formerly heliodorwrites

[April]

"It's you!" Narancia cried out as he reached to grab his target's sleeve. Though the teal blazer he remembered was gone, Narancia was absolutely sure he'd finally found the boy who pulled him out of the alley and introduced him to Buccellati on that fateful day that changed the course of his life forever.

It had taken Narancia the better part of his Easter break to track down the other boy without a name to back up his description. There were plenty of well-dressed blonde boys around Narancia's age in the city after all. The real breakthrough in his search happened after Narancia realized he could just describe the boy based on his proximity to Buccellati instead. While there were loads of blonde boys around Naples, only one of them could be seen regularly following Buccellati around. Apparently Fugo was his name.

"Can I help you?" Fugo asked coldly like he didn't recognize Narancia at all. He was faking though!

He had to be faking it. His gaze flicked left towards Narancia's healed eye before drifting away disinterestedly somewhere over Narancia's head. Only someone who had seen Narancia with his bandages would even know it hadn't always been as clear and healthy as it was now.

"Yeah," Narancia decided to answer honestly. He tightened his hold when the other boy tried to shake him off. This was too important! "I need a favor, Fugo. Please? I'll do anything!"

Fugo went still so suddenly that Narancia fumbled his grip. When his fingers started to slide off of Fugo's wrist, Fugo deftly grabbed his hand to interlock their fingers together instead like they were old friends.

"So you know my name, huh?" Fugo smiled thinly. He adjusted the paper bag he was carrying with his other arm and nodded vaguely down the sidewalk away from the pastry shop he'd emerged from before Narancia had pounced. "Mind following me? We should get out of the way of foot traffic before we talk. It's rude to just stand here blocking everyone."

"Okay." Narancia blinked.

Wow, that went way easier than Narancia thought it would, but it made sense. Fugo had seen a dirty, desperate Narancia at the end of his rope and had reached out to help him when normal, supposedly better people had looked at him and walked away. That had to mean something, Narancia thought as he watched his and Fugo's joined hands swing as they walked. Fugo had to share at least a little of Buccellati's compassion.

Fugo gave Narancia's hand a little reassuring squeeze. His smile widened as he led the way into an alley cast in dark shadow by the surrounding buildings.

The world tilted, and Narancia found himself on the cold ground before he was quite aware of what had happened. Fugo had twisted and kicked his feet out from under him while pulling Narancia's arm to throw him forward. At least he'd been nice enough to let go before Narancia fell. It would have sucked to have to pop his shoulder back into the socket if Fugo had dislocated it.

"Shit," Narancia muttered to himself as he scrambled onto his back to keep his eyes on Fugo. He'd let his guard down. Nobody ever hesitated to punch down on a smaller guy like Narancia, at least not in his experience.

"I heard rumors that someone was looking for me. I wasn't expecting it to be you," Fugo said calmly as he rounded closer. Before Narancia could fully pull himself up into a better defensive position, Fugo was on him. He yelled so close to Narancia's face that stray spittle splashed against Narancia's cheek. "Just who the fuck are you?! Why are you looking for me? Who sent you, asshole?! I'll send your pathetic fucking corpse back to them cut so small you'll fit in ring boxes!"

"Wait," Narancia gasped as Fugo's hands, the same ones that had reached out to save him, wrapped tight around his neck.

"Were you faking it, you piece of shit?" Fugo hissed as he gave Narancia a little shake. The move made the back of Narancia's head kiss the ground just hard enough that he saw stars for a moment. "Were you lying so I'd help you?"

"F-Fu—" Narancia's second attempt to plead his case came out even more breathless than the first. If he didn't do something soon he would die. He knew by the look in Fugo's eyes that the other boy wouldn't hesitate to kill him right then and there.

This couldn't be the end.

No, Narancia wasn't giving up until he got to meet Buccellati again. He'd survived the detention center. He'd survived living on the street. He'd survive this too!

Grabbing Fugo's hands to try to pry them away didn't accomplish much. Fugo was too mad, too strong, and had too much leverage on Narancia for him to fight back much that way. He even ignored it when Narancia dug fingernails into the delicate skin on the backs of his hands.

