Author Note: Second-person narration is from one character to another, as if they are retelling their stories.

This was a chapter in a larger part 5 backstory collection, but I've decided to post each "chapter" separately since they are episodic and quite long. Heads up, everyone is gay (but I'm pretty sure that's canon). If you're looking for more, you can find all seven chapters and a preview of a Giorno-era retelling under my author name.

Hey I realized while editing this that I messed up on characters' canon ages. Did you know Fugo is supposed to be a year younger than Narancia? They don't act that way at all and it doesn't totally make sense with the timing of their backstories, so I went ahead with this portrayal where Fugo is apparently a couple years older. Forgive me.

Sweet Child of Mine

(Narancia)

They'll call you rich and silky smooth

They'll complain about your ego

But they don't even know

Panna cotta – the clatter of change landing on a tin

Panna cotta – the patter of rain in a gutter

Panna cotta – a name best whispered, lips to ear

Cream, sugar, and vanilla, gelatin's the secret

Holding it together

All these years

They'll think you're classic, elite, a rich man's treat

They don't even know

When mother made panna cotta

It took no patience and no special care

She let me stir it on the stove until it thickened

Her kisses landing in my hair

Like keeping you

It was effortless and sweet

I couldn't believe it when you asked me out. We were on the Riviera, doing nothing much, when some dumbass kid pickpocketed Mista's gun. No idea what he thought he was reaching for since Mista keeps that down the front of his pants, but hey, boys will be boys. So of course Mista took off after him, and Bucciarati and Abbacchio ran after them to help. They probably could have used my Aerosmith for long-range support, but starting a gunfight on the Riviera wasn't on my bucket list, so I stayed put – sitting on a railing, looking out over the water. You knew Purple Haze would be worse than useless, so you leaned next to me, trying to look cool with your elbows on the railing and your long legs crossed in front of you, almost tripping the people walking by.

"Hey Narancia," you said.

I thought you were going to tell a joke, so I slid backward and dangled upside down from my knees. Not that you ever tell jokes, but that's still what I thought was happening.

"Stop that," you said. "You'll hit your head and fall in the water and drown."

"Will not."

"You'll lose your head scarf."

"It's a bandana."

I tucked my feet under the lower railing and let my arms dangle down. I wanted to see the water dancing, but it was sunset and the sun was blinding. I had to crane my neck way back to see the water. So I arched my back a little further and got my chin onto the pavement below the railing. If I propped myself on my elbows, I could look up at you from there. I hoped you thought I was a crazy damn monkey.

"I'm gonna run away with the circus."

"You're what?"

"I'm a contortionist, Fugo. People pay money to see this kind of thing. You're never gonna see me again unless you come to my circus."

"Don't run away with the circus. They'll take you to a country with no labor laws and stop paying you, and then you'll find out they faked your visa and you won't be able to leave. And you'll catch an STD and you won't have any healthcare. The circus is bad news."

"It's too late, I already signed up. I leave tonight."

"Stop being ridiculous."

"Never happen. Hey Fugo, are you gonna cry?"

"What?"

"When you never see me again?"

"Narancia."

"Oh no, Fugo! I'm gonna fall!"

I grabbed the railing with one hand and let go with my knees. My whole body flopped down against the wall below the railing with a very satisfying thud. I did hit my head on the way down, but it's not like brain damage is gonna make a difference for me, so it was fine.

"Save me! You have to save my life." I reached up with my free hand and tried to make my eyes beseeching. Bucciarati always uses the fanciest words, which is weird for someone who never made it past elementary school. Beseeching came up when he told about a drowned puppy he found a couple weeks ago. It was a sad story. He couldn't save the puppy. I liked the word, though. I looked up at you beseechingly and flailed my free hand.

You gripped my hand at the wrist just like trapeze artists do and pulled me up from under the railing. You're pretty ripped even though you're skinny, and I weigh next to nothing, so it was like no effort at all.

"Wanna be trapeze artists together?"

"Narancia," you said again.

That's when I noticed you'd said my name three times. That's a lot, for you. I like when you say my name, so I keep track.

"Yeah?" I was dusting myself off and thinking it was a good thing I wear leggings under my skirt.

"Do you want to go out with me?"

"Sure," I said, tossing a small rock out of my shoe. Why do I wear proper shoes, anyway? They just pinch my toes and slow me down when I run, and then they get rocks in them. Plus they get ruined in salt water and they're expensive. Not that it matters, since I steal them.

Then I thought about what you just said.

"Say that again! I wasn't listening!"

"Of course you weren't. Narancia, do you want to go out with me?"

"You mean go out go out? Like on a date? Like we could be together?"

My fingers were laced in yours and I think I jumped on your toes a couple times. I liked the way you leaned your face back to keep a clear view of me.

