Chapter Text
Pannacotta Fugo is a 26 year old working as a tattoo artist at ‘Moody Blues’ in Naples, Italy. Fugo is co-workers with the energetic Narancia Ghirga, who is a shocking year older than him. The two work alongside under the employment of Leone Abbacchio, a grumpy old (32 year old) man and owner of Moody Blues.
Fugo’s days were interesting, coming across different people daily and his boss and co-worker weren’t your everyday people. However everything followed an outline. Abbacchio would greet him grumpily, Narancia is loudly and enthusiastically talking to a client, if Abbacchio is hungover then he’d yell at him to ‘quit yapping around’, they work and then the day ends. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Until today that is.
Fugo was driving into his usual stall in the parking lot. As he looked out of the window he noticed the pink and green flowery shop with ‘Passione’ in large cursive letters, right across from Moody Blues.
That was new. He knew there was a new shop opening but he didn’t really pay attention to it until now.
Fugo continues to pay no mind though. He gets out of his car, carrying his satchel with him. Fugo enters the studio, immediately being greeted by a ‘hey ya!’ from Narancia and a grunt from Abbacchio soon after.
“Hey, what’s the schedule?” Fugo placed his bag behind the office, looking at the time table of clients.
“You have one in an hour so you should start cleaning soon.” Abbacchio leaned back his chair, crossing his arms.
“By the way-“ Narancia, from his place perched on the desk, leaned towards the two. “Did you see the shop across the parking lot? It opened today!”
“I know.” Fugo responded.
“I saw a guy working behind the counter already, he had these weird rolls on his forehead.” Narancia made two circles with his hand, putting them at the base of his forehead.
“I know.” Abbacchio scrunched his nose up. “That kid looks pretentious as hell. I don’t like him.”
“Jesus christ, you don’t even know him.” Fugo rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, how do you know he’s a stick in the mud?” Narancia kicks a leg up in Abbacchio’s direction.
Abbacchio glared at Narancia’s leg in a warning. “Because I’ve lived long enough that I can tell these things from a single look.”
As if on cue, the door bells chimed.
“We’re not open.” Narancia automatically called out.
The trio turned to the door, now looking at a man with a black bob holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Abbacchio…that’s you right?” The man’s blue eyes widen, pointing a finger at Abbacchio.
Fugo and Narancia looked back at their boss. Abbacchio had an expression that can only be described as struck by some emotional bolt of lightning.
“Uh…Bucciarati right?” Abbacchio cleared his throat, trying to casually lift himself out of his chair.
This Bucciarati’s eyes widened even more, except they seemed to be out of delight and relief judging by the smile that began to spread across his face. “Yes! I was scared you wouldn’t remember me.”
Abbacchio walked towards Bucciarati. Fugo and Narancia stood idly by, watching as Abbacchio walked past them. It felt like they were watching something they shouldn’t be watching.
Narancia certainly seemed to agree with this sentiment judging by the look of ‘who the fuck is this guy and why is Abbacchio acting like that?’ he threw Fugo.
Abbacchio let out a breathy chuckle which what the fuck? “Of course. How could I forget the man who told a teacher off for giving a student shit for not being able to afford school lunch?”
“Oh god, you remember that??” Bucciarai laughed, seemingly out of surprise. He hid the lower half of his face behind the bouquet of pink carnations, dahlias, goldenrods, rosemaries, savories, and thyme.
“Yeah, I thought it was badass!” Abbacchio laughed along and now Fugo and Narancia were just worried.
Since when was Abbachio ever this jubilant in the mornings? At 7am on a Monday? Unheard of.
“Uh, Abbacchio!” Narancia hopped off the office desk, strolling up beside him. “So, who is this?”
The two of them knew Narancia knew, had already seen Bucciarati that morning and that he worked at Passione across the parking lot judging by the pink apron the man had over his white-black-tear-dotted sweater.
“Oh, this is Bruno Bucciarati, an acquaintance from highschool.” Abbacchio then turned to his employees with disinterest. Funny. “Bucciarati, these are my employees. This is Narancia and that’s Fugo.”
Bruno gave a polite smile to the two of them. “Pleased to meet you. I’m working at the flower shop across from here so I hope we get acquainted in the meantime.”
Fugo gave a simple wave but Narancia was jumping up and down like the human chihuahua he was. “Nice to meet you. Anyways what was Abbacchio like in highschool!? Was he always a grumpy old man?”
“Okay that’s enough-” Abbacchio pushed Narancia behind him, walking closer to Bruno. “I really appreciate the flowers. I’ll be sure to swing by some time.” Abbacchio took the bouquet from Bruno, leading him to the door.
“I’ll be sure to do the same.” Bruno nodded at him. “I’ll see you around then?”
“Sure. Sounds great.” Abbacchio shook his head, giving the younger one a smile.
The two said their goodbyes and Narancia scoffed, turning to Fugo. “Oh they’re definitely in love.”
“You.” Abbacchio whipped his head towards Narancia, making the boy let out an ‘eep!’ “You’re cleaning Fugo’s station and throwing away his needles when he’s done.”
“What!?” Narancia yelled out while Fugo snickered in the background. “But I have a client at 8!”
“Oh don’t worry, this tattoo is a small one.” Fugo stepped from behind Narancia, clapping him on the shoulder.
“C’moon!!” Narancia groaned to the ceiling,
And sure enough, Fugo did finish a solid 15 minutes before Narancia’s first client, giving him ample time to clean and replace his station tools before moving onto his own.
<>
It was the next day, aka Fugo’s Nonna’s birthday. And fuuuckk, Fugo didn’t have a gift for her.
Which, his Nonna wouldn’t care. As long as Fugo visited her and spent time with her she’d be happy.
But Fugo would bury himself six feet under the ground with burning shame if he dared show up at the doorstep of the only person who ever properly raised him without a show of appreciation for her. Fugo closed out the studio, Narancia ended on an early shift and Abbacchio wasn’t in today.
On the way to his car Fugo found himself spacing out, subconsciously looking at Passione. A flower shop, and it seemed like it was still open judging by the light shining out from inside the shop…
Oh! Of course! Fugo can just get flowers! Nonna loves her flowers!
