t always in a suite! Why would they choose to share if they could each get their own?”

“I thought they had something going on,” Trish comments. “Seems sorta like they’re dating or at least something like that.”

Words seem to fail Narancia momentarily as he turns to her with a slowly-dawning horror in his eyes.

“... Abbacchio? And Buccellati?

Mista is walking in as he says this, and raises an eyebrow as he flops onto his and Narancia’s bed. “What about Abbacchio and Buccellati?” Narancia shushes him sharply and he waves a hand unconcernedly. “It’s fine. They went to look around the hotel or something. What’re we talking about?”

“Narancia realized that Buccellati and Abbacchio share a bed when they don’t always need to and he isn’t handling it well,” Trish fills him in, letting her magazine fall open onto her chest and dropping her arms to the bed. Mista frowns, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“What? They don’t always need to?”

Still looking somewhat horrified, Narancia summarizes the revelations of the past five minutes or so, and by the time he’s done Mista looks equally shocked. Trish rolls her eyes.

“I haven’t been here long but I can’t be the only one that noticed something, right?” she asks. 

Fugo, shutting his book in a resigned sort of way, shakes his head. “I mean, there’s hypothetical room for speculation — hypothetical meaning you could but definitely SHOULDN’T speculate over this for the next twelve hours or however long these things usually last with you guys — but I’m almost positive there’s gotta be something with them. I’ve never asked but I really don’t see why the possibility is so surprising.”

“It’s just — it’s weird to think about.” Narancia pauses for a moment, almost certainly to think about it, and shudders. “I don’t think Abbacchio’s physically capable of being all lovey-dovey and shit. Or emotionally. Especially not emotionally.”

“I don’t think they’re together,” Giorno says honestly. “Or at least not officially. I don’t doubt that they care about each other, but the way they interact seems a little too formal for a couple.”

Narancia grins. “Oooh, Giogio with the psychoanalysis! Man, you’re a fuckin’ nerd!”

“That’s not psychoanalysis,” Fugo butts in.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Trish says to Giorno. “I don’t think a couple would be that formal.”

Narancia frowns. “You guys only think that ‘cuz you’re new,” he argues. “It’s only been, like, a few days since you arrived. They’ve been acting all serious since the whole escorting-the-boss’-daughter thing started but usually they aren’t that formal.”

Fugo shrugs unconcernedly. “I still think that there’s probably something going on, but the way they talk is a little formal, sometimes. They don’t even call each other by their first names, or at least not around us — I mean, Abbacchio calls Buccellati ‘Capo’.”

“We all do.”

“We all aren’t dating Buccellati.”

“Well, neither is Abbacchio, apparently.”

“This whole thing is stupid,” Trish says, rolling her eyes. “Just ask them.”

“Why don’t you just ask them?” Mista shoots back.

“Because it’s kind of obvious that they’re a thing and I don’t really feel the need to. Plus, you’ve known them for longer, so if anyone was gonna ask it’d be one of you.”

“Oh, well, if Miss Good Intuition is saying it,” Mista scoffs.

Trish turns to him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Miss Good Intuition, huh?”

Fugo groans. “Don’t start on that now, Trish, they’re gonna turn it into a thing.” 

In the blink of an eye, Mista and Narancia are upright and staring Fugo down from the other bed. 

“What? Don’t start on what? We’re gonna turn what into a thing?”

“It’s nothing.”

Mista groans. “Dude. You can’t just say,” he puts on a high, nasally voice, “‘oooh, don’t start on this now, they’re gonna turn it into a thing’ and expect us to just accept it.”

Narancia jabs a finger towards Fugo. “ Yeah! ” He shouts, probably loud enough to warrant a noise complaint. “Have you been talking behind our backs?! That’s no fair! Giogio, back us up!”

Giorno is silent. Narancia’s eyes widen. “ No.

“It’s really n—”

“You’re all ganging up on us!” 

Trish shushes him and he sputters indignantly for a moment before she counters with, “I’ve only known you all for a few days and I’m positive that you’d freak out if we told you.”

Narancia rummages around in his back pocket for a moment before pulling out a slightly bent stick of gum. “I’ll give you gum.”

“Deal.”

Fugo shoots Trish a betrayed look as Narancia tosses the stick over to her and she catches it out of the air. “Seriously, Trish?”

Trish raises her eyebrows, beginning to unwrap it. “What, do you have gum?”