"That's what I said. So what's your answer?"

"What's your question again?"

"You know what I asked."

"But say it again! Say it with my name. I liked how you said it."

You got hold of my shoulders and waited until I was holding still, looking up into your face, and then you put your forehead against mine so I wouldn't move. You looked so serious. This was the best moment of my life.

"Narancia. Do you want to go out with me?"

It was only a couple inches. I moved my chin up and kissed you really hard, then threw my arms around you tight and shook you back and forth.

That's when Mista started whistling and catcalling. They had got his gun back, of course, and walked back nice and slow. I'm sure Abbacchio tried to make them be subtle because we were obviously having a moment, but that's not a thing. Not on this team.

I dashed straight at them. Bucciarati grabbed my hand and spun me at arm's length before I could slam into Abbacchio. I was like a tiny airplane!

"Guys! You'll never guess what happened!"

"Did Fugo ask you out?"

"Fugo asked me out! Wait, how did you know?"

"That kiss was a pretty big giveaway."

"Okay, but besides that, how did you know?"

The guys looked at each other.

"Never mind," Bucciarati said. "Did you tell him yes?"

I gasped. I had forgotten the most important part!

I ran back to you and took both your hands in mine, the way people do when they propose. That way you would know I was serious, too.

"Yes," I told you, making sure to look straight into your eyes. "My answer is yes."

"That's great," you said.

You had that hazy sound in your voice and I was worried that our moment was over – that you were already running circles in your own head again. My worries must have shown because you rallied.

"Narancia, that's so great. Thank you for saying yes!"

You wrapped me in your arms and snuggled me close for the first time. It was delicious. My head fit right on your shoulder and I could feel your breath in my hair. Your body was warm and strong against mine. You moved your hands up and down my back and I felt like I had melted, and maybe like I was starting to bubble, too, like a nice steady simmer. I was mad when the guys caught up two seconds later and you had to let go.

"You finally did it," Abbacchio said, clapping you on the shoulder.

"Yeah." You held me by the shoulders so you could look into my face. I was already squirming back into your arms. "I wanted to make a big plan for how to ask you, Narancia, but it was taking forever and then – I just couldn't wait any longer. Because I know you're not running away with the circus, but anything could happen and what if I never got the chance again?"

"Congratulations." Bucciarati shook both our hands, even though I'm pretty sure it was killing him to trust you with me. "I think you two will be good for each other."

Mista ruffled my hair. "Happy for you!"

"So where are we going?" I asked you.

"What?"

"Tonight. You asked me out! Where are we going?"

"Oh. Of course, I planned something amazing. That's why I had to ask you today. It's, uh…"

"Yeah?"

"It's a surprise," you finished. "I just, uh, need some help with the last details, so could you maybe stand… over there?"

Abbacchio and Bucciarati are magic together. I don't know if you've ever really watched them. The look that passed between them when you fell through just like that – I swear they have a psychic link. I wonder if they were ever as awkward and out-of-sync as we were. I can't believe they stayed broken up. I mean, I know how bad things got – I know the facts, obviously, but how can two people like that stay apart over something factual?

"Come on," Bucciarati said, taking my hand. "We need to talk. There is manly wisdom that I must impart to you."

"Take it with a grain of salt," Abbacchio told me, pushing my hair back from my face. Then he pulled you and Mista into a huddle to whisper furiously about those "last details."

"He didn't plan anything!" I wailed as soon as we were out of hearing range.

"Shh. We're not out of hearing range! He's been trying to plan this for months, but he was so nervous, he just kept taking apart everything he had put together. Like Penelope's shroud. I'm glad he went ahead without a plan. For Fugo, that's a bold move."

"You guys all knew about this? Wait, is that why you asked me if I had a crush on him?"

"Yeah. It was super subtle, right? Oh, Narancia. You know how Fugo gets. When something's really on his mind, he can't stop talking about it. You're all we've heard about for months. He really likes you."

"Then why isn't he better?"

"How do you mean?"

"Why isn't he there for me? If I'm really what's on his mind? He's up in his own head all the time. I almost can't talk to him sometimes. It's like he doesn't see me."

Bucciarati was quiet about that one for a while, just looking out at the ocean and the sunset sky. It was long enough to make me notice things, too. The clouds were puffy and light purple, the way they only get in summer. The waves made the ocean show two different colors, shining pink from the sky and cold blue-black from the water itself, like to remind you it was no cake walk out on the sea, no matter how pretty it looked from here.

"Leone's like that sometimes, too," Bucciarati said, finally. "You and I – we take life head-on. Whatever happens, happens. Right? When shit happened to us, we didn't have an ounce of control over it, so we just had to roll with the punches. Leone and Fugo both, they always had the illusion of control when bad things came their way. So they're stuck in this mode of thinking that life's like a puzzle – they're both in their own heads a lot of the time, trying to figure it all out and get some control over what's going to happen."