Fugo sped past his car and straight towards Passione. Fugo opened the door. Like there's a bell chimed, but unlike theirs the bell sounded more like a light and pleasant jingle. Compared to theirs, theirs was loud and sudden. Or maybe that was just because there was an alarm effect on the bell where hearing it gave Fugo momentary panic.
Anyways, Fugo was in the shop. The shop was full of flowers (no shit) and the pink was full of white and pink, with green accents.
“Welcome.” Fugo turned his attention away from the fake metal ladybugs decorating the shelves that held bundles of flowers. In front of him, the direction the really smooth voice came from, was a blonde boy with three rolls sitting pretty on his forehead.
The mental image of Narancia putting his finger circles at his forehead came up and it took everything in Fugo not to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh deeply.
“Oh hey.” Fugo nodded, looking away because eye contact with a total stranger at 8pm at night was hard.
“Are you…looking for anything?” Fugo looked up at the blonde, confused before oh he was here for flowers. The main reason why he was here and the main selling point of this fucking shop.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah! Uh…” Fugo stepped closer because talking to the blonde worker while standing 2 feet away from the door was weird and awkward. “It’s my nonna’s birthday and I forgot to get her a gift not because I don’t love or care for her I do just a lot has been going on and these things tend to slip by so I wanted to get her something before I visit her tonight and —and sorry I’m rambling aren’t I?”
The blonde let out a laugh. Or Fugo thinks he did. It was more of a huff, like an amused scoff. Except his eyes didn’t portray a change of emotion from the stare he was giving Fugo near the door and his lips barely moved up to show physical signs of laughter or amusement.
“You’re fine. That’s quite sweet of you. Does your nonna have a specific flower she favors?”
Fugo looks up in thought. “She likes chrysanthemums but she’ll love anything really…”
“That’s perfect! Do you want a bouquet or a single flower?”
“Uh, bouquet.” She could put it in one of her vases, maybe put it outside her balcony.
“Great. Would you like to request any other particular flower in the bouquet?”
“No, I —uh, I trust your judgement.” Fugo drummed his fingers against the wooden green countertop.
The blonde nodded at him and began floating about the shop, it was as if he already knew what he wanted to pick and where to go. Fugo waited awkwardly, glancing at the florist from time to time but making sure to look away before he turned around and got caught.
Within a few seconds the blonde came back with a bouquet-full of flowers. “Here, we have white chrysanthemums. daisies, yellow lilies, and hot pink peonies.” The blonde began wrapping the bundle in chiffon, tying it off with a neat bow. “For fillers, I decided to add some heathers in between here and there.”
The blonde handed Fugo the bouquet. “That’ll be 40,767 lira.”
“Oh. Oh! Thanks!” Fugo took out his money, getting a few bills out for the florist to take.
The blonde began cashing his money in cashier. “Would you like to write a note card as well? Don’t worry, it’s free of charge.”
Fugo thought for a second. He loves his nonna, he has no problem telling her that. But he knew, they both knew, he wasn’t the best at verbally expressing proper appreciation.
“Sure.” Fugo shrugged.
The blonde nodded, taking out a tiny notecard and a fountain pen. “What do you want it to say?”
“Oh, I thought —Can I-??” Fugo gestured awkwardly to the pen and card and god what was up with him tonight? Was he this nervous about seeing his nonna?
“Oh, sure!” The blonde handed him the pen and the card, to which Fugo grabbed it from his hands and woah.
Was that a bolt of electricity that just shot up his arm?
It was weird though so Fugo quickly pulled his hands away, wondering if the blonde felt that electricity too. But Fugo began writing, and hoping this guy doesn’t see this card because it’s…well he’s not ashamed of his love and appreciation for his nonna but it’s embarrassing okay??
Fugo wrote something simple, something that’s enough to get his message across because his nonna knows Fugo isn’t the most emotionally in touch guy.
‘Thank you for raising me to be the man I am. I hope you had a good year, here’s to another!
Love, your Panni’
Fugo capped the pen and folded the card up, handing it to the florist. “Here.”
The florist nodded. He took the card and slipped a piece of thin ribbon through a tiny hole punched in the corner. The florist tied the ribbon around the bouquet and thus, Fugo’s last minute gift was ready.
“Happy birthday to your nonna.” The blonde hands the bundle of flowers to Fugo.
“Thank you.” Fugo took his bouquet, giving the pretty blonde with the weird curls a smile before turning around.
The blonde stared after him, a smile unknown to Fugo sitting pretty on his equally pretty face.
<>
Giorno Giovana is a 25 year old working as a florist at ‘Passione’ in Naples, Italy. Giorno is co-workers with the…interesting Guido Mista, who quite possibly has the most appalling fashion sense he had ever seen on a man. The two work alongside under the employment of Bruno Bucciarati, a strict but calming young (31 year old) man and owner of Passione.
Giorno was entering a new era in his life. After spending his days waiting tables and living paycheck to paycheck, Bruno was finally able to open up his flower shop and gladly hired him. However, Giorno was not ready for the revelation he would be met with during his first week of working. Bruno was always the first one to be at the shop, giving Giorno a gentle good morning as he took a sip from his coffee flask. If Mista was early that day (usually he wasn’t) he’d either be dozing off in the backroom or complaining about being up so early in the morning. It was a nice routine Giorno felt like he could get used to.
Until that very day, that is.
Giorno’s second day working went as it normally would. He gave out flowers, told his customer’s the meanings, tried desperately drilling the meanings in Mista’s head so he can stop calling him over to explain them instead.
And then 9:15 pm rolled around, 45 minutes before his shift ended and he had to close the shop.
Panni came through the door. Or, that’s what Giorno thinks his name is. He didn’t read the notecard Panni wrote on completely but he needed a name at least.
But the notecard said ‘your Panni’ specifically, so for all Giorno knew it could just be a nickname his nonna gave him.
But ‘Panni’ was all Giorno had at the moment and who is a beggar to chose?
But anyways, Panni. The man was…endearing to say the least.
Giorno instantly recognized him as one of the workers from the tattoo shop across the parking lot. One because Giorno saw him come back from what he presumed was his lunch break and go into the shop while he was feeding the stray cats near the shop and two because Panni had quite the tattoos.
