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“Well, don’t you look happy.”
Fugo blinked up at Sheila, unimpressed, and she smirked down at him.
The two of them were more or less hidden in the corner of Buccellati’s kitchen. Having forgone any chairs, the floor had turned out to be very comfortable. Fugo had originally sought out the spot out of the urge to be antisocial, but he barely made it thirty minutes alone before he was mercilessly found by his lovely, wonderful, darling best friend, Sheila.
It wasn’t like he didn’t have his reasons to be antisocial. He was, technically, at a party, and parties have never been his thing. He never quite understood all the hype behind loud music and dancing- average party activities, he was sure- and even if this particular party lacked both of those things, it still just wasn’t his thing.
Buccellati and Abbacchio- who were supposed to be hosting- had disappeared five minutes after Fugo had been let inside, and it didn’t take a genius to figure that the next time they were seen, Abbacchio would have quite a few hickeys to go along with his Morticia Adams costume.
Buccellati, who had dressed as Gomez, would most certainly have lipstick smudged all over his face, even though Fugo was positive that Gomez didn’t wear lipstick.
Strange how that happened.
Fugo wasn’t interested in all that. He wasn’t interested in the older couple’s excuses for indecency. He wasn’t interested in the generic spooky music playing quietly through speakers in the corner of the room. He wasn’t interested in whatever Sheila had to say to torment him with. He would much rather go home and spend the night watching horror movies with his boyfriend. But unfortunately, said boyfriend liked being around people, so Fugo had to be a good signifiant other and stay with him.
…Even though Fugo had yet to even see said boyfriend in the past hour he had been here.
And now Sheila was harassing him.
Great. Happy Halloween, everyone.
Crossing his legs, Fugo wrinkled his nose at her, averting his gaze in a very purposeful way. “Shut up. I’m having fun.”
Sheila raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him, and ever-so-gently nudged (read: shoved) him out of the way to sit at his right. “Yeah, okay. You can stop pouting, Giorno will be back in like ten minutes.”
Fugo blushed, his cheeks turning a splotchy red under his makeup, and his elbowed Sheila, ignoring the way she snickered at his response. “I know that. I just… prefer when he’s here.”
“God, you’re pathetic.” Sheila didn’t even hesitate, reaching up to adjust her wig, and Fugo’s eye twitched.
Trish had dressed herself and Sheila up as fairies, minus the wings. Since it was Trish who had done it, they both looked really good. Sheila batted heavily makeup-ed eyes at him and he rolled his in return.
Sheila, looking entirely like an emo Tinkerbell, continued. “Like, you realize you do this whenever he leaves you alone, right?”
Fugo knew what she meant, but stubbornly pretended he didn’t. “I have no clue what you mean.”
She squinted at him, like she could tell he was full of shit, and she probably could. “You know, how you turn into a weird hermit that snarls and bites at everyone until your boyfriend comes back to hold you?”
Sheila then straight-up laughed at the way Fugo ducked his head, fruitlessly trying to avoid the way his face turned a dark crimson color, and she had to lean against him for support.
“Oh my god- I was partially kidding, but I forgot how dramatic you are.” Sounding slightly out of breath, Sheila reached out and fixed the werewolf ears Fugo had almost knocked off his own head. “He’s literally upstairs, you can go get him.”
Fugo sighed, letting himself be manhandled, and pulled away when she was done. He was dressed in a decent amount of fur, patches of it glued to his arms and chest under his usual ripped clothing, along with a tail clipped to his waistband, but he still found himself feeling slightly cold. He rubbed at his arms and frowned. Narancia had probably left a window open.
“I know- Don’t look at me like that, I do.” Sheila stuck out her tongue at him and he resisted the urge to stomp onto her bare feet. “I’m just… not used to being able to like. Go up to him and ask him for stuff.”
It was true. It had been over a year since Giorno had agreed to put up with Fugo, and Fugo still had trouble talking to him about… things like this. What if he came off as clingy? What if Fugo overstepped and Giorno didn’t want to spend time with him anymore? Too much could go wrong and Fugo was terrified.