"But you can't control the future."

"Except you slightly can. That's what a plan is, after all."

"Oh, yeah – plans. Plans are a thing."

"So you need some of both, you know? You need to think things over and plan ahead a certain amount, and then at a certain point you need to act and maybe just live in the present, even if it's not perfect."

"Is that why you and Abbacchio are so great together?"

"Oh, child. It's exactly why we were so awful together. The more I tried to make Leone live in the present with me, the more upset he got. That wasn't all of our problems – not even half – but maybe it was the root of everything. I still can't believe I put us through that."

"But when I was growing up–"

"You're still growing up."

"So's everyone! But when I was growing up, you were really good together. Really good. And you're getting better now. Aren't you going to try again?"

"No. I've ruined all my chances with him." Was Bucciarati choking up over this? Nothing ever seemed to get him down – not really down, like where you stay down. I searched his face and that reminded him to smile at me. He ruffled my hair, which meant everything was alright. "Narancia. You're good at pulling Fugo out of his head. Keep doing what you do. But listen. If things go south, please come and talk to me. At least you won't have to make my mistakes. Right?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'll do that."

Bucciarati looked past me. Abbacchio was waving to us.

"Looks like they've figured something out. Listen, Narancia. Don't be too hard on him about not having a plan for tonight. He probably – well, whatever. A date is what you make of it, you know? You can do nothing in particular and still have the time of your life, if you're just trying to enjoy each other."

"Yeah. Yeah!"

I started to run back to you and the guys, then I ran back to hug Bucciarati – "Thanks!"

Then I really ran at you. I grabbed your hand and just kept running so you would have to keep up. That was my plan for our first date – to keep your eyes and hands on me.

We got food somewhere. I don't remember. Abbacchio's brilliant and he knows I'm a crazy monkey when I'm excited, so he masterminded this plan where I would never have to sit down. It was so perfect.

We walked from place to place all over the tourist side of the city. There was so much to look at, and I climbed a couple trees and a streetlamp and made you shout at me to come down before I broke my neck. There were musicians in every plaza and I picked out my favorite ones and dropped other people's money in their tins. I tried to take someone's dog from a sidewalk café, then you made me return it and we pretended it had run away and we were good citizens for catching it and bringing it back. They thanked us. We went shoplifting at the street market and you even paid for some of the stuff I took, just like a real boyfriend!

I don't remember what I made you talk about with me. I just remember looking up at your face over and over, and every time you were looking right back at me. Like I was all that mattered. That felt so good, I just couldn't keep my feelings inside.

I made you kiss me a ton of times, too. Eventually you got good at predicting when it was going to happen and you stopped tripping over me. I liked the tripping, but I figured it was for the best. After all, what if you fell and hit your head and got a concussion and then the emergency room was too full of drunks and you didn't get seen and it turned out to be a what's-it-called and you died on the way home – where would that leave me? Picking pockets to afford a funeral, that's where. So I let you not trip when I stopped you for kisses anymore.

Finally they were closing everything and turning out lights, and the musicians had gone home. The streets were almost empty, just hookers and addicts waiting around for nothing to happen. I looked up at you again and you looked so tired, like the whole world had tried to sue you tonight, but you still leaned down to kiss me. So I decided to have mercy.

"Come on," I said. We were going to my favorite thinking place. I took your hand and walked at a normal speed on the sidewalks to get there. Your face got all cloudy, walking normally like that, but I thought you deserved a break so I let you have your thoughts for a while.

"We're here," I finally said, when we got off the sandy part of the beach and up onto the rocks. Big, chunky boulders, perfect for clambering over and hiding between. Up above the tide line, there weren't any barnacles to hurt your hands, just some clumps of dry seaweed thrown up there by storms, I guess. We sat and listened to the rush and hiss of the waves below. The sky was fuzzy with summer heat, but the moon was up there, looking romantic and all.

I put my face in your face. "Fugo? Hello-o?"

You looked around like a sleepwalker waking up. That was sad to me, but I had really asked a lot from you already, so I let it go.

"Where is this?"

"It's my thinking place."

You laughed at me. "That explains a lot."

But you hugged me and you were looking straight at me again, so it made me happy even if you don't think much of my thinking.

"We can sit here," I said. "It'll be easier to kiss without running into people, and no one's here to see us. You won't have to worry that people will think you're straight because you're with me."

"Oh."

You don't like it when I read your mind, but I think it's funny the things you worry about. I mean, I can't actually read your mind, but I like to make you wonder if I can.

"Narancia…" You put your arms around me, and it wasn't going to matter what you said next because that made me so happy. "They can think whatever they want. You're more important to me. You know that, right?"