Panni did wear long sleeved sweaters and jeans but those long sleeved sweaters and jeans were ripped, torn to shreds and had many holes in them. In between the rips and holes, Giorno managed to see strawberries trailing up Panni’s left arm —which was adorable because Panni also wore strawberry earrings and a strawberry buckle on his belt.
He must really love his strawberries.
But that's besides the point. On the gigantic rips on his left leg, Giorno saw some weird purple creature with a galactic helmet. It was checkered with purple and white, the creature had stitches on his mouth and he was foaming at the mouth and a crazed look in his eyes.
On his right arm, there seemed to be binary code inked with red trailing down from his wrist to his forearm. Giorno didn’t understand binary code so he couldn’t decode it on the spot, nor could he memorize it for later because parts of Panni’s sweater were covering some other numbers.
There were smaller designs here and there, like the red stitches going down his neck, and the green lines tracing the veins of Panni’s left arm.
Very interesting, especially to the tattoo-less Giorno Giovana. Unless you’d like to count the star shaped birthmark on his shoulder blade as one.
But as many tattoos and as many ear piercings as Panni had, he was so awkward. The awkwardly hovering to the door before painfully walking closer to Giorno. The stuttering and ‘uh’s and ‘oh’s Panni threw in for filler. Based on first impressions Giorno thought of Panni was a guy that could beat him up if he wanted to. Now he was a flower cell Giorno wanted to out under a microscope and study.
Such an interesting character.
Which brings us to today. Giorno and Bruno were opening the shop today. While Giorno was cleaning out the flowers, making sure there aren’t any wilted or dead ones in the displays, Bruno came out from the back.
As he thought so. In his hands were a bouquet of forget-me-nots, lilacs, anemones, gladiolus, and the italian asters, filled with dusty millers stuck in between.
“You know, with the meanings and color pallette it doesn’t seem like those bouquets are just for the shop…” Giorno pointed out, plucking a wilted cosmo out of its bundle.
Bruno froze, blinking at Giorno in surprise before he laughed, clearly trying to recover. “Of course it would seem that way, the only one I actually know out of the three of them is Leone after all.”
Giorno’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. ‘Leone? First name basis already?’
“Sure thing. If you say so.” Giorno left it at that, and so did Bruno as he hurried out of their shop.
He wonders how things are from Panni’s end. From the few times Giorno saw Abbacchio, he seems like a huge grouch. He wondered if that seemingly cold heart melted at Bruno’s affections the way Bruno seemed to smile giddily as he told Giorno about another high school memory Abbacchio brought up.
The bell chimed and Giorno turned around on instinct. “That was fast-“
He cut himself off when Giorno saw that Bruno was not at the door and it definitely wasn’t Mista mixing up his shifts. It was Panni.
“Sorry, I know you guys probably aren’t open yet but…” Panni paused, strolling further into the shop and closer to Giorno.
Giorno stood frozen, wide eyed and staring as Panni walked closer and closer. Eventually the only thing separating himself from the albino was the armful of wilted flowers in Giorno’s arms.
“I just really didn’t want to be in the same room as Abbacchio and your boss while….that was happening.” Panni whispered before standing back.
Giorno stared at him, silent, mostly because Giorno got a big whiff of honey lotion and strawberries and that was really distracting.
“Oh but don’t worry! I do have an actual excuse to be here!” Panni awkwardly broke the awkward stare off, pulling a sketchbook from his side.
The cover was decorated neatly with stickers and the warped and colored edges of the paper suggested great use. “I thought I could use your flowers as a reference?”
Giorno blinked before shaking his head. “Of course. Draw what catches your eye.” Giorno quickly nods, before going back to his cleanup.
Panni took a gander around, peering at the different shelves of flowers and sketching. Giorno was swiftly done with his clean up, resorting to staring at the albino looking back and forth intensely between his sketchbook and the rose that was his muse.
Now that Giorno thought about it, they were alone and they could talk right about now-
“Fugo!” The bell chimed and panting slightly at the door was a short, black haired guy that Giorno definitely would have mistaken for a teen if he wasn’t covered in tats and piercings.
The guy marched into the shop, towards Fugo and —wait his name was Fugo? “First of all, fuck you for leaving me to deal with Abbacchio and Bucciarati making googly eyes at each other!”
Giorno was kind of sad. He thought Panni was a cute name for an albino. He wondered where the nickname came from. But Giorno managed to get Fugo’s name —real name— and he was glad about that.
“And second of all, we’re opening in 15 so you better get your ass over here.”
Fugo huffed, snapping his notebook shut and standing up. “Quit being rude, this isn’t our store. Also you could have just called me?”
Who Giorno assumed was Fugo’s coworker, turned to him and gave a polite (and very big) smile. “Sorry for disturbing you!”
Giorno blinked himself out of his Fugo-ridden state of mind, quickly comprehending the fact that someone was speaking to him and gave a polite smile back. “Don’t worry about it. We open around the same time anyways.”
“Thank you.” The guy nodded at Giorno before looking at Fugo with an eye roll. “Anyways I needed some time away from…yeah.”
The guy gave a mock-shiver, speed walking to Fugo. “Fugo they’re giggling and I’m sick to my stomach.” The guy clutched desperately onto Fugo’s red cardigan.
“Okay, fine, I’ll go! We’ll go.” Fugo ripped his coworker’s hands from his cardigan and began walking to the doors.
Before going too ahead, Fugo turned to Giorno and gave him a smile. Giorno felt like it wasn’t normal to note that this was the first time Giorno’s seen Fugo smile. “Thanks for letting me stay for a bit, and for yesterday —uh…”
Fugo’s smile quickly dropped, just now realizing he didn’t know Giorno’s name. Lucky him because Giorno was so willing and so down to give Fugo that information. “Oh, Giorno. And it’s no problem really. I wouldn’t mind if you came back.”
Yes! Invitation, a tactic to getting what you want. This was something his father always taught him.
“Giorno. I'll….take you up on that offer!” That smile was brought back and Giorno found himself smiling back. An actual smile, not any of that customer service bullshit.
“Okay, bye Giorno!” Fugo’s co-worker yelled out quickly before dragging him towards the door. “You’re on cleaning duty!”
“Huh!? I don’t have an appointment until 10!?”
“You know the rules, if you’re not tatting you’re cleaning babey!!!”