In that case Narancia only had one move left.

This was it. Narancia stole a breath as Fugo's grip loosened before squeezing tighter again. He gathered all of his strength to drive his knee up between Fugo's legs, and felt… Nothing there.

There was no telltale squish of delicate anatomy being crushed. When Narancia drove his knee in harder all he could feel was fabric sliding over Fugo's smooth crotch. What? Was Fugo like a doll down there? Had something happened to him so he didn't have a dick or anything anymore? Maybe he'd tucked it inside of himself. Narancia heard that was possible to do. One of his old buddies had had an uncle who performed as a woman and wore tight miniskirts without his junk being all out for everybody to see.

"Fuck," Fugo swore softly.

Somehow despite not having that classic weak spot Narancia had exploited in many a fight against other boys, Fugo was still affected in some way. He let go of Narancia's neck to brace his hands flat on the ground on either side of Narancia's head as he hunched over. His eyes were still wild but no longer full of the murderous rage that had suddenly overtaken him. It was more like he was the one who was cornered now.

Narancia tried to lower his leg some to give Fugo space, but Fugo sank down with him. Fugo's hips slid forward which caused him to grind down on Narancia's thigh.

He let out a surprising little squeak.

"Don't move!" Fugo squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat beaded his forehead. "Please, don't move. Oh, fuck…"

"Are you okay?" Narancia asked. He let his hands hover over Fugo's hips, not sure if steadying the other boy would help any.

"I'm fine. Just don't move. What, uh," Fugo paused to pant for a moment, and Narancia could feel him tremble. "What were you, um, trying to ask me? Sorry, I— Sorry."

Fugo didn't look fine. Both the panting and trembling got worse the longer the two of them stayed tangled together. In fact, Narancia planted his foot flat on the ground to keep his leg steady between Fugo's thighs as the other boy squirmed. He was pretty sure without the support Fugo would collapse on top of him.

"I want to work for Buccellati. You're a member of his gang too, right? I need your help to get in," Narancia explained.

When Fugo's mouth opened again all that came out was a soft groan. He finally lifted himself up off of Narancia's leg with a grunt and threw himself to the ground off to the right with his back facing towards Narancia. The trembling didn't stop. The panting slowly turned into a soft whine.

"Fugo?" Narancia asked. He sat up and watched the blonde boy curl tighter in a sort of fetal position with his hands tucked protectively between his legs.

He watched Fugo continue to shake and whine. He watched Fugo start to rock himself in an attempt to self-soothe until suddenly Fugo went stock still and his labored breaths started to even out. Good, it looked like he stopped hurting so bad. Now they could really get down to business.

"Why do you want to join Passione so badly?" Fugo asked flatly.

Ah, that was the gang's name! Passione… Maybe if this didn't work out Narancia could find someone else to get him in.

"I already told you why. I want to work for Buccellati." Narancia wished that Fugo was looking at him to see how seriously he was speaking from his heart here. Looking over Fugo's shoulder, Narancia couldn't see the other boy's eyes at all with his hair in the way, but he did see the tight line Fugo's lips were drawn into. "There's nobody else like him. I know I'll learn more about being a man from him than from any stupid school."

"Buccellati wanted you to go to school though." So Fugo knew about that. "You have a family, right?"

"My mom's been dead for years." It didn't hurt as much to say that now as it used to. Narancia watched Fugo's shoulders start to relax as he continued, "My dad doesn't talk to me. He barely even looks at me. It's like I don't exist to him. He doesn't give a shit if I'm at the house or at school. He doesn't give a shit that I'm flunking out. He wouldn't even notice if I never went back home."

"Buccellati would probably tell you to keep trying to get through to your father." Fugo finally sat up and twisted to look at Narancia again. "But I'm not him. If you really want to join Passione I'll sponsor you myself, but first, you have to pass my test before I let you take the initiation."

"Yes!" Narancia pumped both fists into the air. He couldn't suppress his triumphant grin. He did it! He was as good as in! "Thanks, Fugo! You're not gonna regret it!"