"Are you gonna say it?"

"Say what?"

"I love you!"

You stared at me like a mis-numbered crossword puzzle. "Hold on. Do you mean that, or are you still asking me if that's what I'm going to say?"

"Say it!"

"Narancia!"

"But only if you mean it, too." I put my finger on your lips like a secret. "I love you, Fugo. You mean the world to me. You're making me so happy."

Even in the moonlight, I could see you blushing. Then you got your hands around my face and you kissed me so long, I started to wonder what your breathing plan was. Open mouths, tongues, the whole deal. You kissed me so long, I got bored with your tongue and started exploring your teeth. They felt as large as mine even though they look normal, and they made a neat row with little serrated tops. I thought of fences. Before you pulled away, you slid your lips across mine again, wet and warm and pulling at me, and I realized how bad I wanted you.

You caught my hands before I could push them up under your shirt and you held them, serious-like again. "I love you, too."

You held my eyes, just like that, with my hands in your hands and the moon in your hair, until I nodded. Then you leaned in to whisper in my ear–

"You can call me Pannacotta. Just not around other people, okay?"

I nodded harder, bumping your head. Your hair smelled like whatever those flowers are called and I was listening to the waves and when you let go of my hands, I immediately slid them up over your ribs.

You finally got the idea and got your mouth on my ear and all I could think about was your hot, wet tongue, then your hands pushing up my tank top and finding the skin underneath. I moaned and you lifted me onto your lap. My knees pressed against the rock on either side of your hips. You kissed me like that, pressed together, my thighs closed around your waist, your hands moving over my hips. I was wild for you.

"Pannacotta," I whispered in your ear. I really liked how the air came in small bursts in your name. You pulled back to look at me and I got really into your eyes for a second, but I didn't let you kiss me again right then. I leaned in to whisper to you again, "Do you wanna do it?"

You stopped kissing my neck and nuzzled my nose instead. "Second date. I promise."

I almost jumped up to shout with joy. I would have if your arms weren't around me.

"When's our second date?" I whispered urgently.

You kissed my nose – more than kissed it, massaged it with your lips and tongue. You squeezed my hips and I gasped, leaning forward to latch onto your lips again. Your tongue in my mouth made me tighten up all over.

"Tomorrow," you whispered to me. "That's less than eight hours away. Think you'll survive?"

I closed my eyes and basked in the feelings you were giving me. You slid your hands down my back, so I had to lock my feet behind your back and hold on to your neck not to fall backward. It was worth it, though – where your hands went. I pulled you in for a kiss and bit your soft lower lip, tugging on it, so you'd know how I felt, how much I wanted you.

"Tomorrow," you repeated between endless, liquid kisses. "I want you tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that until forever."

I tilted your head so the moonlight was in your eyes. "You mean it?"

"Why else would I say it?" You have this edge to your voice sometimes. Maybe I looked hurt, because you fixed it. "I'm sorry. I mean, I love you. Narancia, I love you and I want to keep loving you as long as I live."

There was this little hoarse sound in your voice that told me you felt what you were saying. You don't get emotional easily, so I knew this was real to you. My heart felt like a helium balloon, all full and floaty, racing up into the sky.

"I love you, too, Pannacotta," I said in your ear, because saying your name to you never gets old.

We kissed until we both agreed we were dizzy and too cold and stiff to sit on rocks by the water any longer. You lived alone, so we went to your place. There weren't any buses or taxis that late at night, so we walked, our feet aching from all the walking we already did that evening. When we got to your apartment, you gave me a fluffy bathrobe to sleep in and we figured out how to curl up around each other in your narrow bed. I loved your arms wrapped across my belly and my chest, almost too much to sleep with you like that, but exhaustion won in the end.

We overslept so badly that Abbacchio had to come check that we survived the night. I mean, it's his job if anyone from the team doesn't show up in the morning. And if Abbacchio doesn't show up, then it's your job to go make sure he didn't try to kill himself again, because Bucciarati just gets too mad at him and Mista would probably talk him into it by accident. I love our team.

I woke up listening to your hushed conversation with Abbacchio in the kitchen. You were making coffee. It smelled dreamy.

"No, everything went perfectly," you were saying. "Thank you for all the suggestions. You're a godsend."

"Hey, it's your fault I'm still around. You might as well get some use from me. Is Narancia–?"

"Sleeping like an angel. God, he was beside himself all last night."

"You mean–?"

"I mean full of energy. You saw the start of it. Just unstoppable."

"Ah. Joy or anxiety, do you think?"

"I don't know. He seemed happy."

"We thought he was happy, too. Bruno can talk to him, though. Have one of their heart-to-hearts. Make sure everything's good."

"Thank God for Bruno."