Dude,” Mista says imploringly, and Narancia groans and fishes another stick out of his pocket, throwing it right at Mista’s face. “Sweet.”

“So what’s the deal?” Narancia asks eagerly.

Trish pops her gum. “Oh, yeah. It’s nothing huge, really, it’s just that when I first got here I thought you and Mista were a thing for the first, like, half hour.”

Narancia and Mista are silent. 

Apparently, it was possible to top their reaction to the possibility of Buccellati and Abbacchio being in a relationship. 

Fugo rolls his eyes. Trish pops her gum again. Giorno just kind of… sits there and observes things in that weirdly observant way of his. Finally, after a full fifteen seconds of stillness, Narancia abruptly reaches out and slaps Mista’s upper arm in what seems to be a delayed knee-jerk reaction. 

HUH? ” 

Mista hurriedly pushes Narancia’s arm away. “Dude! Get your hands off me, man, that’s why they think we’re gay!”

“They don’t think we’re gay because of that! They think we’re gay because they’re stupid and think about gay people too much!” Narancia yells with an accusatory glare towards the others.

Trish, nearly overwhelmingly nonchalant, pops her gum again. “I mean, you guys are kinda cuddly with each other. I asked Fugo and Giogio if you were a thing because I couldn’t tell and they both confirmed that you’re just, like, ultra-devout bros.”

“Yeah! Ultra-devout bros! Nothing wrong with a couple of committed homies bein’ friendly!” 

“‘Committed homies’ sounds a little closer to ‘couple’ than what I think you mean,” Giorno says. 

Mista turns to him. “Giorno. When you first got here, did you think Narancia and I were gay with eachother?” 

He evidently expects a no, but he certainly doesn’t get one. Giorno just looks at him and a look of horror crosses Mista’s face. Another moment passes before Giorno begins to say “It isn’t really—” at the same time that Mista lets out a hushed “ No.

“You’re just close is all,” Giorno explains somewhat apologetically. Mista sits up, pulling Narancia into a tight hug so the latter’s head is pressed to his chest.

“You see this? A hug between homies? We are bros who love each other and we should be able to do that without having to go through this!”

“Yeah!” Narancia yells in agreement, voice slightly muffled against Mista’s pecs. “And me grabbing Mista’s arm, or letting Mista putting his arm around me, or accepting any other gestures of platonic affection do not mean I have a crush on him, all right? It does not mean I think he is cute, or muscular, or sexy, or whatever else you perverts are thinking.”

YEAH! ” Mista hollers.

Trish looks to Fugo and Giorno. “Was that…”

“No,” Fugo says, somewhat miserably. “When they’re joking, it isn’t as funny as this is.”

 

It takes a full half hour or so for the matter to blow over. Buccellati and Abbacchio return, the group orders pizza, and the whole thing seems to be forgotten albeit a bit of remaining tension. (Though, over dinner, Narancia does slip in an awkwardly-placed line about supporting gay people or the like with a pointed look to Buccellati and Abbacchio. Abbacchio, whose has Buccellati practically in his lap, responds with an assertion of his hatred of gay people — Buccellati tells him to stop with the corners of his mouth twitching, and Abbacchio cracks a smile, and Mista and Narancia exchange wide-eyed looks across the table. That’s one matter settled, at least.)

After dinner, Mista is on the couch again — despite Abbacchio’s earlier warning — feeding the Pistols the crust from his pizza. He doesn’t look up when Fugo approaches him, coming to a stop in front of him somewhat awkwardly.

“Hey,” Fugo starts.

He glances at him. “Yo.”

Fugo takes a seat next to Mista. “I just wanted to say… sorry if earlier made things weird or anything with you and Narancia or whatever. We all know you’re just friends.”

Mista doesn’t respond, and Fugo raises an eyebrow. “...You are, right?”

“Uh, duh,” Mista snorts. “We’re best bros for life.”

“All right,” Fugo says, deciding not to press the subject but still eyeing Mista suspiciously. Mista nods. 

A moment passes.

“I mean, we are just bros, right?”

Fugo can’t say he didn’t see it coming.

“How am I supposed to tell you, man?” He asks exasperatedly. 

Mista frowns, glancing at the bedroom where Narancia is hanging out with Trish and Giorno before leaning in with his voice hushed. “I don’t mean for me or anything! I just mean, like, he doesn’t, like… like me, or anything, right? You know, just because I don’t wanna make him feel bad or anything.”