"Sure," Fugo said mildly as he produced a black felt tip pen from a pocket somewhere. "Give me your arm. I'm going to give you an address. Go home, get all your stuff together, and go there tomorrow. I'll let you know what you need to do to prove yourself to me then."

"Okay!" Narancia nodded enthusiastically. Easy shit! He was so in! He already knew the basics of how to fight. He'd just have to do his best to learn whatever else he needed to know.

He'd prove himself to Fugo in no time at all. No problem!

-xxx-

The next day Narancia woke at dawn fresh and more excited to get up and get moving than he had been in a long, long time. Almost everything he wanted to keep fit in his backpack for school: about a week's worth of clothing crammed tight in the main compartment, a framed photograph of himself and his mother from a long time ago tucked carefully in with the clothes to keep the glass safe, and all the toiletries he'd need crammed into the front pocket he used to keep pencils for class in. His coat didn't fit, but he could carry that like he carried the scrap of paper where he'd carefully copied down the address Fugo had written on his arm.

Anticipation tugged Narancia through his morning routine like an eager dog on a lead. This was it. His whole life was about to change for the better.

It didn't matter that the sink was full of dirty dishes with nothing to clean them in sight. Narancia wouldn't have to go knocking on a neighbor's door to borrow the right soap if he wanted to use a plate anymore. Every surface in the house was like that; dust and built up grime slowly gathered up to displace the memory of a woman who once kept a vase of tiger lilies in a blue vase on the table by the door to greet them all as they came home. If Narancia was really being honest with himself, he knew this place had stopped being a home to him before his mother had gotten really sick for the last time.

He didn't care to look back when he closed the front door and hid his key in an empty flower pot. There wasn't a doubt in Narancia's mind that no matter what happened he would never return ever again.

-xxx-

Narancia glared balefully up at the rundown laundromat he was pretty sure he'd passed three times already. It was one of the last landmarks on Fugo's directions, but he just couldn't figure out what building he was actually supposed to be looking for. Everything kind of just looked the same. Every building looked like it had been repurposed multiple times already before settling into its current holding pattern.

What if Fugo had lied?

Narancia stared down at his scribbled directions.

What if Fugo had lied to get Narancia off his back? What if these directions really went nowhere, and Fugo was laughing at him for being so stupid to fall for it?

He's trusted too easily. He always trusted people too easily! Narancia growled as he crumpled the paper in his fist.

He instantly regretted it and hurried to smooth the paper back out as flat as it would go. Fugo was Buccellati's guy after all. If Narancia couldn't trust him, who could he trust? Maybe this was a little hazing. Maybe it was a test, but either way Narancia couldn't give up too soon.

Alright from here he needed to take a right and duck through an alley to the other side.

"Hey, kid," a man in a cheap tracksuit called out to Narancia as he was checking his directions again. "You need some directions?"

The man and his friend in a halfway unbuttoned shirt and pants so tight Narancia knew more than he ever wanted to know about the stranger's anatomy stepped away from the corner they were hanging out on to walk across the street towards Narancia. Shit. He'd drawn attention to himself looking lost like some kind of tourist. He sped up in the direction he assumed he was supposed to go.

The problem was all the buildings were so clustered together Narancia wasn't really sure which one he was supposed to be entering or which door. Fugo had written that he'd be looking at right at it but didn't describe what he was supposed to be looking at at all.

"Where are you going, buddy? We just wanna help," Tight Pants Guy added.

"Got any cash in that bag?" Tracksuit added. "Let me borrow some. I forgot my wallet at home."

No good. Narancia eyed them over his shoulder as he picked up his pace. Both of the men easily had at least twenty-five centimeters and kilograms on him. It wasn't a fight he could win.

Which door did he need? Which door was it?