“Oi, Nara-“ Fugo was dragged out of the door and across the street.
Giorno stared after the albino stumbling down the parking lot. God he hopes Fugo takes him up on that offer.
<>
“Do you think about getting a tattoo?” Abbacchio tapped the end of his pen against the table, looking up at Bruno with a hint of anticipation.
“Actually I already have one.” Bruno’s eyes lit up and as soon as Fugo saw Bruno’s hands go to the buttons on his collar, that was his cue.
“I’m going on break!” Fugo announced, strolling past the couple that have yet to date and out of the studio, sketchbook in hand.
Fugo let his feet take him to their chosen destination. And so they chose Passione. Fugo held the door open for a lavender haired man holding a single blue orchid.
Fugo entered the shop himself, looking up to see Giorno smiling gently at him and christ this afternoon light was hitting him just right. “Hello, Fugo. Came here for a break?”
“Yeah, from those two.” Fugo muttered. He sat himself down on the extra stool behind the counter.
He pulled the bouquet of pink and white roses closer to him and opened to a fresh new page.
“Bucciarati talking about it is…quite enough. I’m grateful that Abbacchio doesn’t come here instead.” Giono sighed, turning around to rest his lower back against the counter.
“You should be.” Fugo rolled his eyes. “I don’t see what Bucciarati sees in Abbacchio. Bucciarati seems like a good, sensible man and Abbacchio, I respect him too but….he’s so Abbacchio.” Fugo maturely sticks his finger in his mouth in a gagging motion.
Giorno let out a surprised chuckle, making Fugo involuntary smile along with him. “Well I haven’t actually officially met Abbacchio so I wouldn’t know.”
Giorno was right, which makes Fugo eye roll even harder whenever Abbacchio makes some comment about Giorno’s supposed prissiness from across the parking lot.
“You look at him and you just know.” Fugo sighs, shaking his head as he continues his sketch.
“Giorno!” Fugo heard an unfamiliar voice behind him and, on instinct, turned around and by golly what the fuck was this guy wearing?
The tall man that seemed to have manifested from the back rooms was wearing the tackiest pair of tiger striped pants Fugo had ever seen, along with a blue and white argyle —was the sweater fucking cropped? Under that pink apron? And for the nastiest cherry on top, the man was wearing more argyle print, accept it was on his beanie that this man was wearing in the spring of Italy but the color theme for this hat was red and blue.
With how well dressed Giorno and even Bruno were, how the hell does this guy fit into all of this? Did they really need to fill out the ‘employee with horrendous fits’ requirement as a company? (Which makes him wonder, which one of them at Moody Blues filled out that requirement?)
“I’m writing out this order for a pickup, what the fuck do forget-me-nots mean??”
Fugo began rubbing at his temples. This guy cannot be for real.
Giorno sighed and Fugo suspected this must be a regular occurance between the two. “Forget-me-nots represent true love and respect, Mista. It’s to convey to someone that you will always remember them, with that being said forget-me-nots can also symbolize faithfulness and fidelity.”
“True love, respect, also faithfulness. Got it. Oh shit the tattoo guy is here! What’s up bro?” Mista took two quick strides towards Fugo, hand up in dap.
Fugo rose a brow at the hand but dapped him up anyways. He had to keep himself from flinching at just how hard Mista clapped him on the shoulder.
"What's up bro? Uuuh, sorry what's your name??"
"Fugo." Fugo nodded stifly and Mista pulled away from him.
"Siick! I'm Mista, Giorno's coworker and bestie." Mista smirked, rubbing his hands together and
instantly the guy reminded him of Narancia.
"You're not my bestie. Anyways shouldn't you be writing up that order right now?"
"Oh fuck you're so right. I'll catch y'all later. And I'll defintly let you know if I decide whether or not I'm getting 'GARFIELD' tatted across my knuckles. Peace!" Mista turned back into the back room, throwing up a peace sign as we went.
Fugo sighed, thumping the end of his pencil against his forehead. “He reminds me of Narancia.”
“The guy that dragged you out of the shop the other day?” Giorno muses.
“Yeah.” Fugo leans back, looking back at Giorno. “I think he even said that he wanted to get a Garfield tattoo at some point too. But I didn’t know if that was just because his favorite color is orange.”
Giorno did that huff-laugh, except this time it was a genuine laugh and his eyes conveyed some sparkle of amusement. “They should be matching!”
“The world would end if they became friends.”
Giorno began laughing at that and Fugo felt a smile spread across his own face. Something told him it wasn’t super common for Giorno to laugh.
<>
Giorno came home, toeing his loafers off before entering the living room. He was ready to wind down, maybe have the nice leftover cannolis from last night-
“Giornooo!!!” The blonde deadpanned, officially entering the living room to see his roommate and real bestie draped over the couch.
Trish Una had her arm draped dramatically over her eyes. Giorno wouldn’t put it past her to have sat on the couch for the better part of an hour waiting for him to come home so she can put on her little show.
“Triiishh.” Giorno said, monotone as he placed his bag on the coffee table.
Trish huffed, turning over to face Giorno with her chin perched on the arm of the chair. “You said there’s a tattoo shop across where you work right? I want a tattoo!!”
“Do you even know what you want to get?” Giorno crossed his arms.
“No.” Trish pouted. “But wouldn’t I look pretty with one? My dad has one.”
“Sure. Is this you asking me to get you connections?”
“Well I’m not asking you just for that!” Trish rolled her eyes.
She paused for a second.
“Although…” There it is. “It would be nice if you do have connections….have you ever met any of the tattoo artists there?”
“Only two of them.” This time Giorno was the one that paused.
“You would probably mesh well with Narancia but I haven’t talked to him as much…”
“And the other one?” Trish moved into a seating position, leaning forward on her elbows now.
Giorno began thinking. He doesn’t know anything about tattooing, or what makes a good tattoo artist. On the other hand, Fugo just…he gives off the vibes that he’s a good tattoo artist. His own tattoos seemed well tatted, and pretty. Giorno didn’t get to see the actual sketches Fugo produces in the shop but Fugo just seemed like he knew what he was doing.
“I’ve only talked to Fugo a few times but I like him.” Giorno said it simply.
“Oh, you like him?” Trish rose a brow.