Fugo isn’t really sure how to respond to that. “Uh… do you like him?”

“No,” Mista says defensively, a bit too quickly. Fugo’s eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hairline with how high they’re raised. “I mean, like, he’s a great guy, and our friendship is like fifty times more serious than normal friendship ’cuz we’re both so awesome, but I don’t have a crush on him or anything.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I’m serious!”

Fugo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mista, if I asked you to cuddle me right now, would you?”

Mista looks at Fugo like he had just grown another head. “I mean, sure, man, if you want…”

“And if Narancia asked you to cuddle him right now, would you?”

“Fugo, you’ve seen us cuddling before.”

“You’re missing the point.”

Mista throws his arms up exasperatedly. “You aren’t making any sense!”

“You’re just stupid!” Fugo shoots back, the last of his patience escaping him. “Never mind. Forget about it. I’m never letting Giorno talk me into speaking to you ever again.”

He stands to leave, but Mista stops him with a hand on his arm. “Wait, wait, wait — just hold on a second, okay? I’m just trying to process things.”

“You don’t need me for that. Work your crush on Narancia out yourself.”

Mista frowns after Fugo as the latter storms away towards the bedroom. Every time he talks to Fugo it’s like a reminder that sixteen-year-olds are like the worst breed of animal. What the hell is up with that?

It takes him a moment to process the Pistols’ annoyed exclamations and then another to return to feeding them, albeit a bit more lost in thought than before.

 

At the same time as Fugo and Mista’s conversation — if one could really call it that — Trish, Giorno, and Narancia are speaking in the boys’ bedroom. 

“Oi.” Narancia, lying on the bed he and Mista are sharing with his head dangling upside-down off the edge, lets the magazine he had been absentmindedly flipping through drop onto the bed. “So, like, about what you guys said earlier…”

Giorno looks up. “Oh, that. I hope that didn’t make things awkward between you and Mista.”

Narancia crosses his arms. “No, not really — I mean, nothing can break a bond between bros, y’know!” He lowers his voice a bit. “But, like… do we seem like a couple?”

Giorno and Trish exchange looks, evidently trying to choose their words. Trish tries first. “I think it’s just obvious that you guys care about each other, is all.”

Narancia purses his lips.

Trish eyes him carefully. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just…” Narancia frowns. “Do you guys think… do you think we act like a couple?”

Trish is lost. Giorno responds in her place with, “You two are affectionate towards each other, but I don’t think that necessarily means you act like a couple. Friends can show affection, too.”

“Yeah, but like… do you think we could, like, be a couple?”

Giorno surveys him. “Narancia, do you… like him?”

“No,” Narancia says defensively, and then, “I mean, I dunno. I feel differently about him than I do about, like, the rest of you guys, I guess — like, Fugo and I are bros, but Mista and I are bros, y’know?”

“I can’t say I do,” Giorno says apologetically.

Trish shrugs. “So you’re just best friends. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But, like...” Narancia is struggling. “Like, I’ve never dated or anything, so I dunno, but Mista and I are bros -bros.”

Trish tries a different approach. “If someone you liked as a friend — someone other than Mista — asked you out right now, would you say yes?”

Narancia is quiet for a second. “I don’t know. Are they cool?”

“Yeah.”

“I dunno. I guess.”

“Well… what if Mista asked you out?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Narancia says quickly. “No way.”

Trish shifts on the bed. “Hypothetically.”

Narancia presses his palms over his eyes. “I don’t know, dude! I guess? It’d just be like we’re hanging out like usual, wouldn’t it?”

Is hanging out like usual the same as dating for you two? is the unasked question hanging heavy in the air as Giorno and Trish glance at each other.

Carefully, Trish says, “I think you might like him, Narancia.”

Narancia groans. “Ughhh, but putting a new label on things makes things all complicated! What’m I supposed to do now?”

“I guess we did sort of complicate things,” Trish laughs sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s whatever, but like… do we just stay bros from here? What if I start acting different and things get all weird?”

Giorno smiles placidly. “I don’t think there’ll be an issue.”

Narancia opens his mouth, probably to ask what that’s supposed to mean, but Fugo storms in before he can say anything. They all turn as he stalks over to him and Giorno’s bed and sits down heavily, before turning to angrily jab a finger towards Narancia. 

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Narancia splutters. “H-hey! The fuck’s your problem?!”