"Yeah. What about you? How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted."

"I mean…"

"Oh. Relationship-wise? Elated. Over the moon. I can't believe I asked him."

"I told you to believe in yourself."

"I can't believe he said yes! Abbacchio, I'm the happiest man alive. I woke up this morning and this sweet young person that I love was right there, and I just – the world wasn't full of storm clouds, for fucking once. You know?"

"Yeah. I remember."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Abbacchio. You don't want to hear me wax poetic about this."

"Fugo, it's fine. I don't begrudge you any part of your happiness. I'm delighted for you. For both of you. Good morning, Narancia."

I stepped into the doorway, blinking and bleary-eyed, still wrapped in your fluffy bathrobe. "Coffee."

You handed me your mug and kissed my cheek, then went to pour yourself another one.

Abbacchio took in my face and did one of his silent laughs. I guess I was grinning like a sleepy maniac because you had kissed me. My hair was probably up to no good, too.

"You look wiped out, kid. Fugo says you kept the volume turned up to eleven all night. Did you even sleep?"

"Yeah," I said into your coffee. "Plenty."

Abbacchio snorted. "Take the day off, you two."

"No, it's fine," you said. You've always been too conscientious like that. "We're good for today. It was only a first date, for God's sake. We'll be ready in a few minutes."

"We won't," I said blearily.

"I'm serious," Abbacchio said, putting a chair behind me before I collapsed. "We're caught up on assignments. It's a training day – we won't miss you and Bruno will understand. Sleep in, go out for brunch, or whatever it is you young people do."

"Aren't you supposed to manage us?"

"Yeah, which includes morale. You're assigned to a morale day today. I don't want to see your smiling, happy faces until tomorrow. You're both alive; my work here is done. Goodbye."

Abbacchio drained his coffee and handed you the mug, ruffled my hair, and stomped out the door. You crossed your arms at me.

"You're faking."

"Only a little. Second date?"

"I'm going back to sleep. Sleep sleep. Don't look so excited."

We slept until noon, then lay in bed kissing until you gave in and made love to me. It was exactly as good as your kisses had promised – not as long as I wanted, but that was fine. I was already looking forward to the next time, and the time after that. I traced lazy circles on your chest as you fell asleep again, then I watched your face twitch in your sleep and thought of funny things to say to you later.

When I got bored, I got up and showered with your nice shampoo and creams and things, then I found stuff in your kitchen. You didn't have a wide selection of ingredients, but I put together a soufflé and made more coffee. Then I read your fashion magazines and practiced writing summaries while I waited for you to get up. Bucciarati had promised we'd do night school together someday, so I was keeping my brain in shape.

The night before must have been super exhausting for you, because by the time you actually woke up, I was bored again and halfway through making a pie. I made you chop the apples and ham while I made the lattice top. I love baking. It reminds me of mother.

While the pie baked, we went out in your back alley to train – parkour and target practice. That's back when I was trying to get good at sniping with Aerosmith, and Abbacchio had just started teaching you to use throwing knives. It was a hot day, though, so we only trained for an hour, then I made you walk to the store for lemonade. You can't drink red wine or tap water with pie. You just can't. And of course, I was still in your bathrobe, so I pulled out the pie and lay on your couch, watching the fan turn back and forth and steering Aerosmith slowly around the rooms in your apartment.

"Hey Narancia," you said while you did the washing up. "Second date tonight?"

"I thought we were already on our second date."

"What? I would never ask you to count a lazy day at home as a date. What do you take me for?"

"Okay, fancy pants, what do you want to do?"

"I thought – well, it has its drawbacks, but I thought we might – no, you wouldn't enjoy that. Too much best behavior."

"Try me! Whatever it is, I'll give it my all!"

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

"Come on. You can't hide me from the world forever. If the sex police come for us, we'll fight them off with my sniping and your throwing knives!"

"Sex police? Really?"

"You're worried people will think I'm a girl, right? But you're wrong. Actually they're just gonna think I'm underage."

"I mean, you're sixteen. Italy's age of consent is fourteen, but that's honestly a little scary-"

"Exactly. So if they try to take away your gay license for being a pervert, I won't let them. My Aerosmith won't let them win!"

"Oh my God, you're exhausting. Maybe we should just go back to bed."

"Bed?" I hoped my eyes were glittering. If there was any justice in the world, my eyes should have been glittering.

"No, you're right. Of course you're right. I owe you a proper second date before we get back to that. Otherwise, I'll feel like I'm using you. Taking advantage of your youth. Please, Narancia, you must tell me if you ever feel that I have not done right by you. I love you more than all the world and I would hate for you to feel taken advantage of."

