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In theory, flying Jolyne out to see him should have been a good thing. It was a good thing. Long-distance wasn't easy, and Skype could only work as a substitute for so much. Fugo had no reason to feel sick to his stomach as he drove to pick his girlfriend up from the airport, but he still felt it churn when he caught a glimpse of the gray hairs at his temples in the rear view mirror as he pulled into his parking space.
He should've brought a different car, maybe. He didn't so much care about a Maserati being too much for the airport, it just make him feel even more like he was having some sort of mid-life crisis. Considering the life expectancy of his career, it was probably an accurate descriptor.
The twisting feeling in his stomach was temporarily overshadowed by actually seeing Jolyne in person again. He really had missed her- it hit him when he hugged her. A grainy video call couldn't do her justice, even with the bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. She was wearing an orange sweater and leggings, and she looked more beautiful than she ever had before. Fugo kissed her temple and let himself be selfish, and stayed close. He could smell her shampoo, and he just let it wash over him that she was here.
"Hello to you too," Jolyne snorted, teasing him.
"Oh. Hi," Fugo murmured back, wishing he didn't have to let go to drive, "I missed you."
"Are you that eager to sleep with me? Damn…"
It was like a bucket of ice water was thrown over his head. That's not… that's not what he meant. She knew that. She had to know that.
"Oh my god, relax. I'm kidding. Your face, oh my god-"
To preserve what was left of his dignity, Fugo grabbed her luggage and walked her to his car. He could still be a gentleman, even if his girlfriend was an ungrateful wench.
"I missed you too," the bitch was still giggling as Fugo opened the passenger-side door for her, and she sat down. "This is a nice car, by the way."
Fugo was not mad at her to begin with, not really, so it was easy to stop. "Thanks, I like driving."
He apologized internally for calling her a bitch and a wench, and placed her bags in the trunk. He tried to be gentle, even though his hands shook. He hoped that would be it, and whatever was wrong with him would crawl back into whatever hole it came out of.
Unfortunately for Fugo, that was not the first or the last time he would hear that joke. Mista had long since latched onto it too, much to Fugo's chagrin.
It wasn't uncommon for Mista to show up at Fugo's apartment uninvited. More often than not, he was welcome. Fugo could be a shut-in, and someone to drag him out, even just for a late-night drive, was much appreciated. Today was not one of those days.
"I thought I told you I'd be busy today," Fugo narrowed his eyes once he saw Mista, who grinned up at him from the sofa. Fugo set Jolyne's bags on his floor with a pointed thump.
"Yeah, with your girlfriend. You can't expect me to not want to meet her, man."
"She just got off a twelve hour flight. You'll have plenty of time to humiliate me later. Get out."
"You're just saying that so you can bone-"
"No, I'm not. Eat shit," Fugo snapped as that same uneasy feeling stirred in his gut again.
"Relax, it's fine. I fell asleep on the plane, I can meet your friend," Jolyne did not have his back and was a terrible partner, or maybe she wanted to spite Fugo for speaking for her, "He totally wants to bone."
"Are you sure he can get it up? He's not the spring chicken he once was, you know…" Mista sniggered.
"I'm sure he'll do just fine, not that it's any of you're business, perv," Jolyne said that, but she was having fun. Fugo could tell.
They were ganging up on him, and there was nothing he could do but sit there and take it.
It was funny. Mista had teased him like this a million times since he'd mentioned meeting someone when they were in Florida, and a million more once he learned she was nineteen. Fugo had laughed. It was different though, with Jolyne hanging off his arm, actually there. She was nineteen.
Eventually, he managed to usher Mista out of his apartment. He could see Mista mouthing something to Jolyne, which Fugo elected to ignore for his own sake, as he quite literally shoved Mista out the door, and slammed it in on him.
"Sorry about that…" Fugo dragged his hand down his face, still flushed from embarrassment.
"What for? I'm not the one he was making fun of for being a cradle robber-"
"Stop."
"If you insist, asshole," there was still an affectionate twinge in her voice, even though Fugo was being an asshole, "Now, c'mon… I am actually fucking exhausted. Where's your room?"