Distantly aware that he was doing it, Fugo scratched at his arms, a bad habit when he got nervous, and Sheila wordlessly took his hands away from his arms and held onto them. The action made him jolt in place a little- he had almost forgotten she was there. He took a deep breath and squeezed her hands in thanks.
“He’s doing something, and even if it’s like, not serious stuff, he’s still busy, and it feels wrong to interrupt.” Unable to help himself, he glanced towards the staircase opposing the kitchen. If he listened well enough he could hear rough laughing and shouting- no doubt Narancia and Mista- with a more gentle voice laughing along with them.
Fugo curled in on himself at the sound and Sheila carefully pulled him into a hug. Fugo dropped his head onto her shoulder, pointedly keeping his hands within her reach, and she sighed. “Listen, dumbass. I get why you’re insecure. It’s okay to feel like that, especially with your baggage, but Giorno is fucking in love with you.”
Fugo stiffened slightly at that, and Sheila groaned, sounding as if she was only about three seconds away from shaking him. “He is, you idiot. I see the way he looks at you. And he agreed to date you, remember?”
Sheila pulled back to give him a look, and Fugo hesitantly nodded, agreeing with her point. “I know, but…”
He knew Giorno wouldn’t pity him- He knew Giorno wouldn’t pretend to be in a fake relationship out of pity, more specifically. He knew the feelings were returned.
“…But you freak out the moment he leaves you alone.”
Bingo.
“…Yeah.” Fugo hadn’t realized Sheila was so perceptive, but she wasn’t an idiot either, so really, this intervention had been inevitable. Thinking about it, it now made sense why Sheila had left her girlfriend behind and went to find him, instead of enjoying herself; she had probably seen Giorno sans Fugo and figured out that he had been on the verge of a breakdown.
He tugged at her shirt and Sheila pulled him back into a hug. She was quite good at those.
“Listen,” Sheila tapped a pattern into Fugo’s shoulder and he focused on it. “Last time I was up there, Giorno was helping Mista with his costume, and they were almost done. They’ll all probably come down to get snacks in a few minutes.”
This time, Fugo pulled away, and Sheila let him regain the distance, waiting as patiently as she could while he regained his composure. “…Okay. Okay. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Sheila grinned, back to her normal ‘bully Fugo’ mode, and slugged his arm. “There you go, you hopeless weirdo. It’ll be fine.”
Fugo glared at her, rubbing his most definitely bruised arm, and gritted his teeth slightly. “Thanks.”
Trish took that moment to make her entrance, costume almost exactly matching Sheila’s, barring the fact that hers was pink while Sheila’s was black. She came down the stairs, humming to herself, and Sheila noticeably perked up, a dopey smile on her face.
It took all of Fugo’s self control to not burst out laughing right then and there, and even then he hid a smirk behind his hand.
If Fugo was hopeless, then Sheila was a hypocrite.
“Hi.” Trish smiled when she spotted Sheila, and immediately came over, crouching down on her knees to give her a kiss on the forehead. Sheila got up and wrapped her arms around Trish’s waist. Fugo felt like he was getting a cavity from sitting there and watching them.
“Hi. Thing One and Two still keeping Giorno hostage?” Sheila asked, and Trish laughed, nodding.
“Yeah, but I think they’re done. Mista was shouting about something, but I’m pretty sure it was out of excitement.”
Sheila nodded, then looked over at Fugo. Her expression said, See? Everything’s okay.
And it helped Fugo relax, minutely.
Trish waved at Fugo and he waved back. She tilted her head, studying him. “Huh. You and Giorno are matching.”
Feeling his face heat up again, Fugo nodded. “Mm. Yeah. He picked the idea.”
Trish grinned, clearly having seen Giorno’s costume. “Of course he did. Oh, that’s so funny.”
Sheila stood the two of them up, properly kissing her girlfriend, and held both of Trish’s hands in her own. “Don’t tell him that. He probably thinks he’s hilarious.”
Fugo, now alone on the floor, was at the perfect vantage point to get Sheila in the shins. After the nice thing she did for him, he decided he would return the favor by keeping her bones intact. But either way, he felt the need to stand up for Giorno. “I mean, it is kinda funny. In an ironic way.”