"Come oooon, let us take a look inside," Tight Pants chuckled like Narancia was some willful kid refusing to eat his veggies. "We'll pay you back. Just—"

Fugo moved just like he had in the alley the day before: quickly and with a brutal grace. He slammed into Tight Pants Guy, throwing his full weight into the punch he landed on the side of the man's head. Now that he was on this side of the fight and not in any danger of being pummeled himself, Narancia could appreciate Fugo's terrifying focus. He was like one of those police dogs that bite a suspect's arm and refuse to let go for anything but the right command said by their handler even if you punch them.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Fugo howled as he kicked the grown man he'd just unsteadied to the ground. He narrowly missed stomping Tight Pants Guy's hand only because the man was able to gather himself enough to pull it away in time. "I thought I told you motherfuckers to stay the fuck off my turf?! Leave my boy alone!"

"Oh shit it's Jawbreaker!" Tracksuit hissed to his friend. He was cowering away from Fugo. Actually cowering! What?

Narancia stared as Tight Pants raised his arms apologetically and cried out, "We didn't know! Sorry. We didn't know he was your boy. I swear!"

"Sorry, Jawbreaker. Er, uh, I mean, Fugo," Tracksuit added as he grabbed his friend's shoulder to pull him to his feet.

What the hell? Why were they so scared? What did Fugo do to them?

Fugo didn't look like much. He was wearing a sweatshirt so big it kind of looked like a dress. The sleeves were were rolled to prevent them from flopping over his hands. His legs were bare, and it would have been easy to assume Fugo wasn't wearing anything under the sweater if not for the slight hint of tiny shorts poking out from underneath the bottom hem. Maybe that was his underwear though. Fugo did look like he'd just rolled out of bed and ran outside what with the way his wavy hair was sticking out in all directions, and he'd clearly just shoved his sockless feet into a pair of canvas sneakers.

It wasn't exactly an intimidating look was the thing. Sure Fugo had some muscle tone, but there was no way he was much older than Narancia. To Narancia he was a decent threat but to two healthy looking grown men not so much.

"You know now," Fugo snapped. "Get the fuck out of here."

Narancia watched completely mystified as the two strangers did as they were told and scurried back to their corner on the other side of the street.

Once they were gone Fugo crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his attention to Narancia. "Why are you here so early? You're lucky I happened to be awake and saw you out my window. I'm not going to step in to help you again if you get jumped around here."

"Like I was planning on getting jumped!" Narancia whined. "You set me up! These directions you gave me make no sense."

"I didn't realize you were some kind of idiot. I was very clear." Fugo turned to start to walk away.

"What's your problem?" Narancia fumed. He took a few running steps to grab Fugo's arm to spin the other boy back around practically throwing the crumbled directions in Fugo's face as soon as he could. "Why'd you even ask me to come here? Are you fucking with me?"

"You've got a lot of nerve coming to me with an attitude when I'm doing you a favor," Fugo replied cooly as he took the piece of paper between two fingers. The glance he spared Narancia's scratchy handwriting was equally as cold. "Ah, you transposed the digits on the address. No wonder you kept walking by my building."

Transposed? What did that mean?

Just like that Narancia's temper shrank back down to a low simmer. He drew back and clutched his coat to his chest as he frowned trying hard to remember everything he could about copying down the directions before he cleaned up for the night. He'd thought he'd been so careful. What did he mess up?

"We should continue this conversation inside." Fugo turned back towards the building again to lead the way to the place where Narancia would soon be staying.

-xxx-

There really wasn't much to Fugo's apartment, but that made sense since the space was only about fifty square meters. The grand tour was almost over before it began.

A small hallway separated the entrance from the rest of the space. It emptied out into a small kitchen that flowed into what would be a decent little living space if Fugo had any furniture. All that he seemed to own were a wooden wardrobe pushed up against a wall in the main area, the small folding cot like someone might use for camping next to it, and the mattress on the floor up in the loft. Calling even half of that furniture was incredibly generous. Only one large window set into the wall directly opposite the stairs up into the loft let in natural light to soften the prisonlike atmosphere.

"And here's the bathroom," Fugo said as he opened the door to what was sadly the most visually interesting part of his home. Instead of plain white like the rest of the walls and floor, the bathroom was tiled in a bright cerulean blue that reflected back light into an almost calming glow.