Fugo hoped that a distraction would help. The tight feeling in his chest should have gone away as he methodically helped her unpack. He shouldn't still feel so guilty as he watched her eyes droop the second she sat down in his bed. Sick was not the first thing that should come to mind when he finally got to hold his girlfriend in his arms and feel her heart beat, but Fugo was nauseated.
That didn't mean he'd missed her any less though. He selfishly held on tighter, until his breathing evened out to match hers. One of the last thoughts he was conscious of, was that he hoped it would all be gone when he woke up. Maybe, after some rest, he wouldn't feel so old.
The next day was better, or it should've been. They could be alone, and Jolyne laid off on all the jokes about his age. He shouldn't still be thinking about it, then.
It shouldn't be on his mind during their first lazy morning together. It made it worse that he was thinking about it so much. How disgusting was it that he couldn't stop thinking about how young his girlfriend was, even over breakfast? He was perverting even the most mundane things. He poured his coffee out in the sink and threw his toast in the trash. He couldn't stomach it.
Jolyne finished hers, and Fugo might have said something about Italian coffee being better. He doesn't remember what he said, but he remembers the tired smile stretching across her face, and how the fondness that washed over him quickly went to war with the disgust he felt for finding her so pretty to begin with. It wasn't his fault she was pretty, but what kind of person would use that to justify their actions?
They stayed in that first day. Fugo showed her around his small apartment.
"So, you spent all your money on that car?" she asked, giving him a look that pretty clearly said 'That's it?' when he had finished the tour.
"No, I just don't see the point in getting a nicer place for the sake of it. I'd rather spend the money on other things."
"Isn't this the thing it makes the most sense for you to splurge on? You live here."
"It's not necessary. Besides, I don't spend that much time here." Fugo had never really gotten his taste for opulence back after he was disowned. It never mattered that much to him, so he never felt the need to chase it.
"But what if somebody moved in? It's so small…" oh, is that where she was going with this?
"I could move," Fugo said, before he thought about it, "If you wanted to, I mean. I could move. You don't have to, though. I would be fine either way. Not that I wouldn't want you to, just that…" Jolyne was looking at him weird, so he forced himself to trail off before he'd finished clarifying what he'd meant to say, chest feeling tight.
"Don't worry about it, baby," she said, "Long distance is just a bitch, that's all. I miss you when you're all the way across the ocean."
"Right. I miss you too," his speech was still stilted, mouth taking too long to form the words as his thoughts rushed by too quickly for Fugo to know what his problem even was, "I think I'd like to live with you in the future," he said softly.
"That sounds good." Fugo loved her. That almost made this all easier.
"Sorry about that."
"Don't worry about it," she said as she pecked him on his temple, where the telling gray hairs were growing. Fugo really should start dying them, but that would be a lie. So, he just let her, like that made it okay.
He let her take his face in her hands, and look at him with a warmth that couldn't be real. Fugo wondered if that's what he looked like when he stared at her, but no one would find him as beautiful for such a thing as Jolyne was right now. Not with his receding hairline, or the wrinkles etched in his skin, or the dead look in his eyes.
Even so, she kissed him like she thought he was beautiful. Even though he couldn't quite make the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile like she deserved.
Fugo wondered where the line was, as he kissed his girlfriend with closed lips and cupped the back of her head, gently. He wondered if it was a clear boundary, or something that could be washed away as easily as sand as the tide went out. Jolyne smiled into the kiss, and he felt her tongue at the seam of his lips. Wherever the line was, Fugo had probably already crossed it.
Pannacotta Fugo was a very young boy when he'd first heard he was "mature for his age," and he took it to heart. His mother said it with such pride and affection as she bragged about him at dinner parties that otherwise exhausted him. He was so studious, and gifted at the piano, and ever so polite. Pannacotta tried very hard to maintain that image. He shoved the bad thoughts down, because only little children threw temper tantrums, and he was doing high school coursework. No matter that he was still only nine years old.
Fugo was sitting back on his sofa.