Sheila shrugged. “Okay. I guess that’s true. Still could have been more creative.”
“Well, what else was he supposed to do? A princess?” Trish puffed out her bottom lip. “Actually, wait. That would have been so much fun. I could have done his makeup and everything.”
Sheila frowned. “You got to do my makeup.”
Trish pat Sheila’s cheek reassuringly. “Yes, and you look beautiful, babe.”
Sheila looked smug and Fugo was left with the mental image of Giorno dressed as a princess.
Well, if he wasn’t already flustered, then this had solidified it.
There was a thump from upstairs and Sheila snorted, letting go of Trish to go over to Buccellati’s fridge to grab a soda. She held one up and gestured to Fugo, and he shook his head. Sheila put the drink back, keeping one for herself.
Trish sent a bemused look upwards. “Something tells me they’re on their way.”
“What was your first clue?” Sheila stabbed her soda with a butter knife, and leaned over the sink, shotgunning the whole thing without getting any on her costume. Fugo would have been impressed, if he wasn’t absolutely disgusted with her for doing that.
And he told her as much. “You’re disgusting.”
Sheila tossed the empty can into the sink and bowed. Trish leaned onto the counter, head propped in her hand, smiling at Sheila. “You really know how to romance a girl.”
Fugo mimed gagging into his arms and Sheila blew him a kiss. “Get over yourself, Geneva violation.”
Fugo was spared from having to create a comeback by Narancia-almost quite literally- jumping down the stairs, landing at the bottom with spread arms.
Adjusting his Mario hat, which had slipped over his eyes, Narancia beamed, showing off his fake mustache. “Heads up, my boyfriend is the hottest person at this party!”
Trish turned to face Narancia at the same time that Sheila returned to her side, linking their elbows together. Sheila yawned, feigning boredom. “I don’t know, man, Trish is right here.”
Trish grinned up at Sheila and the two kissed again.
Fugo fidgeted with his fur and Narancia cocked his head to the side in contemplation. “Huh. Yeah, okay, Trish wins. Mista is a close second, though.”
Trish pursed her lips. “Abbacchio is literally wearing fishnets.”
“And Giorno has his hair down,” Fugo added.
Narancia frowned. “Fine. Mista is a runner up. Cause I think he looks good.”
“Is he coming down?” Sheila craned her neck to peek up the stairs while still staying firmly latched onto Trish. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”
“Yeah, Giorno was trying to get the wig to stay, but he’s pretty much done.” Narancia copied Sheila and grabbed a drink, passing the aforementioned girl a second one when she made grabby hands. “Cut him some slack, though, he’s never worn a dress before.”
Trish picked at her nails, the shiny color flashing under the fluorescent ceiling lights. “It’s his initiation.”
Sheila gave her a weird look, her Sprite pausing halfway to her mouth. “Into what?”
Fugo laughed. “Initiation into being coerced into things by your significant other?”
Trish pointed at Fugo and made a buzzer noise. “Two points to the man in the wolf suit!”
“I’ll take it.”
Narancia opened his drink and sipped it loudly, hopping up onto the counter. “You guys are fun. Why have I been upstairs this whole time when I could have been down here?”
“Because you were helping me look absolutely smoking!”
Narancia sat up straight and Sheila spat out her drink. Trish was sent into a fit of laughter and Fugo wasn’t that far behind.
Mista came down the stairs in a way that could only be described as flirtatiously. He was dressed in a surprisingly high-quality Princess Peach costume. His makeup was done in a very similar way to Trish’s own makeup, bright red lipstick taking over his face.
And the wig.
While only being a wig from the party store, Giorno had done a very good job. With what he does with his hair every day, Fugo was in no way surprised that his boyfriend is good at styling hair. Mista’s wig was pinned back and sprayed in a near-perfect imitation of the video game character.
Mista, dramatically, held onto the railing, flipping his hair back every few seconds and puckering his lips. Narancia was giggling, face flushed enough that Fugo knew he was totally into this, and got to his feet when Mista reached the bottom.
That was when a problem arose.
Mista was wearing heels.