“Yeah, he’s nice.” Giorno shrugged, moving to sit down on the other side of the couch.
A moment of silence stretched between the two. Giorno was just about to get up, announce that he was going to shower and eat that sweet sweet cannoli-
“What do you really think about him?”
“Jesus.” Giorno looked out of the corner of his eye to see that yes, Trish had just teleported right beside him with her face all up in his business.
“I know you Giorno. You know that I know you, Giorno.” Trish glared at him. “If you didn’t give a single shit about this guy you’d give me a rundown of everything you know about him.”
Giorno sighs, leaning further into the couch. “You’re right. So here, a few days ago Fugo came in because he needed a gift for his nonna. And he was awkward. He was stuttering, it’s like he didn’t really know what to do with himself.”
“Ew. Or is he just flabbergasted by your beauty?”
Giorno swatted at her, rolling his eyes. “No, I just don’t think he was expecting to go into a flower shop at what, nine at night? It was very last minute okay?”
“Suurreee, whatever you say.” Trish rolled her eyes.
“Anyways, he was awkward but…in an interesting way.” Giorno shrugged, smiling shyly. “Because he seemed like this cool guy with all these tattoos and piercings —and he still is, but it’s…you know when the bad boy in your kdramas are all soft and mushy with the love interest?” He turns to Trish.
“Oh!” Trish jumped up. “Like when Junpyo saved Jandi from being bullied and he was like ‘I believe you’! Like that??”
Giorno slowly nodded. “Yeah…sure.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful Giorno!” Trish clasped her hands together, the drama-seeking part of her personality taking over and glossing her eyes over. “Oh, he’s going to act all tough but he’s going to be such a softie isn’t he??”
“Okay, you don’t even know him.” Giorno placed a hand on Trish’s arm in an attempt to try and ground her.
“You’re right!” Trish settled down, placing her hands over her mouth. She removes them. “Continue.” She covers her mouth again.
Giorno playfully rolls her eyes. “Right. That came and went but we did see each other this morning. Bucciarati went to deliver his flowers to Fugo’s boss and I guess he wanted to get away from that so he came by our shop.” Giorno shrugs casually, even if Fugo did tell him that he wanted to get away from their boss’s pining.
Trish gasped. “So he came to see you!?”
“He came to sketch the flowers.” Giorno corrected her.
Trish rolled her eyes. “Sure, that, but did you guys like…talk?”
“No…” Giorno frowned. “I was cleaning and he was sketching. I wanted to but before I could he had to get to work.” He sighed, deeply, almost slumping in on himself.
Trish nodded at him. Slowly, a grin spread itself across her face and she clasped her hand on his arm, shaking it vigorously. “Giorno!! You totally have a crush!”
“No I don't. I don’t even know him.” Giorno scoffed, shaking Trish off his arm.
“Ah, but you want to know more about him! I know you Giorno and I know you know I know you-“
“I need a shower.”
“And you need a boyfriend, lonely fuck!” Trish yelled out to Giorno as he stood up and began his journey to the bathroom.
“Pot kettle black.”
“Oh you bitch!”
Giorno shut the door behind him, sighing. He turned to the bathroom sink and something caught his eye. It was a new lotion Trish got.
‘Strawberry shortcake’ huh. He wondered if Fugo would like it if he began using this.
<>
“We’ll pass the mansion’s byyyyy!!” Narancia bopped to the Scott Pilgrim song playing on the speakers. “Drive right there the needles eye oh no-“
Narancia paused his needle sanitizationing. “My. My my, my my.” He went back into dancing in place.
“We have a spot open for a 1-3pm block on the 16th.” Abbacchio informed the client via phone call, spinning idly in his office chair.
The bells chimed and Abbacchio turned around, expecting it to be the tall guy with the green dreads that scheduled an appointment with Narancia that begins in about 20 minutes but actually it was-
“Oh god it’s you.” Giorno paused, looking at Abbacchio incredulously.
“Don’t mind me. If it works for you I’ll put you in our schedule.” Abbacchio turned back to his computer, inputting the client in for their 1-3pm time block set for 16th. “If you have any other questions you can email me at [email protected] or call this number again for either me or one of my employees to get back to you. Yes, thank you for considering us to give you your tattoo. Alright, bye.”
Abbacchio hung up, turning his attention (and glare) to the blonde boy standing patiently in front of him. “You. What do you want?”
Giorno seems unphased by Abbacchio’s rudeness. “Hello Abbacchio. I’m Giorno Giovanna, I work at Passione from across the street.”
“I know. I asked you what you wanted.” Abbacchio scrunched his nose up. Who the fuck is this kid, introducing his full name like he’s hot shit.
“Well, I wanted to ask about getting a tattoo. See, my friend said she-“
“Tell your friend if she wants to know anything about tattoos she can do her own research or come here herself. Don’t you have work right now?”
Giorno clenched his teeth but kept his composure. “Actually I’m on break. Mista and Bucciarati already have things covered-“
“Wait, Bruno’s working today?”
“Abbacchio.” Said man and Giorno turned to see a very tall man with gray hair walking from…the tattoo room?
Sure looked like it. The guy had his neck wrapped in saran wrap, where a freshly tattooed pair of scissors is etched into his throat.
“Thanks again, I know I can always trust you guys.” The man reached over, giving Abbacchio a firm handshake.
“Of course. Come back anytime, Risotto.” The men nodded at each other.
Risotto dug into his pocket for a few lira bills. “Give this to Fugo, by the way. I know he’d refuse my tip anyways.” as
Abbaccio chuckled. “Of course he would. I’ll slip it in his bag or some shit.” He took the money from the larger man.
Risotto gave Abbacchio a grin before going on his merry way. He gave Giorno a quick nod before making his way out of the door.
Giorno turned back. “Fugo’s working today?”
Abbacchio’s expression immediately soured. “I forgot you were still here. And yeah, he’s busy. Now unless you’re here for an actual reason, get.”
Giorno huffed. He was about to go on his own merry way but-
“Giorno?” Said blonde stopped, turning to see Fugo standing in the doorway of the tattoo room, a trash bag in hand and a container of used needles in the other.
“Fugo.” Giorno breathed out, smiling at him.
Fugo gave Giorno a smile back before turning to Abbacchio. “I’m going to put these in your car.”
