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It was another warm, sunny, and lazy afternoon of the delightfully mild Naples spring and the weather was particularly lovely on this exact day. Cool breeze, salty from the waters of the sea, was pleasantly blowing through the city, tussling the hair and caressing the skin gently in the most sweet of ways. Seagulls were flying high in the skies, their cries shrill yet distant, everything was in bloom and the searing heat of the future summer was barely a hint in the warm stones of the pavement. And yes, on this loveliest of days, perfectly suited to be spent outside, Narancia was forced to stay inside the restaurant’s back room, sitting by the table, hunched over some dumb math book, wasting his precious moments of youth away trying to cram in something about equations into his brain that he understood virtually nothing about.
He hated it with passion, this book, and the situation, and it didn’t help in the slightest that the time seemingly slowed down to a halt. The worst offense of this whole thing was the sheer boredom the jumbled symbols on those pages conjured, the drawling, sprawling formulas that he stopped trying to comprehend around an hour ago. This was mind-numbing, so much so that staring at the wall might’ve been more interesting than this stupid book. Narancia sighed and shot a quick glance at the clock. Only an hour and a half from the time they’ve started the lesson, and he had another hour to go. To worsen the situation even further, he couldn’t even slack off properly – Fugo was here, “helping” him learn, and keeping an eye out to make sure that Narancia would do what they set out to do.
Pannacotta was sitting next to him, buried neck deep into some gigantic tome, flipping the pages steadily. Who allowed him to be this smart, for crying out loud?! He probably felt Narancia’s glare and lifted his eyes from the book, lowering it to shoot a small, encouraging smile that only served as a taunt. Ugh, he was so done with Fugo’s bullshit at this point, irate to the max at him for making Narancia waste away from the tedious cramming, and he had enough of it for today. He scooted the chair away from the table with a noise that made Pannacotta jump in his seat and used the “secret weapon” tactic that he was holding exactly for the situation like this – whining:
“Panna, I’m so bored of this! C’mon, let’s get outside, we’ll finish this bullshit later. Weather’s great, the sun is shining, let’s go around town and do something fun.”
Fugo slowly put his book, pages down, on the table and eyed him up and down disapprovingly, face already a little scrunched in a peeved grimace.
“You gotta learn first, Narancia. It’s not that hard and you’re not gonna weasel out of this easily. Bucciarati told us that we should study – and that’s exactly what we’re doing.”
That was so annoying. Yeah, sure, they were studying alright, but why it was taking this long. This whole spiel was getting ridiculous. Narancia piped up, displeased, and irked by Fugo’s cool logical approach to such a mundane thing. He just wanted to have fun, preferably in a good company, and for such a smartass, Pannacotta was not fast to get a clue:
“Panna, I’ve done enough learning for today. Let’s go! This is dumb anyways, who even needs this kind of crap in the real life?! I can count, that’s good enough. Like, why do even bother with this shit?”
Fugo’s eye twitched, as he looked daggers at Narancia, clearly annoyed. His voice was low but the expression could’ve cut through steel yet, fortunately, or not, Narancia was completely immune to these glares. He was talking deliberately slow, in short sentences, but knowing Fugo, a little push would be enough to break this false cool exterior.
“Stop whining and just do it. Get it done and do whatever you want. I’m not letting you get away from doing work, you lazy ass.”
Narancia huffed stubbornly, getting slightly heated, preparing the final blow to Fugo’s calmness, pressing even more on the matter:
“C’mon, Panna, you can’t be serious, you know it’s useless. Like, I’ve yet to see ya use any of this shit anywhere, in a fight or on the streets.”
That’s what’s gonna get him going. Pannacotta’s jaw tightened, teeth grating with utterly unpleasant sound as he furrowed his brows and breathed out forcefully through his nose.
“I’m dead serious. Shut it and get back to work. We’re done debating this.”
Narancia stared at him before spitting out, angrily, fully wound up with the dismissiveness of Fugo’s attitude and words:
“No, we’re fucking not! You’re not a boss of me! Go fuck all the way off with your bullshit! Get down from that fucking high horse for once and live a little. Jeez, it’s like ya have a stick up your ass or something.”
That made Fugo’s blood boil. This arrogant stupid prick was asking for it, and Pannacotta was ready to dish it out. Like hell he would let this moron disrespect him:
“You dumb as a rock delinquent! Are you seriously fucking with me right now!? How many times do I have to repeat myself before you get any of it?! Fucking ungrateful idiot, why the hell am I even doing this if you’re not going to take it seriously?! YOU SHIT-FOR-BRAINS!!”