"Oh, I'll be sure to let you know." I filed that one away – an instant win card for future arguments. Perfect. "If we're going out tonight…"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes. The plan. Well, my original plan for last night was to take you to this posh restaurant, then to the theater – I don't know if that show is still running tonight, though – and then for drinks at this cocktail lounge I know where I can sneak you in, and then, I don't know, there's a night club and I thought you might like dancing." You shrugged helplessly. "But it seems like a lot."

"All I heard was drinks and dancing. Let's go!"

You gave a sigh of relief. "That does simplify matters. For one thing, I'm not sure you own any formal wear."

"Nope! Not me. But since you bring it up…"

"Oh, Narancia, you can't go in that bathrobe! And your clothes are–"

"Indisposed. All that salt water." I laughed at your face. "We didn't wash them today."

"I wish you'd mentioned it. There's laundry in the basement."

"Oh well, guess we're staying home and lying around in bed all evening!"

"No, I couldn't let you down like that. Don't worry, you can borrow some of my things. I think I have something you'll like."

I looked you up and down. "We're gonna need a tailor or a miracle."

"Narancia, I'm serious. Come on, have a look."

You took me by the hand and I felt like a small child. Which I sort of am. A second later, though, I felt like Cinderella with her fairy godmother!

"Holy crap! Why do you have all this?"

"You didn't think I dressed like a squirrely lawyer all the time, did you?"

Actually, I did. Right up until I saw your second closet full of party dresses. More than just party dresses – I pushed the first batch of hangers aside. Sun dresses, a couple ball gowns, miniskirts, blouses, crops, dress pants, sweaters, the works! Shoes, too, shoes for all occasions.

I saw myself in the mirror on your closet door and my eyes were huge. Just huge. You were grinning over my head. You looked delighted with me. I spun around and hugged you.

"But for real, Fugo, why do you have this stuff? I never see you wear it!"

"Oh, I use it for disguises sometimes. For Abbacchio's other projects."

"Ohhhh. I get it. No one would recognize a dude who looked like a lady!"

"That's… what a disguise is, yes."

"Have I seen you in disguise and not recognized you?"

"No."

I was a little disappointed by that. "But why do you need so much? Most super heroes only have one or two disguises!"

"Okay, don't get carried away here. I'm not a super hero–"

"Not answering my question!"

"Okay, Narancia. Well, originally, I collected most of this for fun. Before Abbacchio started on his other work. I used to do girls' night out with Bruno, oh, a few nights a week. Back before he broke up with Abbacchio."

"Really? That sounds amazing! Why did you stop?"

"I just told you, the break-up. He was so sad, for so long. And even if I could have persuaded him to go with me again, I didn't want to seem like I was choosing sides. I was Bruno's friend first, but I know Abbacchio better now… Anyway, it'd be very awkward."

"Yeah, I know, but why did you stop?"

"Why didn't I keep going out alone?"

I nodded.

"Oh, lots of reasons. I still dress up sometimes, but it's much harder alone. I look good, but Bruno's drop-dead gorgeous, so when we'd get catcalled, I could always pretend it was for him. He'd take all the attention, and he knew what to do with it – he loved it. That's not for me. And if some guy ever did get too close to me, he'd pretend we were a lesbian couple and he'd give him hell. I hate when strangers want to get in my space. I just know sooner or later I'm going to flip out and kill one of them, and then I'll be in prison awaiting trial for months, potentially years, and I'll have to keep pretending to be a woman the whole time–"

"So Bucciarati will have to break you out with Sticky Fingers, and you'll have to live the rest of your life disguised as yourself, because they would never suspect that a man was the woman who killed that stalker–"

"Exactly! See, you understand me so well. Bruno will have to stay up to two, three a.m. to rescue me when there's fewer guards on duty, so that's a pain, and I won't be able to do girls' night out with him ever again for fear of being recognized as a murderess–"

"So you're afraid of being a bad friend if you kill someone."

"Exactly. But if I'm with you, I can pretend they're just excited about you, and understandably so, so I won't kill anyone. Probably. Unless I get jealous."

"And we can pretend to be lesbians so no one thinks you're straight for being with me!"

"You know I'm not actually worried about that, right?"

"But none of this is gonna fit me."

"What? Oh, yes it will. Here, choose something short and it will be a normal length on you. And you can pick a belt so it doesn't look huge."

"Wow, you have everything!"

"Yeah. This was before we were making money – we were still paying back Passione for the team's charter – so we didn't worry about stealing anything back then. We did a lot of fun shoplifting trips, since we couldn't afford much other fun. Bruno just pulled up Sticky Fingers and disappeared with anything that either of us liked."

"That sounds like me! I can't imagine you guys doing that."

"We're paying back those stores nice and slow now. The restaurants, too. The proprietors think Bruno's just more dedicated to the community than the mafiosos they've had in their neighborhoods before. They think he reduced the rate of shoplifting, too. We're not planning to tell them how much we stole."