Before Abbacchio could protest he was already on the move. He stopped next to Giorno before he passed him. “I’m going on break after this so we can talk after?”
Giorno beamed, almost smugly because he can simply sense the look of disbelief Abbacchio had on his face at the scene unfolding before his very eyes. “I’d love that.”
Fugo nodded before going on his merry way to dump trash into the trunk of Abbacchio’s car.
Giorno turned to Abbacchio, a bastardous grin on his face.
Abbacchio sneered back at him. “Get in the back before you run us off some potential clients.”
Giorno shrugged innocently making his way back into the backroom, waiting for Fugo.
<>
Bzzzt
Bzzzzzzzzzzt.
Bzztzzztztztzztzzzzztztzzzzt-
“Shut the fuck up!” The door in front of Fugo was forcefully opened, revealing his best friend and partner in crime against the world.
“Move it, Sheila.” Fugo forced his way into her tiny apartment that was currently being blasted with The White Stripes.
“Jeez, not even a ‘hi’?” Sheila E rolled her eyes, following Fugo onto her shaggy carpet, where the albino proceeded to lay down on.
His hands were folded neatly against his stomach as he proceeded to stare up at her popcorn textured ceiling.
“You told me to shut the fuck up.” Fugo glared at her.
“Cause you needed to.” Sheila E rolled her eyes, again, and moved to lay beside him.
One hand rested on her stomach, one rested beneath her head as a pillow and with one knee up, she propped her other leg against it. “So what’s up? You didn’t even give me a text you were coming over.”
Fugo breathed out deeply. “What does having a crush feel like?”
Sheila E’s face twisted in disgust. “Ew. You like someone?”
“I don’t know dipshit. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Oh my goddd.” Hands ran down the woman’s face as she groaned. “I’m not good at this stuff please go to Murolo.”
“Ew, what the fuck, I’m not going to talk to my former professor about a potential crush I have on a guy. That’s weird.” Fugo scoffed, seemingly offended that Sheila E even had this thought in the first place.
“And staying friends with him isn’t?” Sheila E muttered under breath. “Fine. Fine! Give me some context first, will ya? Who’s the guy??”
Fugo tapped his finger against the knuckle of his other hand and idly shook his foot back and forth. “Remember that flower shop I was telling about? That opened up across from us?”
“That’s where Abbacchio’s crush works, yeah?”
“That’s the one.”
“I getcha.”
“So anyways, there’s this other guy that works there. His name is Giorno and lord have mercy he is gorgeous, Sheila.”
“Stay focused.” Sheila E gently patted Fugo on his arm.
“No, no, no no no.” Fugo quickly sat up. “This guy…I’ve seen pretty people. People like born pretty and no matter what they do they’ll never be ugly. Giorno is like that but like —tenfold, Sheila.”
Fugo turned to Sheila E, as if to emphasize his points. “It’s like Leonardo Da Vinci painted him and he came to life.”
“Okay, he’s pretty, can you please move on?” Sheila closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
“Okay, you’re right!” Fugo put his hands up in surrender before flopping back down on the carpet. “Okay, so, we started talking a few days ago. I forgot to get Nonna a gift for her birthday-“
“Ass.”
Fugo swatted at his friend. “-so I went to Passione, that’s what the shop is called by the way, to get a bouquet. Because Passione sells flowers-“
“Okay we get it.”
“Anyways, he was the one that helped me and yeah I mentally acknowledged that he was pretty but like why did it make me nervous? Like I looked like a fucking fool the first time we met! I was stuttering and I didn’t know how to stand, where to put my hands, Sheila, if you saw me you would never let me live it down.”
“Oh, for sure.” Sheila E nodded confidently.
“And yeah, so that went and we just sorta kept seeing each other? And sometimes I would go visit him at Passione and at first I thought it was just to get away from the weird ass smiles Abbacchio gives to Bucciarati or because I wanted to practice drawing flowers but…but I find myself more excited to see him.” Fugo sighed wistfully.
Fugo turned towards Sheila E, maneuvering his body so that he was laying on his side instead. “He said that he’s thinking about getting a tattoo and he wants me to do it for him.”
Sheila E turned her head to look back at him. “Or maybe he thinks Narancia’s too much of a nut to trust him. How is he with Abbacchio?”
“Oh Abbacchio hates him.”
“Typical.” Sheila E muses.
“Anyways, what do you think?” Fugo muses back.
Sheila E breathed out a painful sigh and turned back to the ceiling. “I don’t know if he likes you or whatever but you sure as hell like him.”
“I do??” Fugo furrows his eyebrows, incredibly so.
“Oh my god please get out of my apartment.”
<>
“I’m so fucking tired.” Narancia groans, dropping his bag down on the couch of the backroom.
“I know.” Abbacchio rolls his eyes, taking some aspirin and downing that shit with water.
“No, this time it’s different.” Narancia slumped on the couch adjacent to the loveseat Abbachio was sitting on. “You’ve seen it right? It’s….oh it is so nasty.”
“What is?” Abbachhio had his eyebrows furrowing, concerned as to what Narancia was referring to.
“You know…them! You see the way they act with each other right? They couldn’t be anymore obvious!”
Abbacchio sat back, rolling his eyes. “If you don’t give me a straight answer I’m going to start ignoring you.”
Narancia barked out a laugh. “That is so funny because they aren’t even straight! I’m talking about Fugo and Giorno!”
Abbachhio scoffed. “You’re right. What the hell does an exceptional worker like Fugo see in that brat?”
“What? No, Giorno’s chill.” Narancia frowns, confused. “It’s like with you! You and Fugo don’t have a single romantic bone in your bodies and suddenly you’re smitten for some damn florists! When is it my turn to fall in love in October!?”
“It’s April..what do you mean Fugo and I?”
The bell out front rang, followed by an ‘anybody hooome??’
Definitely not Fugo also they were still closed? After exchanging an equal look of confusion, annoyance, concern, and even a little worry, Abbacchio and Narancia made their way into the front of the studio.
The two artists were met with a tall, tan man, wearing a windbreaker jacket, a cropped sweater and a beanie in the middle of the Italy spring.
The man smiled wide up at them, too wide for 8 in the morning. “Hey, sorry you guys aren’t open but, see, I work at Passione up ahead and we’re both going to be very busy by opening? So I thought I’d swing by and make my appointment while I still had time.”