“Jesus Christ, these people,” Fugo groans to Trish and Giorno, ignoring Narancia. “You guys are going to have to handle this. I’m ready to murder them both.”

Narancia glares. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or are you gonna keep being a drama queen and leave me in the dark?”

Trish pats Fugo’s shoulder sympathetically, turning to Narancia. “You should talk to Mista.”

“What? About what?”

“About what we just talked about.”

Narancia chokes. “ Huh?”

“He’s on the couch,” Fugo groans. “The one Abbacchio told you guys not to go on.”

“I can’t just, like, talk to him about that!” Narancia sputters. “What am I supposed to say?!”

“Fine, then don’t,” Fugo says shortly. “Knew you’d be too chicken to do it anyways.”

Narancia sits up and turns to face them. “I’m not chicken,” he says indignantly. “I’m just trying to preserve me and Mista’s brohood, all right? Not like you guys’d understand.”

“If you’re not chicken, then go out and talk to him.”

Narancia’s mouth twists. “Fine, maybe I will!”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Giorno, Fugo, and Trish watch as Narancia stands up and storms out, only turning back to slam the door behind him indignantly. Giorno turns to Fugo. “I take it Mista’s the same?”

“He’s stupid, too, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” Fugo mutters. 

Giorno nods. “Yeah, I guess it sort of is.”

 

Mista looks up as Narancia flops down onto the couch next to him. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.” Narancia fixates intently on the ugly shag carpet as he chooses his words carefully. “...You know how Trish and Giorno thought we were, like, a couple?”

“Oh, yeah, that was stupid,” Mista says quickly. “Giorno and Trish may be dumber than you!”

“Yeah, right?” Narancia says, letting out a short laugh that’s a bit too loud to sound real. “Like, what was up with that? Us, a couple?

Mista laughs, but he seems a bit on-edge now as well. “Yeah! That’s insane!”

“Yeah!”

They both laugh, but it sounds nervous and far too loud to be genuine to their own ears and trails off awkwardly after a moment. They both shift uncomfortably — their lack of cuddling, as the others had put it, isn’t helping with the mood of things being off. After a few moments of tense silence, Narancia speaks:

“But, like, what if we were?”

Mista turns to look at him. “Like, what if we were… a couple?”

Narancia nods.

Mista scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, first we’d have to see if you could even score someone as hot as me. I’m a pretty big catch, y’know.” God, this is awkward.

Narancia laughs nervously. “Yeah, I guess.”

Mista nearly chokes. He’s agreeing with him???

“But, like, what’d you think? If we were?”

“Uhh.” Mista’s face feels like it’s heating up. He’s starting to think knows the answer to that, but there’s no way he could just flat-out say it. “I’d think that’d be pretty gay, man.”

Narancia snorts.

Mista looks away pointedly as he continues. “But, like… I dunno, I guess it wouldn’t be as bad as dating, like, Fugo or something. Like, I wouldn’t hate it or anything, I guess?” Narancia doesn’t respond for a moment and Mista feels a tinge of panic, fumbling as he elaborates. “I-I mean, like, we’re best bros. So it wouldn’t be that different from normal, I guess. I mean, no, but like — you know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” There’s a short pause. Narancia’s gaze slowly slides over to Mista as he says, “So, like… would you want to, then?”

Mista stares at him. “Like, date?”

Narancia nods. Mista’s face is definitely red now. “Uh, I mean—”

He clamps his mouth shut abruptly and Narancia turns to see Abbacchio walking in from the master bedroom. He shuffles into the kitchenette and rummages around in the cabinets, retrieving a slightly scratched-up glass. As he goes to fill it up at the sink, he glances at Narancia and Mista, who are sitting three feet away from each other and pointedly avoiding eye contact with all present parties.

“What’s up with you two?”

“What’s up with you and Buccellati?” Mista shoots back without thinking. 

Abbacchio slowly takes a sip from the glass, not looking away from them. “...I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

Mista crosses his arms and Abbacchio, evidently lacking the energy needed to get too involved in their affairs, finally starts walking back towards the bedrooms. As he’s leaving, though, he turns back to say, “Thought I told you guys to get off that couch.”

“I like this couch,” Narancia mutters.

Abbacchio shrugs. “Guess you like sitting on other peoples’ bodily fluids, then.” And with that sentiment, he finally leaves.

