I own nothing. This was just a cheap little theory I had about Narancia. Any ways, Good day and God bless every one of you~!
But when Fuugo lifted the white test paper to his face, his loud gasp echoed through the Library.
His eyes passed from the paper, to the boy standing at his side, back to the paper and to the older boy beside him once more.
Said older boy, Narancia, rather than looking angry by the belittlement, only bore a look of gravity, paling a bit, he inquired what was wrong, and if his score was truly bad.
But Fuugo could not speak because his jaw had gone slack against the floor. He had created the test for the other boy, but as he checked the answers, he had almost believed his own knowledge of math had faded.
A perfect score. He kept mouthing the word. It was impossible. It was simply impossible. There was no way Narancia, someone who could hardly count past five, would suddenly get a grade like this.
And yet, he had seen it with his own eyes. He watched him take the test so there was no way he cheated.
A grin pulled on his cheeks. Perhaps he had been wrong about Narancia. Perhaps his teachings had pierced that thick skull of his.
It had been strenuous journey so reaching a victory on it made him feel like celebrating. He congratulated Narancia, but was confused when he saw the boys violet gaze had become glazed over and clouded with fresh tears.
Fuugo pause. His lips began a question but was cut off when the older blurted out an apology.
Why was he apologizing? Fuugo did not understand.
Narancia had noticed his confusion and began to explain, averting his gaze like looking him the eye would somehow hurt him.
He had lied, he explained, not about all of it but about a little. He wasn't as stupid as he let on. He was capable of learning, like how he learned Fuugo was a lot more distant from Passione than he let on. He was so so very frieghtened he might leave. Sometimes, he could not sleep at night because of the nightmares of how he could no longer say Fuugo's name because it had been tarnished with his own blood when he became a traitor.
It was a childish thing, but Narancia had hoped the lessons, the lectors, the peptalks would never end, that he would always have a teacher, a brother, a friend by his side, so in order to keep it that way, he chose to never learn, to never let Fuugo go. He wanted to be a normal kid, and maybe Fuugo was the closest thing he had to normal.
Fuugo was baffled, shocked even. He felt his anger rise, wondering why the other had been so stupid to, not only lie to him, but also to think that he would abandon him and the rest of the gang if Narancia had simply learned to solve basic math.
But when Fuugo lifted the his eyes to the boy, his face went white as a sheet of fresh test paper when images of a bloodied corpse implaled upon an iron gate and a spirit fading filled his mind. It was too much. He had never known a cold like this. Never before in all his life.
Suddenly his very body goes numb, suddenly it is he who is dying instead. He thought bitterly of how he would have wanted that as he remembers.
He remembers everything and every brutal detail. The dream fades, fraying at the seems but not before he catches one final phrase.
"But isn't that exactly what happened, Fuugo?"
But when Fuugo jolts awake, he finds he is no longer in the library and Narancia is no longer near.
He lifts his hands to his face, realizing he is crying and when the those two thoughts occur to his tired mind, he does not stop, sobbing bitter apoligies to deaf ears
No one heard him scream into the cootton as he tore at it with his teeth till exhaustion took over his body and he finally fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.