Narancia politely stared in at the clean, clear glass of the shower cubicle before backing out again to turn towards the main area. He'd thought his childhood home had been bad, but at least he and his father had places to sit and a table to eat at. At least it looked like somebody lived there and not just a bunch of nothing. It was kind of sad that Narancia's coat and bag abandoned in an empty corner were the biggest sign of human presence.

"This place is depressing," Narancia noted. He stared at the cot that was meant to be his bead from now on. Fugo had gotten him some bedding at least, but it was still a shitty little cot,

"Why does it matter what my studio looks like?" Fugo was frowning when he straightened back up from leaning down to slip his shoes off. "You're not here on holiday."

So Fugo was just going to keep being a dick. Alright, whatever. Narancia didn't even bother responding. He was pretty sure his face said everything that needed to be said about how he was feeling.

Fugo ignored Narancia's ire to cross the room and throw his shoes into the bottom of the wardrobe. The brief glimpse Narancia got of the inside showed Fugo at least took a little more care with his personal appearance than that of his home. Bright clothing was hanging inside neatly organized by color with smaller folded pieces on the shelf along the top.

"I suppose there's no point in stalling anymore," Fugo intoned as he turned back around. "Let's get down to business. You don't have what it takes to join Passione. As you are now if I made the arrangements for you to take the initiation tomorrow I'm sure you'd die."

"What?!" Narancia bristled. "Why're you acting like you're so much better than me when I beat your ass yesterday?"

Fugo let out one sharp, sarcastic bark of laughter. "You didn't hurt me."

"Bullshit!" Narancia howled. Favors be damned, Narancia was going to prove that he could hold his own. He just had to repeat his performance from the day before and take Fugo down. This time he'd have the advantage as the attacker instead of being ambushed by surprise, so there was no way he was going to lose.

He shifted his weight to launch himself forward, and his face exploded in a sharp burst of pain leaving him disoriented and unsteady as warm blood dribbled over his lips and down to his chin. Fugo's expression hadn't even changed. One moment Fugo had been standing with his arms crossed and the next he was delivering one, two, three brutal jabs to the middle of Narancia's face and another lower one to the torso that set Narancia to hunching over reflexively to protect his guts.

It was all the same except this time Narancia ended up flat on his back with a softly rumpled Fugo glaring down at him harsh as the electric lights overhead.

"If you let me fucking finish before getting upset over your bruised ego, I was going to say you're not ready now, but I can help you get there, dumbass!" Fugo shouting from up close was getting too familiar too; it wasn't even flinch-worthy anymore. "If you can survive living with me, I'll take you out on some jobs when I feel like you're ready. I don't want your blood on my hands. Well…" Fugo paused to look at the body fluid in question splattered across the backs of his own knuckles. "I don't want your death on my hands anyway. I'd suggest you stop trying to piss me off, or I might actually kill you."

"Fine," Narancia grumbled, suddenly too tired to even try any dirty tricks to fight back.

"I'll pay for your food and laundry. If you want anything else you'll have to figure out how to get it," Fugo added as he got up. He delivered a single sharp kick to Narancia's side. "Clean your blood off the floor, and get yourself washed up. I'm pretty sure I didn't break your nose. You'll be fine."

Narancia would have to be.

The plan hadn't changed at all. Narancia was going to win Fugo over, and he was going to join Buccellati's team. He groaned as he sat up and gently poked around his tender nose to make sure Fugo was right.

"This is gonna suck so hard," Narancia muttered to himself as he heard the stairs creak when Fugo retreated back up to his loft.

-xxx-

The window didn't look out on the patch of street where Fugo had come to Narancia's rescue. It was facing the wrong way entirely.

Narancia poked a new cut on his bottom lip as he watched a man and woman furtively cut some kind of deal outside. Over the few weeks he'd been living with Fugo he'd gotten his ass handed to him more times than he liked to admit. He'd landed a few good hits; Fugo's left eye was still purple. Mostly Narancia was just lucky Fugo wasn't getting angry enough to go for a killing blow again like when he'd choked Narancia out in the alley.

"Here, turn this way," Fugo said quietly as he put a warm hand on Narancia's shoulder.