Mista and Narancia simultaneously shudder and jump up from the couch as though it had burned them. Eugh.

Still recovering from the sheer awkwardness of the interruption, Mista turns to Narancia, fully red in the face by now. “I think we’re making this unnecessary painful, man.”

Narancia laughs. “I’m being straightforward here! You’re the one who’s acting all shy and stuff!” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry about this whole thing. Just forget it—”

“No, no, wait.” Mista takes a deep breath. “I was gonna say before Abbacchio walked in that that I was thinking and it probably wouldn’t be, like, the worst thing in the world. Since we’re already, like, bros and shit.”

A mischievous grin splits Narancia’s face. “Say it.”

“Huh?”

“What wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mista groans. 

“C’mon! I wanna hear you say it!”

“You know what I mean, dumbass!”

Mista hooks an arm around Narancia’s neck and pulls him in to noogie him. Narancia laughs, swatting at the arm around his neck. “Hey! Cut it out, stupid! You’re turning this into an abusive relationship before it’s even started!”

After they both calm down, Mista rubs the back of his neck. “So, are we like… dating now or whatever?”

“I mean,” Narancia says. “With the way the others were acting, I think we were already dating. We were just the last ones to find out.”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Mista cackles. “But, like, promise me we aren’t gonna turn into those gross couples that’re always all over each other.”

Narancia holds out a pinky. “Promise.” Mista rolls his eyes but hooks his own in Narancia’s, and Narancia leans in to whisper, “Unless it’s to gross out Fugo.”

Mista snorts. “Well, duh, that’s a given.”

They grin at each other, any remaining tension in the air evaporating. Narancia glances towards the bedroom, before leaning in and lowering his voice. “Wait, wait, wait — you think the others can hear from in there?”

“We’re kinda loud,” Mista says. “But maybe not.”

“Okay, wait, perfect — before I came out here they gave me this weird pep talk to help me work out if I, like, liked you or not.”

“Fugo tried to do the same with me! But then he got frustrated and stormed out.”

“Ha! Of course he did!” Narancia’s grin widens mischievously. “But listen… I have an idea.”

He grabs Mista’s collar and pulls him down closer to his level to whisper in his ear. Mista listens carefully, a shit-eating grin to match Narancia’s slowly beginning to form. Once Narancia is done, he snickers, whispering, “You’re a fucking genius, man!”

“Well, duh. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Facts.” They both shoot a look towards the bedroom, and Narancia clenches his fists resolvedly. “Let’s fucking do this!”

 

Giorno blinks. “You want to… switch beds with me.”

“Yeah,” Mista says subduedly — or as subduedly as he can manage, at least. “It’s nothing, just figured it might be a better setup for all of us, y’know?”

Giorno, Fugo, and Trish all exchange looks. Trish frowns. “Does this have something to do with you and Narancia?”

“No,” Mista says unconvincingly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Before any of them can respond, the door swings open and Narancia pokes his head in. It takes every inch of resolve in Mista to maintain a straight face, and he can see Narancia is struggling to keep his laughter in, too. Narancia’s eyes land on Mista, before they both look away quickly.

“Oh. Um. Hey, guys.”

“Mista just asked Giorno to switch beds with him,” Trish blurts out. Fugo elbows her in the side and she turns to him indignantly. “What? He would’ve found out anyways, wouldn’t he?”

Narancia rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, did he… well, I guess that might be best…”

It’s getting so difficult to hold in laughter at this point that Narancia is entirely convinced that making eye contact would be the end of them. 

“Did something happen?” Trish presses. 

Mista shrugs, mumbling something incoherent. Fugo rolls his eyes.

“I don’t buy it.”

Fugo,” Trish says reproachfully. She turns back to them. “Wait, I feel a little bad now. Did we have anything to do with this?”

“No,” Narancia responds dejectedly. “It’s not your fault that things just… won’t work out.”

Mista risks a glance at the others. Trish looks somewhat shocked at possibly having accidentally ruined him and Narancia’s relationship, Fugo is frowning at them like he’s  trying to figure out if it’s a dumb joke or if they’re actually that stupid, and Giorno is staring at them with an expression that’s hard to read. He hasn’t bought it for a second, has he?

Narancia continues. “Maybe if the timing had been different… maybe if things had developed on their own, it could’ve worked out.” His facade is starting to crack, face twisting awkwardly to suppress a smile. His voice is about an octave higher as he says, “But you guys went and ruined it for us!”