And Narancia bursted with fury, slamming his fists on the table and yelling in Fugo’s face, body stiff as a board, ready for a brawl at the moments notice:
“Fuck you! Eat a dick, you cunt! No one gives a shit about your dumb math! Stuck up asshole!”
That was it. The words made Pannacotta’s control over himself snap and the entire world suddenly went dark inside his head for a moment. Fugo burst with anger, seeing red, feeling himself being engulfed in another fit of rage as he registered, almost in slow motion, his fist hitting Narancia in the face with enough strength to knock him back a little. The latter’s expression contorted with unexpected pain and then, even more startlingly, with somber bitterness.
And instead of the usual outburst, Narancia fell awfully, painfully quiet, as the sound of the impact still rang in Fugo’s ears. The spot on Narancia’s cheekbone, right under the eye, where his fist just hit, slowly bloomed red, an inevitable bruise already forming, and to his horror, Narancia’s eye started heavily watering, tears threatening to spill over the mark that Fugo left. It was the same eye that Narancia almost lost and Pannacotta felt this realization hitting him in the gut even stronger as his rage ebbed. He took a shaky step back, clamping the clammy, hurting hand over his mouth, terrified of what he just did, knees giving out underneath him as he dropped back to the chair, still in disbelief and disarray.
He did it, he just did it and couldn’t stop himself. The guilt overcomes him, making his shoulders curl and posture drop, as he tries to physically disappear, erase himself out of existence to never be in this moment again. He hit Narancia where it hurt, he knew his weak point and went straight to it. How much of a garbage person he was for doing that. He couldn’t undo the damage, he failed himself and he hurt his friend. A fucking coward, unable to even look Narancia in the eye, to see what he’s done. Pannacotta took a harsh breath and murmured in an unsteady, wavering voice, barely able to push any of the words out:
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
And hearing Narancia’s trembling, unsteady breath shattered him. Covering his face with both hands Fugo sobbed, shaking in his seat, and with the hot tears words came in a fast, painful patter of useless, air filling nothings, that wouldn’t make up for anything he’d done:
“I know you’ll never forgive me, but I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped. I should’ve done anything else but this. I’m sorry, Narancia.”
Their unsteady breathing filled the painful silence, his ragged ugly crying, and Narancia’s small sobbing, slowly becoming softer and quieter, as the latter pulled himself together. He heard unsteady steps approaching and registered a gentle touch on his shoulder but refuses to take the hands away from his face, not willing to look at what he’s done.
Narancia’s words came in an uncharacteristically small and somber voice, even more painful than he would’ve anticipated, and they were cutting Pannacotta to the core:
“Fugo, I know I’m dumb. I’m pretty much used to insults by now. That’s fine, doesn’t bother me that much. But this does. Do you hate me this much? Am I that shitty? Why do you do this to me?”
It was like a broken glass sliding down his throat, like death by thousands of tiny cuts, and it wrenches Fugo’s soul out, rips him apart, unravels sis psyche. He can’t even manage a single word without his voice breaking yet he still pushes out an apology he owes with all his heart, as the sound of his own voice, cracking and wavering, feels like a drag of the nails on a chalkboard:
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Narancia. You didn’t deserve this. I don’t want to be such a dick to you. I’m volatile, I ruin everything I touch. You shouldn’t be around me. I’ll leave this instant.”
He can’t take this torture anymore. The burning desire to run away overcomes him and Fugo rises abruptly, still not having enough courage to look at Narancia’s face. The chair, shoved back by him, falls to the floor, making Pannacotta wince, as he’s becoming even more certain now about being a walking destruction. He almost bolts to the door, hurriedly, leaving everything behind, not expecting a hand that grasped his jacket to yank him back. Narancia’s hands clasped him from behind, pulling into an embrace, more to keep him from leaving than to console anything that happened between them, yet still, it was Narancia’s body pressed into his with genuine trust and no actual regard for the consequences. Fugo froze in his tracks, unable to process this even happening. When he finally struggled against the hug, Narancia only tightened the grip and pressed his face between Pannacotta’s shoulder blades, like a stubborn child. Fugo swallowed the lump in his throat and said, voice strained beyond his control:
“I’ll go, I’m not going to bother you anymore. I’ll never be around you again.”
And Narancia sobbed, hoarsely and raggedy, words coming out wet from his throat:
“No, stay! Panna, please, stay!”