Now, he was twenty-six, and still mature for his age. It was much less… appealing, though. Most people didn't take as fondly to grays at his temples and premature wrinkles and fine lines as they did a child prodigy who could play Bach from memory on the piano in the parlor. Fugo had made his peace with that a long time ago.
Jolyne was straddling his lap.
Fugo was well aware that he had seen things by thirteen that were so bad he could have only been lying for attention. Blood was on his hands multiple times over before he was sixteen years old. When he was nineteen, he had already climbed the ranks of Passione and become the Don's consigliere.
Her tongue was in his mouth and it should've been everything he shouldn't have ever wanted.
Jolyne was nineteen now, and she had just graduated high school the year prior. Sure, there was a stint in prison, some delinquency, but it was still so different from everything Fugo knew. She seemed so much younger than him. She was so much younger than him.
Fugo was a predator, because how could he have let things go this far? How could he like it?
"Hello?" Fugo hadn't noticed that she'd pulled away from the kiss, "Earth to Fugo?"
He shook his head as she waved her hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.
"Sorry, I must've gotten distracted."
"Yeah, no shit," she tilted her head to one side, trying to read him. Fugo had never been good at subtlety, but he hoped she couldn't read his mind. Then she would know how disgusting he was, "With what, though?"
"You," he said, leaning in to kiss her again. It wasn't a lie.
"No, hold on," she cupped his chin in her hand, keeping him at just enough distance that he still had to talk about this, "What the fuck is going on with you? You've been acting weird since I got here."
"I'm just excited." It felt like a lie, but it must be true. He loved her, after all. If he was so terrible, the least he could do was want here here.
"You can't even look me in the eye." Fugo couldn't deny it, because he was staring at his powered off TV instead, right behind her head. He hadn't realized she'd noticed.
"That's not- I can-"
"Whatever. Not the point. Something's wrong." Jolyne waited, like she expected him to say it, but saying it out loud was so much worse. That would make it real, and if it was real… God, Fugo wouldn't be able to live with himself.
"I can't tell you," he said instead. Jolyne didn't look very happy with that.
"What do you mean, you can't tell me? I came all this way to Italy for you, and you can't even, what? Tell me how you're feeling?"
Fugo felt trapped between Jolyne and the back of his sofa, which wasn't fair at all. She was the one trapped- he'd flown her out to Italy just to have his way with her. He had no right to feel like he was the one pinned down right now. The churning in his stomach felt like tidal waves crashing against him.
"I'm sorry."
Jolyne sat back, giving him some space that he shouldn't need. What did he do to deserve someone so lovely? He didn't. He was a predator. He had sunk his claws into this pretty young thing, made her think this was okay. He'd flown her out to a country where she didn't know anyone, all to have his way with her.
"Fugo?" She sounded far away. Fugo wished she still was. No he didn't. It would just be for the best if he ignored his selfish desires. What was wrong with him? His chest was heaving and bile rose to the back of his throat and he didn't want to hurt Jolyne.
An all-too-familiar acidity bubbled up under his flesh, blood boiling, like his skin was sliding off of his body and no, not now. He just had to keep it all down until she went back home. That was all he had to do. He couldn't freak out like this.
She stood up. Maybe she was going to leave. It was for the better. He could afford the plane ticket back, first class. It was the least he could do.
She sat down next to him on the couch. Fugo started to feel less like he was boiling over, too big for his body.
"I'm sorry," he croaked out. He didn't know why his voice sounded like that.
"Fugo, baby," she said, always with the pet names, "What are you apologizing for?"
Surely it was obvious to her by now. With how he'd been acting, talking, staring, touching… She had to know. It wouldn't be right to keep it from her, he decided. She deserved to know, so when she left she would know exactly what she was leaving behind. It was selfish of him to wish she would miss him.
"I groomed you."
The silence spoke volumes. At least he said something. It wouldn't undo the damage he did, but at least she knew. At least he was letting her get out. He would buy her a plane ticket back to Florida, first class. She would block his number, fly back home, and he would never see him again. It made him want to cry, but at least it was better for her. She wouldn't get hurt.