Abbacchio was looking at the man with pure annoyance and disdain while Narancia was fighting for his life trying to keep his eyes above this man’ bare torso.
“S-sure. What’re you thinkin’ or gettin’?” Narancia jumbled, not quite prepared to put on his usual show of energy for clients.
“Okay! I was talking about this with my buddy at work and I want ‘GARFIELD’ tatted across my knuckles. That’d be pretty cool, right?” The man smiled smugly, nodding at his own genius ideas.
Narancia gulped but then the man continued on, snapping his fingers in remembrance. “Oh yeah! Do you mind if I get it done by Fugo too? He’s the man!”
“Oh. I think Fugo’s booked and full right now actually!” Narancia forced a large smile on his face.
Abbacchio looked beside him, raising a brow. “What? No he’s-“
“Actually let’s check our timetable to see what times are available for you to come in!” Narancia took Abbacchio’s wrist, dragging him behind the desk.
Narancia bent down to the laptop, pulling Abbacchio down with him. “I think I’m in love.”
“Hm. Smells like October.” Abbacchio hums.
Narancia glares at his boss before actually booting up the laptop and signing in when he realizes that he did actually have to look at the timetable to schedule this guy’s appointment.
“You work at Passione right? I don’t think we’ve met before.” Abbacchio smoothly asks.
“I guess so! Bucciarati’s sure told me a lot about you.” The guy mutters under his breath before speaking up. “The name’s Mista! Pleased to meet’cha!”
Narancia looked up from his laptop and his eyes caught in a stare with Mista. Those pools of black scrunched up before winking at him and Narancia nearly passed out behind the desk.
<>
Giorno looked out of the window. It was 10pm and raining down on the Naples city of Italy. Looking back at the bus times pulled up on his phone, Giorno saw that his bus wasn’t running anymore.
Giorno pulled up his texts with Trish, rereading.
Golden Boy:Hey, when do you get off work?
pretty girl wonder ~:recording’s going until 11. can u get home?
Golden Boy:Bus isn’t running
pretty girl wonder ~:oh shit
pretty girl wonder ~:are any of ur workers there? maybe they can give u a lift?
Golden Boy:No
Golden Boy:I’m the only one here
pretty girl wonder ~:christ giorno
pretty girl wonder ~:sry but u gotta wait
pretty girl wonder ~:or u can just run in the rain or
Golden Boy:No
Golden Boy:I’ll figure something out, if not I can wait
pretty girl wonder ~:okay :(
pretty girl wonder ~:good luck :(
Giorno frowned. He sighed, looking out of the door once more.
Between the heavy raindrops, he saw a figure walk towards a car. There was a blur of white and red and suddenly a lightbulb lit up above Giorno’s head.
Giorno opened the door and sure enough, Fugo was walking towards his car with a strawberry umbrella for shelter.
Giorno hesitated but he was in a really desperate situation right now, so he felt like he should get a pass on what he was about to do.
“Fugo!” Giorno ran straight into the rain.
He sees the albino look back at him, shocked and extremely worried. “Giorno!?”
Giorno stopped in front of him, now soaking to the bone. “Hey! Sorry, my bus isn’t running and my friend is at work right now. Do you know if you can give me a ride back home?”
“Wh-yes! Holy shit get in the fucking car!” Giorno rushes to the passenger seat and Fugo quickly gets into the driver’s seat.
Fugo looked at Giorno before sighing. He took his jacket off, handing it to Giorno. “Here.”
“Oh, thanks. And sorry.” Giorno cringed at the feeling of his wet pants sat against the car seats.
“No, it’s fine.” Fugo waves him off. He sticks his keys in the ignition, starting up his car. “I’d rather you get my seats wet as shit than have you stuck in there for god knows how long.”
“Right. Oh, but do you want me to put my address in your phone so you know where to go?”
“Oh yeah!” Fugo reached for his phone, quickly unlocking it before handing it to Giorno.
Giorno adds his address into the gps before putting Fugo’s phone on the stand attached to the dashboard.
“But you know you could have just texted me right?” Fugo added, pulling up into the streets.
Giorno looked back at him. “But I don’t have your number?”
Fugo looked at the road with a confused face before realization hit him. “Oh god, yeah, you’re right! Sorry, I just sorta thought that…” Fugo laughed weakly, trailing off.
It was clear that he was obviously embarrassed yet it all seemed oddly cute to Giorno.
“Don’t worry about it.” He chuckled. “Actually…I was wondering if I could get your number?”
Fugo’s eyes widened, looking back at him for a second before keeping his eyes on the road. “You want my number?”
“Sure.” Giorno shrugged, trying to seem super casual and super suave to hide the heart currently racing in his chest. “We’re friends now aren’t we?”
Fugo opened his mouth at first, closing it and then nodding firmly. “Of course! Yeah! Uh, how about I tell you my number and you can put it in your phone?”
“Sure!” Giorno excitedly unlocked his phone. giddily punching in each number Fugo told him.
The rest of the drive went by with a comfortable silence as they pulled up to Giorno’s apartment. Giorno got out of the car, closing the door.
But before he left, he bent down to the window. He smiled at Fugo. “Thank you for the ride, Fugo.”
Fugo perked up. “Of course! Uh, text me sometime?”
“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing.” Fugo nodded and Giorno pulled away, walking into the apartment.
Oh Trish is gonna get a kick out of this.
<>
Giorno was sweeping outside Passione when he heard loud, obnoxious laughter. Looking up he saw Mista, fully across their shop. His lanky ass was leaning all up in Narancia’s business, laughing that cluttered laughter of his.
‘Since when did those two get close?’ Giorno tilted his head at the scene.
Narancia was about to leave for work when Mista stopped him for a second. The man literally held his arms out and by some stroke of luck, Narancia gave him that hug.
Yeah they were cute. But also, Mista has been teasing him about Fugo for the past few days and he needs to get back at him.
So when the two parted and Mista began jogging back to Passione, Giorno stopped his sweeping in favor of leaning against the broom, hop cocked out and tapping his foot impatiently.
Mista noticed Giorno and waved at him. Within a few seconds, Mista reached Giorno. “Hey, dude. You done sweeping?”