Narancia flinched away from the sting of antiseptic on the towel Fugo pressed to the new gash in his eyebrow instead. "Ow!"

"Don't be such a baby," Fugo chided him and took a hold of his chin to keep him still for the first aid. "It's not too bad. I don't think I need to stitch this one up."

"Hey…" Narancia couldn't help but watch Fugo's face as he worked. It was the same neutral expression Fugo always wore, but Narancia didn't get it. He didn't get what Fugo was thinking at all.

He was starting to think that maybe he had been going about things all wrong for the past few weeks they'd been living together. Maybe there was no point in trying to prove his toughness by finally beating Fugo in a fight. There had to be some other quality that was important for being in a gang, something Narancia was missing.

"Hmm?" Fugo prompted as he gently twisted Narancia's face this way and that to check his injuries.

That was weird, wasn't it? Why did Fugo bother patching Narancia up after losing the fights he started? Wouldn't it make more sense to leave Narancia to his own devices? Why did Fugo even let Narancia keep living in his apartment with him in the first place? Narancia knew he was being an absolute pain in the ass. He knew Fugo thought it and yet he never found his stuff dumped outside and had his spare key revoked. Fugo still left enough money for Narancia to eat when he had to leave for work for a few days. In the mornings Fugo called out to make sure Narancia was decent before he descended from the loft, and he leaned against the kitchen counter to chat with his guest in the evenings.

"How are old are you?" Narancia realized he didn't know. When Fugo stopped his ministrations to stare in disbelief, Narancia ploughed on, "I'm about to turn sixteen next month on the twentieth. I was just wondering how old you were when Buccellati recruited you. What happened that you ended up, y'know, here?"

Eyebrows slightly furrowed, Fugo just stared some more before he finally took his hands away from Narancia's face and took a step back.

Narancia tensed. If he was punched or slapped again for striking a nerve, for once it would be entirely on accident instead of all the intentional goading he'd been doing lately. Maybe he shouldn't have asked something so personal to try to finally break the ice between them. He should have asked Fugo's favorite color or what kind of music he liked.

"I was still thirteen," Fugo said.

"Huh?" Narancia turned to follow as Fugo left to carry their medical supplies back to the cabinet in the bathroom. "What was that?"

"I was thirteen when Buccellati found me." Fugo smiled wanly at Narancia's reflection in the mirror. "I'm a year younger than you. I only just turned fifteen a few months ago."

"Oh…" Narancia mechanically followed Fugo out of the room again.

He was younger? Narancia never would have guessed. Fugo was younger the whole time and yet he was treating Narancia like such—no, he couldn't think like that. He couldn't get distracted by his own pride. He was making a breakthrough here.

"I," Fugo hesitated and finally turned to look at Narancia full on again. "I'm not going to tell you why I joined. I don't want you to see me differently. I'm sorry."

"No, it's cool. That's okay." Narancia looked at the empty living space around them and thought maybe this was what he was supposed to be doing. Maybe he was supposed to be learning about Fugo, figuring out what Fugo saw in Buccellati worth joining the gang for.

Organizations like Passione were all about loyalty, right? Narancia realized he should probably be proving that he could be trusted. He would be still be working closely with Fugo when he finally got to join Buccellati's team one day after all. It could only help his chances to get accepted if he could prove he and Fugo had a strong bond.

"Hey, Fugo, do you mind if I buy some stuff for your apartment?" Narancia asked. Thinking back on all the things that used to make his old childhood house feel like home, he could imagine the touches Fugo's apartment would need to be just as cozy.

A small table and two chairs would fit perfectly in the kitchen area. Then they'd have room for a couch and a small table to hold a stereo system on the wall opposite Narancia's couch. A bookshelf would fit perfectly next to Fugo's wardrobe. They could even slot in a second wardrobe on its other side to store Narancia's things. Then all they'd really need would be a rug for the floor, albums and books and knickknacks to fill the shelves, curtains for the window, and art for the walls. Maybe a blue vase full of tiger lilies for the counter.

"Sure?" Fugo agreed uncertainly. "It'll be your responsibility to everything you bring here neat and clean though."