That devastated Pannacotta beyond belief. He was wracked with guilt and the only thing he wanted was to run from it as far as he could, yet Narancia was forcing him to face the consequences. That burned his insides with intense remorse, as he regretted even existing in the first place, but as Narancia’s shaking body was pressing into his own so desperately, he had to take responsibility for his actions. It was tremendously terrifying, to ask this question, to even try mending what he has broken, but he knew that he had to do that, he needed to:
“How can I ever make it up to you?!”
Narancia, so stiff with tension before that, went slack at the sound of his voice, arms now wrapped loosely around Pannacotta’s waist. He pressed closer gently, pulling into a real hug this time, and Fugo covered the no longer shaking hands with his own, gingerly entwining their fingers and holding them close. They both were silent for a while and it was pulling at Panna’s heartstrings, but Narancia was clearly taking his time to think it through, even giving a small unexpected chuckle before finally speaking:
“I might have an idea.”
Fugo answered hurriedly, anxious to hear the reply:
“Anything, I’d do anything for you.”
Narancia chucked again, and the smile could be heard in his words as he spoke:
“Well, you know, I think you should take me out on a town and buy me ice cream. That’s what I’ve wanted in the first place and I’m getting it today. Seems only fair that you’ll gonna do it. Like, you kinda took it from me and now I wanna have it. So, what do you think?”
The strangest mix of relief and disbelief took over the Fugo’s heart as he, against his better judgment, pried for more information:
“Wait… really? You’re asking me out after what I just did?”
Narancia squeezed his fingers and let go completely. Pannacotta’s heart sank for a brief moment, as he was circled by another guy and almost forced to look him in the eye this time. Narancia faced him, openly, and the only thing he could do in return was to give him the same courtesy.
“We’ll see about the “asking out” part. So, are we going or what?”
His eyebrows shot up almost to the hairline as Fugo’s surprise was as unabashed as Narancia’s honesty. The latter was already smiling a bit, face lit from the inside with slightly mischievous glee and Fugo expected some sort of ruse up ahead:
“That’s it? You want nothing else then to eat ice cream with me?”
And the soft laughter that followed rang a gentle melody on the broken pieces of Pannacotta’s heart:
“Yeah, I’m a simple guy and it’s hot outside. Wouldn’t mind if it’ll be a gelato, though. A strawberry one, and maybe chocolate too.”
Fugo, taken aback by this candid proclamation and the simplicity of the request stood awestruck for a few moments and then softly breathed out:
“Okay, okay, you’ll get your gelato. But you’re still a dummy for making me stay around.”
Narancia smiled like the sun at him, simple and innocent, free of the conflict that raged inside Fugo’s mind. That fascinated Pannacotta to no end – he’s ability to be genuinely happy at the smallest things and to spring back up no matter what had happened to him. He really already let go of the whole debacle and was ready to move on, entirely not like Fugo himself:
“I know that. It’s your problem now, you’re the smart one, Panna. Now let’s get moving, desserts are waiting.”
And Narancia’s fingers clasped Fugo’s hand, pulling them both towards the exit, as he was excitedly describing all the best places to get frozen treats in their vicinity. Pannacotta’s heart both hurt and melted, cut deeply yet sweetly by this child-like naïveté. The lonely math book was left open on the table as they left the room and he didn’t regret leaving it there. They did hold hands the whole way to the shop and as he bought two portions of gelato, for Narancia and for himself, Fugo couldn’t shake the feeling of undeserved happiness off his consciousness. The scenic yet narrow back alley through which Narancia took them both was as delightfully unfamiliar as the destination itself – the secluded inclosed cliff, from which the sea could be seen. In all its majestic glory, waves crashing down the sandy shore, as unruly and wild as both of their tempers were, the sea was there to stare upon and Pannacotta would’ve gladly reflected on its beauty and strength if it wasn’t for Narancia’s eagerness to pull them both to sit on the safety railing and eat ice cream together, as their fingers laced with each other, anchoring Fugo in the present.
And maybe he was ultimately right and this really was the better use of their time. The gelato was nice and cold, the breeze was gentle and the creeping sunset was giving the water and sky the most stunning shades of pink, orange, and purple. Fugo might’ve lived on the borrowed happiness, in this particular moment in time, but it seemed like Narancia didn’t mind that. He was fully content with the endeavor and, just this once, just maybe, only for tonight, Pannacotta decided to be content with that too.