“Mhm. You done kissing your boyfriend goodbye?” Giorno raised a brow at the taller male.
“Oh shut up.” Mista rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips. “Don’t act like you don’t take any and every opportunity to flirt with your lil strawberry boy. You guys are just as bad as Bucciarati and Abbacchio.”
“I don’t even like him.” Giorno huffed, continuing to sweep.
“And at least I don’t lie to myself. But if you really don’t like him then maybe you won’t be as sad when I tell you that Fugo won’t be coming to work today.” Mista flipped the ends of his nonexistent hair before sauntering into Passsione.
Mista made his way past the blonde, now frozen and staring at the ground. Fugo’s not coming today?
Giorno pulled out his phone, pulling up the ‘Panni’ contact he made for Fugo.
Should he text him? Something like ‘Hey, I saw you weren’t working today. Hope you’re doing alright’ or was that too invasive? Yeah Fugo didn’t seem to mind him calling them friends, didn’t mind giving Giorno his number but that doesn’t mean Giorno gets to be too overly familiar with Fugo.
…
No. He shouldn’t. Something personal might have come up or Fugo simply just had the day off. Doesn’t mean he won’t be coming back and it was none of Giorno’s business anyways.
The day continued on as usual, but it felt like things were going slower than usual. When he saw that Bruno went to give Abbacchio his usual bouquet and Mista went to hang out with Narancia during his break, Giorno felt a tinge of annoyance.
Of course, he was happy for his friends. They get to spend some time with someone they liked in the midst of their stressful days. But it doesn’t help that the man Giorno wants to take a bouquet to, or walk over to during his break just wasn’t there.
Business began slowing down around 7pm. Mista left early and Bruno was working in the back, leaving Giorno to man the counter.
‘Love me, love me not.’ Giorno repeated as he plucked at the petals of a wilting rose.
‘Love me, love me not.’ Went on until Giorno got to the last five petals.
As Giorno was about to pluck the petal off, the door’s bell in front of him chimed. Giorno sighed, looking up only to jolt up in his seat.
After spending the whole day moping to himself, the very man he wanted to see was standing in his shop. Except he was accompanied by an elderly woman, who gave Giorno the impression that he should do everything he could to impress her.
Giorno hid his destroyed rose behind the cash register and stood up, giving his two new customers the most charming smile he could muster. “Welcome to Passione! And hello to you, Fugo. Is there anything in particular you two are looking for?”
Fugo raised a brow at Giorno, silently questioning the extra pump on the gas pedal that was his customer service act. But before he could say anything, the woman he brought with him spoke up.
“Oh hello! And you must be Giorno!” The woman came up to the other side of the counter, just beaming up at him.
The woman was of average height, not too short but not notably tall. She had the same silver hair as Fugo, though Giorno didn’t know if that came with old age or that it was simply her natural hair color. Finally, she had a striking set of violet eyes.
“Panni’s told me all about you!” Giorno had to take a moment to blink at the woman.
Fugo talks about him? To his nonna?
“Nonna!” Fugo came up beside his nonna, laughing nervously as he looked between her and Giorno. “I told her you’re the one that made her bouquet for her birthday.”
“Why are you acting so shy? You guys are friends aren’t you?” His nonna giggled, nuding Fugo at his side and making the man grumble.
Giorno chuckled at the sight. “Yes, I was the one that made your bouquet. And I would like to think we’re friends…” Giorno smirked as the apples of Fugo’s cheeks reddened a smidge.
“You did a wonderful job, I would like to tell you!” Fugo’s nonna clasped her hand, showering Giorno in a bright smile. “Oh! I realized I haven’t introduced myself yet. Please, call me Pesca.”
Oh that is adorable. Her name means peaches. “Pleased to meet you, Pesca.” Giorno nodded back at her. “Would you like to get something to go or did Fugo miss me that much?”
The mirth Giorno felt that morning upon seeing Mista and Narancia was back and he knew he had to savor every second he had with Fugo today.
“I was missing the flowers more than you.” Fugo scoffed, making Giorno’s jaw drop at his sudden boldness.
“Panni!” Pesca smacked Fugo on his arm, making him laugh.
“I was kidding!” Fugo put his hands up in defense. “We were in the area and Nonna wanted some flowers to freshen up her living room so I thought we would stop by.”
“I can help with that! Do you have any particular preferences in favorite, specific flowers, or are there any flowers you absolutely can’t stand?”
Pesca tilted her head, humming. “No, no. I trust your judgment so I’ll take any flower you think is best. I will say, purple may fit in well with my living room the best.”
“I got it!” Giorno’s mind instantly had a candidate in mind. He went towards the back, picking out the best flowers he saw and brought them back to the counter.
“Violets. They can symbolize peace, healing, and protection. And I think it’s a wonderful way to brighten up your living space.”
Pesca examined the violets closely, gently feeling it’s soft petals between her fingertips. Giorno looked behind her at Fugo, where the man was looking at his nonna with the softest gaze of fondness he’s ever seen.
“This is beautiful! I’ll take it.” Pesca smiled at him, reeling Giorno’s own gaze back. “How much do you take for this?”
“Oh, don’t even worry about it. It’s on the house.” Giorno waved a hand at her gently.
“What? No, how much is it?” Fugo jumped in, and clearly Pesca was against it too from the surprised frown on her face.
“I said don’t worry about it. Today went by mind-numbingly slow and this was the best interaction I’ve had all day. And I like you both. Please, take this as more of a thanks from me.” Fugo opened his mouth, about to argue further but was stopped by a hand on Fugo’s arm.
“You know he won’t back down Panni.” Pesca sighed before giving Giorno a grin. “I will repay you for this somehow. But for now I guess you have the upper hand.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Giorno shrugged, giving her a smirk.
“You better.” Fugo turned his nose up, taking Giorno on as a challenge.
“I will.” Giorno’s heart skipped a beat, anticipated now.
Pesca looked between the two, a knowing smile growing.
Pesca and Fugo left, leaving Giorno back to his destroyed rose. He got it over and done with.
‘Love me’
‘Love me not’
‘Love me’
‘Love me not’
It was the last petal. Giorno let a giddy smile spread across his face as he tore the petal from the flower’s bud.
‘He loves me.’