"Fugo… What?" Jolyne blinked.
"Like, when an adult-" Fugo stumbled over his words, "To manipulate, or abuse…"
"I know what it means," Jolyne snapped. He could tell that she wanted him to look at her. He was a weak man. "Fugo, I'm not a kid. You're not even my first."
"But…" He trailed off, because he couldn't explain why it was still wrong. He just knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, that she was wrong. He knew what he did.
"But, what? You didn't even know how old I was when you asked me out."
"I should've asked. That was creepy."
"No, it wasn't."
"Well, I should've done a better job of keeping it in my pants, at least."
"We've only ever done anything over Skype, baby," Jolyne laughed, exasperated, "You couldn't even tongue me in the privacy of your own apartment, just now."
"But if I had-"
"Then I would've been fine with it. I promise you, I want this. I want you."
Fugo couldn't bring himself to believe her. Maybe if he hadn't lost control and forced her hand… maybe then it would have felt real. What else, though, would a victim of abuse say in a situation like this?
"That's okay," Fugo said, "There's nothing wrong with that." It was Fugo who was the problem, after all. He couldn't blame her. He knew all too well what that felt like.
"You're supposed to say 'I want you too, Jojo,'" Jolyne said it in a cartoonish Italian accent that Fugo wished he had the capacity to feel offended by right now.
"No, I'm not. That's the problem. I never should have looked at you like… that, to begin with. It's perverted."
"It's fucking normal, Fugo. I don't know how else I can say it. I'm your girlfriend. We enjoy each other's company. You watched me pierce my nipples on video call."
"I just should have gone after someone my own age."
"You're twenty-six, not fifty. I've dated much worse guys than you, and they were younger. Age is just a-"
"Don't finish that sentence."
That all just meant her standards were low. It was the perfect opportunity for someone like Fugo to swoop in, and take advantage.
Jolyne took his hand in hers, and ran her thumb over his knuckles. He squeezed, because he was disgusting, and Jolyne squeezed back, because she couldn't see what lay beneath Fugo's cold, clammy hands. She couldn't tell what happened when his blood boiled just from looking at him. Or maybe she could. It didn't take a Stand user to figure it out. There was always something off about him. The air felt lighter, though, as he remembered how to breathe.
"Stop doing that."
"What?"
"Thinking. I know you're still wrong."
"I'm not wrong."
"You are, I just can't prove it, yet." Jolyne sounded so confident. She was so sure that the Fugo she saw and the Fugo that was were the same person. He knew better, though. One day, the other shoe would drop. One day, she would see him for what he really was. The inevitability didn't make it any easier for him.
Fugo didn't want to lose her. Jolyne was the best thing to happen to him in thirteen years. He just knew what would happen, somewhere down the line.
She grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, saying something about Fugo needing a distraction. She put it on a shitty reality TV channel and relaxed into the back of the sofa, still holding his hand.
Fugo sat back, too. His thoughts were still racing, but they weren't swimming around so quickly. They didn't bite as hard. He didn't know what was going on in the show, and Jolyne probably didn't, either. It wasn't about that. It was about how her thumb was still making little soothing motions on his hand, and Fugo's breathing evening out.
Jolyne did the stupid thing from the movies Mista forced Fugo to watch with him, where she feigned a yawn to wrap her arm around his shoulders. Fugo almost said something, but his mouth had been working slower than his thoughts for a while now, and the moment passed before he could formulate anything worth saying out loud.
He rested his head on her shoulder, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. If she wanted to shove him off, she could do so easily.
Fugo didn't notice the wave of exhaustion hit him until he was waking up to his head in Jolyne's lap and her fingers running through his hair.
He blinked his eyes open to the same stupid reality TV show, now muted.
"Hey…" Jolyne murmured, and Fugo looked up to see her smiling down at him. Fugo got hit with a rare, sure feeling that he wanted to wake up like this as many times as he could, even if one day it would still be over.
Fugo loved her. With his all his tainted soul.
Maybe, if Jolyne was okay with it, Fugo could be too.