Stepping off the staircase, as inexperienced as Mista was while wearing heels, lead to him tripping and almost falling flat on his face.
Sheila and Narancia howled with laughter, Mista only just barely being spared from his fate by Spice Girl appearing to soften the ground, while Mista grabbed onto the railing to catch his balance.
Trish had hidden her face in Sheila’s shoulder, but her shaking shoulders were a clear indicator of her also being unable to help but laugh.
Fugo, too, needed a moment to catch his breath. Mista look mortified, but still had a wide grin on his face, and Fugo felt so embarrassed for him.
Narancia stumbled over to Mista, still fighting off giggles, and the two hugged, Mista lifting Narancia clear off the ground.
“You saved me, Mario!”
Sheila waved her hands at the pair, face red to match Fugo’s suit. “Stop. Both of you. Leave. I think I’ll die if I laugh that hard again.”
Trish mumbled her agreement against Sheila’s shoulder. Mista dropped Narancia, whirling around to stare at the girls with a wide open mouth, looking extremely ridiculous with Narancia’s arms circling his waist. “How dare you! After all the effort we put into this and you want me to leave?”
Fugo snickered. “You were probably going to ditch us to go make out, anyways. So get to it and get lost.”
A soft laugh interrupted him, and Fugo felt all the blood in his body rush to his head. Head snapping to face the staircase, he was just in time to see Giorno walking down the stairs- much more gracefully than Mista.
“Panna, be nice. At least tell Mista you like his outfit.”
Giorno wasted no time in approaching Fugo, quickly finding him on the floor and crouching next to him. Fugo swallowed thickly and met his gaze. Giorno smiled, reaching out to brush Fugo’s hair out of his face.
Fugo could see Sheila in his peripheral vision, could see all of his friends, but he didn’t care about them right now. They’d be fine on their own. Fugo had been waiting for this all night.
“…Mista looks okay.”
Giorno seemed to accept that. He adjusted his cape so he could sit next to Fugo without sitting on the fabric. “Sorry I took so long, honey. Mista was a mess.”
Fugo immediately brushed off the apology. “It’s okay. It really was only about an hour. Buccellati isn’t kicking us out until tomorrow, anyways. So we have time.”
Giorno hummed and curled an arm around Fugo’s waist, tucking his head into the crook of Fugo’s neck. Fugo’s breath hitched, and he quickly reciprocated, resting an arm across Giorno’s shoulders only a little clumsily.
“Mm, good. I’m tired. I don’t feel like going home right now.”
Giorno was warm, warmer than Fugo was used to. Using a brave hand to gently brush through Giorno’s hair, Fugo’s brows furrowed slightly in worry. “You seem a little hot. You’re not low, are you?”
Giorno shook his head and Fugo felt a strange mixture of emotions. While he was happy his boyfriend wasn’t hungry, he was a little disappointed to miss out on having Giorno drink his blood while dressed as a vampire.
Even if Giorno actually was a vampire every day, it was a little fun to have him look the part for once. Giorno seemed content to cuddle, though, so Fugo had zero complaints.
“That’s good.” Fugo watched Mista and Narancia dance across the room, the two having put together some sort of spinning waltz, while Sheila and Trish called out scores, and he laughed at the pure absurdity of their friend group. “God, what’s wrong with them.”
“Quite a bit, I think.” Giorno snatched Fugo’s hand, locking their fingers together snugly, and Fugo’s heart fluttered. “Narancia kept trying to eat my lipstick. I think he has brain damage.”
Fugo let out a surprised laugh, and Giorno giggled, pulling himself up the smallest amount to press a kiss to Fugo’s jaw. Fugo could feel Giorno’s fangs behind his lips and his brain short circuited.
Making a distressed sound, Fugo pressed his face into Giorno’s hair. “You… are going to be the death of me.”
“Well, that would be fitting. Though I’m supposed to be the undead boyfriend.”
Fugo shrugged, letting Giorno’s thumb rub circles into the back of his hand, and he made himself take a deep breath. All of his anxiety from earlier had faded away, and his racing heart only seemed to be from close proximity to Giorno.
That he could deal with.