They meet eyes and promptly lose their shit. Mista collapses onto the bed while Narancia doubles over, clutching his ribs. Fugo rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna piss myself,” Narancia gasps. “The looks on your faces!”

“We didn’t even fall for it, dumbass,” Fugo says. He turns to Trish. “This is what I meant when I said that they’re nowhere near as funny when they’re actually trying to be.”

“If we aren’t funny then why am I laughing, Fugo? ” Mista says through gasps of air. 

Fugo frowns. “Because you’re an idiot.”

“Wait, so—” Trish looks between them. “So you guys are fine?”

“Despite your best efforts, we’ve never been better!” Mista shouts triumphantly. Narancia flops down next to him, resting his head on his chest in their usual fashion. 

Giorno nods. “That’s good.”

“Jesus,” Trish mutters. “Don’t do that. You almost had me scared there.”

Narancia and Mista snicker as Fugo and Trish both move to return to their respective reading, but Trish pauses after opening the magazine. “So are you guys still just, like… ultra-devout bros, or whatever you called it?”

“Fuck yeah. We’re exclusively devout bros.”

“I don’t get it, does that mean boyfriends? Or are you still just best friends?”

“It means they’re dating,” Fugo translates. “And they’re still going to only refer to themselves as bros.”

 

Abbacchio, in the master bedroom, rolls his eyes at the muffled sound of Mista and Narancia bursting into exclamations yet again. Leaning towards the door, he shouts loud enough for them to hear, “ Oi, shut up in there!” , and the volume reduces a minuscule amount after a moment. Buccellati comes out of the bathroom in his pajamas, hair wet from the shower, and glances towards the door.

“They’re still going?”

“It never ends,” Abbacchio replies curtly.

Buccellati sits down on the edge of the bed. “Something’s going on with them.”

“You mean how Narancia mentioned supporting gay people or whatever the hell out of the blue at dinner?” Abbacchio scoffs. “Yeah, something’s up. Mista, too.”

Buccellati cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Walked in on them talking and they were sitting two feet apart on that godawful couch completely red in the face. They shut up as soon as I came in. You should’ve seen it.”

“Oh, you interrupted their moment,” Buccellati says, eyes narrowing in amusement. 

Abbacchio shrugs. “Apparently.” And then, at another round of yelling from the other room, “They seem to be fine now, though. Unfortunately.” He turns towards the wall separating their rooms and yells for them to shut up again, to not much avail. 

Buccellati waves a hand. “They get over things quickly.” He smiles a little. “Despite your best efforts, maybe.”

Abbacchio snickers. Buccellati brings his legs onto the bed, lying down on top of the covers and looking up at Abbacchio with a small smile. “You said they were sitting two feet apart?”

“Mm,” Abbacchio grunts in way of affirmation. “Should’ve made fun of ‘em more, looking back, but the whole thing was so awkward that I couldn’t bear to watch.”

“That is pretty odd for them,” Buccellati agrees. 

Abbacchio’s response is drowned out by the sound of Narancia yelling “ Eat shit, Pannacotta! ” and he rolls his eyes. “Like I said, whatever it was is over, apparently.”

Buccellati doesn’t respond, the bed shifting as he stands up. Abbacchio watches with some amusement as he steps outside and opens the door to the other room. 

“Oi, quiet down in here,” he can be heard saying, more roughly than Abbacchio knows he means. “I don’t want to have to deal with a noise complaint.”

The kids’ (still-loud) apologies can be heard as Buccellati steps back inside, shutting the door behind him. Abbacchio smirks as Buccellati sits back down on the bed. “Maybe I should go in there and make ‘em feel awkward again.”

“Maybe,” Buccellati groans. “I know they’re teenagers, but dio mio, they’re loud.” (He says it as if he wasn’t a teenager himself a mere seven months ago.) There’s a short pause. “You think Narancia and Mista are together now?”

“I think they have been for a while,” Abbacchio scoffs. Buccellati laughs.

“That is true.” 

As if on cue, there’s another round of muffled noise from the other room — this time, Mista can be heard yelling “ Hey, Fugo, watch this! ”. After a second of silence, Trish whoops and Fugo seems to be thrown into a fit of retching, soon joined by Narancia and Mista’s loud laughter. Buccellati and Abbacchio exchange half-amused, half-exasperated looks.

They’ll let it slide this time.