"You look great!"

While we were talking, you had pulled on a sea-blue blouse with cute little strings tied at the neck and a white skirt with lace over it. Wedge sandals. Your white-blond hair clipped back all loose and pretty.

"You look like a tourist girl who enjoys long walks on the beach!"

"Thanks. But let's come back here tonight. Your thinking rock gets cold at night."

"Yeah… Which one do you like better?"

I held up a neon orange tunic and a violet dress that was mesh ruffles all the way down.

"Maybe both? I could combine them, look–"

"Oh, God. Bruno chose those for me. I should have thrown them out years ago."

You plunged into the closet, emerging with a blue crepe gown that matched your blouse and an embroidered linen tunic that sort of went with your skirt.

"Clearly I made a mistake," you said. "Just choose between these two, okay?"

"Until we meet again," I told the orange tunic as you took it from my hands and threw it into the black depths of the closet.

I examined your choices. I almost went with the brighter color out of habit, but the soft embroidered shirt kept calling to me. There was something classic and romantic about the earthy colors, the simple material, the quaint cut… I shrugged off the bathrobe and pulled it on over my head. It fell easily to my knees. I looked up at you, but you turned me to face the mirror.

"What do you think?"

I ran my fingers over the embroidery – red, orange, purple flowers, twining green stems. The creamy, loose linen showing off my collarbones. I looked like a young lady. I blushed.

"Maybe with leggings," I said.

"No. You don't need leggings. You need heels."

You pulled out your smallest shoes – the ones thrown in the back that must have pinched your feet – while I hunted through your belts and scarves.

"Ooh!" I found the perfect thing, a crazy fire-colored thing in gauzy silk. I wrapped it around my waist twice and spread it wide so the colors showed.

You undid my knot and tied a loose bow, then pulled it around to hang behind me. I noticed your eyes on me and looked up at you, a question in my eyes.

You answered it with a kiss. "You look great. That's all."

That's all? I smiled and pulled your hands onto me, but you pulled away.

"No. Not now, or we'll never leave at all. Rule number one of girls' night out."

"Wait – did you and Bucciarati used to–?"

"No and don't ever imply that again. Abbacchio is my best friend. I would never betray him like that."

I stepped into your shoes and turned this way and that in front of the mirror. What I saw made me grin. I bounced up and down on my toes. Only–

"Yeah. We have to do something different with your hair."

"My face. I still look like a little boy." I just wanted to throw everything off and crawl under a blanket and never let anyone see me again.

"That's not true," you said. You took my face in both hands and rubbed your thumbs up and down my cheeks. "You're lovely, Narancia. I can't stop looking at you. I can't tell if you're a beautiful boy or a young lady waiting to happen. Either way, I love you. I love your whole you."

You leaned down to kiss me, long and full, and I loved the way your hair trailed down over your shoulder. I liked your silky fabrics, the way a skirt hung off your hips…

"We should do this all the time," I told you, looking up into your sharp eyes.

"Whenever you like," you told me, cradling my chin. You dropped your hand and ran a finger along my collarbone. "This looks so good on you. I want to see you this way all the time. Maybe not all the time – I like your style, you know that. But you should try this more often."

I liked your eyes on me. I swayed back and forth and the tunic-skirt swung back and forth with me. I liked the longer skirt, but it would interfere with climbing stuff for sure. But I thought, maybe that was just part of growing up. Besides, Bucciarati manages everything in a white suit, so it must be possible.

"Come on. Let me fix up your hair. You don't really need makeup with that soft face, but maybe just some mascara. Your lashes are so good – why not make the most of them?"

You did your own makeup so fast, like you took it for granted – foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, and suddenly I was looking at a bewitching woman. Nothing looked fake or overdone, but somehow your jawline had faded away and your eyebrows looked perfect. I couldn't even remember seeing you touch them, though.

"How–"

"Come here."

You dropped kisses in my hair while you teased and combed and tied and braided and loosened and clipped and sprayed and pinned and twisted and brushed…

"Grow it out," you said at last, your mouth full of bobby pins. "For God's sake, grow out your hair so you can have actual options what to do with it!"

I shook you off and pushed my fingers back through my hair, pulling half a dozen pins and undoing all your work, to your scandalized gasps. I untied my favorite orange head scarf and tied it around my head in a simple loop, the long ends trailing down my back. Then I pushed it back and pulled just a fringe of my hair forward under it, like bangs. Last, I shook my head to make it look natural.

"How's that?" I asked you.

"That's not fair," you told me, and kissed me deeply. You pushed in two bobby pins "just to be on the safe side" and then declared, "It's perfect. Let's go."

Club dancing was the best thing ever. Good thing you didn't try to take me to the theater, because I couldn't have sat still for an instant, not with you close to me in the dark. I loved moving with you and the whatever music playing too loud for talking, the glowy blue light, your hands all over me. Whenever anyone else tried to dance with me, you pulled me in and wrapped me up in your arms, dancing so close.

When the night got old and the floor was empty, you sat at the bar slowly drinking something too elegant for me and watching me dance alone. I learned a bunch of new moves from people around us that night, so I was good to go for another hour, but I decided to be romantic and talk to you.

You looked all abstract even after I squeezed into your arms and kissed your face.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"Jeffrey Dahmer."

"Wait, what?"

"He's an American serial killer who started eating his victims so they would always be with him."

"Oh."

"It's ironic because all the cells of your body are replaced every seven years, so his dream was impossible."

"That's… sad?"

"It's about the same length of time as the average marriage, though. So if you think about it, he just took a shortcut to achieve the same results. Besides, he was gay, so he couldn't have gotten married even if he was good with people, which he wasn't."

"Fugo, why are you thinking about all this?"

"Oh, originally I was just thinking about whether it's possible to stay together forever. I mean, there are couples who grow old and die together, but what about forever? So that's why I was thinking about death and stuff."

"Please don't kill me just to keep me around."

"Oh, no! I don't think it's a good shortcut. I like you much better alive. I was just thinking… You know, when I first met Bruno and Abbacchio, they were the perfect couple. No one would have said they would ever fight or break up. I don't know what to do if that happens to us, Narancia."

"Oh, it'll be fine. Bucciarati said I can ask him for advice, so it's gonna be okay."

You thought about that for a moment. "That's a good idea in principle, but maybe you should ask Abbacchio instead. You want to go home?"

I pushed my face into yours. "Your home?"

"That's what I had in mind." You kissed me and whispered in my ear, "You look so good in these things, I can't wait to take them off you."

I felt it all over, the wanting. I looked into your eyes for just an instant, then I grabbed you by the hand. "Yes. Right now."

"Narancia! We can't!"

"It has to be now. I need you!"

I pulled you to the restrooms, too excited to care who saw us. Men's? Women's? I just chose the one that was unlocked. Inside, in the bright light, you looked alarmed. Maybe I startled you too much with this sudden plan. I petted your arms and whispered, "It's okay, Fugo. It's just us."

You eased up and leaned in to kiss me. Then you checked that the door was locked and kissed me with enthusiasm, your hands weaving into my hair and pulling me in.

"Sorry," you murmured into my lips. "I know people do this, I just haven't done it before."

"You've totally kissed me before."

You stifled a laugh. "Narancia! I mean sneaking into the bathroom to – you know!"

"Do I know? What are your intentions?"

"Mm. You'll see."

The way you took me that night – I can still remember the way your hands moved on me, and your lips. That was the night that convinced me. You know I played around with a few people before we started, kids my age. Nothing like you. You were sophisticated, now that you weren't rushing. You touched me so deliberately. You made me feel like an adult, and for the first time, that felt like a good thing. Like so many good things would come with it.

"Don't ever let go," I whispered.

"Never."

You were trying to be super quiet, but you couldn't help these little breathy gasps. I felt like some kind of miracle in your hands – the way you touched me so lightly, the wonder in your eyes when you looked at me. Then I closed my eyes, too, and concentrated on feeling.

You looked sleepy and glad, when we put ourselves back together. There was no space and that was perfect for me. You leaned back against the door and pulled me against you. I wanted kisses but you cradled my face and held me still.

"God, Narancia, I feel so high whenever I look at your face. I can't get enough of you."

I thought about the way you'd looked at me all night in this pretty tunic dress, and the way your hands moved on my hips. "Do you wish I was a girl?"
"What? Narancia, I'm gay. Why would I wish you were a girl?"
"Well, do you wish I was a boy?"

"Oh, sweetheart." You hugged me tight. "You never have to wonder that. Either way, I want you. I want you both ways. Narancia, I just want you. You're a perfect you and you're all I need."

"You don't mean that. You're just trying to say the right thing."

You hid kisses in my hair like an Easter egg hunt and that made me hold perfectly still. Your fingers traced complicated patterns I couldn't follow on the backs of my arms.

"Sweetheart," you whispered in my ear, "how many times? How many times before you feel wanted?"

I burned. I thought if it was winter, you could whisper things like that in my ear and keep me for a radiator. It'd save you a lot on heating bills. I didn't say that because you were serious and I didn't want to ruin your mood.

In the end, they knocked on the door and told us they were closing and everyone else had someone they wanted to get home to, too, and we had to go. So we went home. You were mortified as we walked out, but I was still walking on air. Who cares if some random strangers knew we were in love? It was a plain fact, so they had better get used to it.