A/N: Just in case you don't know, this segment's chapter titles are military time referring to the segment of time the chapter covers in total.
A soft whine followed by a grunt echoed through the dark bedroom, disrupting the silence that had settled over it for the past few hours or so.
Narancia opened his eyes slowly, blinking sleep from them as he took in the room. Moonlight was streaming in from the window on the far side, shedding enough light to be able to make out the shapes of the furniture scattered about. He sat up with a groan to flip the pillow the other way, seeking out the cool side of the soft fabric and totally not just avoiding the drool on the pillow, he was too cool to drool- hey that rhymed! Tupac would be proud.
Wait, he was getting distracted, the fuck was he awake? Just a second ago, he'd been eating margherita pizza atop the Eiffel Tower with Snoop and now he wasn't and he was pissed.
There was a groan to his left and he flopped back down to look at the person on the bed next to his, pout already in place to complain.
It had been Narancia's idea to push the two twin beds together but Fugo hadn't protested like the brunet thought he would. Instead, he'd just muttered some form of agreement and Narancia had insisted that Fugo get on the bed he'd use first so he could push him along with the bed, so he could show off how cool and strong he was and that Fugo could leave it all to him!
In the end, he'd barely managed to move it a few centimeters, but he counted it as a victory when Fugo had just smiled and congratulated him. Puffing out his chest in pride, he'd moved the other bed much easier, proclaiming that it was better this way anyway because they'd be closer to the window and fresh air was good for your health.
Fugo hadn't even pointed out that the windows were closed and fresh air couldn't even enter the room anyway.
Narancia had claimed the bed closest to the window and by the time he'd gotten out of the toilet, Fugo had already passed out on the other one. He thought it was cute, the blond was finally acting like the little kid Narancia always knew he was; after all, a year was a big difference! He had to show off how he was the cool older one every once in a while.
He'd fallen asleep pretty quickly once Mista had left, dumping the clothes in the chair by the closet and climbing into bed himself. It had been a few days since they last got to sleep in a bed and he was gonna take full advantage of it, thank you very much!
It seemed that sleep wasn't gonna be all that easy though. The sounds that had woken him up were coming from Fugo's bed and Narancia pulled the sheet from over the blond boy's head to take a look.
Fugo's eyes were closed but his brow was furrowed, pallor near white in the moonlight as he scowled. His lips were parted, soft whimpers escaping from the opening every so often as beads of sweat trickled from his brow down his cheek.
Narancia's first instinct was to go run for Bucciarati. What if Fugo was sick again? What if Giorno hadn't fixed him? What if something was seriously wrong?
But then he remembered something Fugo had told him a long time, back when they'd first met.
After Bucciarati had fed him, he'd called an ambulance. Narancia didn't remember that much, just that everything had been blurry and loud and he was too relieved and too happy to stay awake properly. The next conscious thing he'd remembered was waking up covered in sweat in an unfamiliar room that stunk of antibacterial. The hospital.
He could feel his breath starting to come too fast; the memories of his mother in here rushing through his brain. Oh God, he was gonna die too wasn't he? Only sick people went to the hospital and only really sick ones stayed and didn't that mean his eye was never gonna get better? It wouldn't be fixed, he'd never be able to go back to his dad, they'd throw him out of the hospital since he couldn't pay, he'd be back on the streets and-
A soft grunt came from his left side and he spun to look.
There was a blond kid laying there, in the blind spot of his good eye so he hadn't noticed him before. He looked familiar and it took Narancia a minute to realize it was the guy from the alley who'd got him pasta.
The boy inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering open as his lavender gaze came to rest on Narancia. He shifted carefully, sitting up so that their fingers remained entwined-
Wait, they were holding hands? When'd that happen? Wasn't that dirty?
Narancia yanked his hand away, eyeing the blond boy guiltily as he muttered, "It's gross. You shouldn't do that."
The blond widened his eyes in surprise before looking down at the floor sheepishly. "You were moaning in your sleep and looked like you were discontent and I read that physical contact helps with nightmares, so… my apologies, I didn't think you would be grossed out."
"Eh, no, that's…" what else should he say? Narancia hadn't thought anyone would ever touch him kindly again after he'd got his mom's disease, but this boy was just so uncaring about it. It was weird and it made his chest feel all tight.
"My eye," he muttered finally. "It's all bad and looks nasty. You might get it, so touching me is gross."
The blond had looked at him for a few seconds before grinning and grabbing his hand again. "It's not gross at all. Trust me, I deal with a much scarier disease all the time."
He said that proudly, looking out the window as he spoke and Narancia looked too but he couldn't see anything there. This kid was weird. But nice. Also nice.
That was one of his most treasured memories- not that he'd ever admit that to Fugo. Fugo had been taking about Purple Haze, Narancia knew that now, and yeah, compared to what Haze could do, Narancia figured his eye disease wasn't even close to the same level.
But it was how Fugo had described the way he'd looked and acted that had made Narancia recall the memory. This was a nightmare, probably a really not good one based on how angry Fugo looked in his sleep.
Holding hands seemed a little weird though and it gave him a funny feeling in his chest as he considered it. They were both grown up now, and it wasn't very manly or cool to hold hands with another guy.
Still, he wasn't just gonna do nothing, Fugo was his best friend after all! He was a great guy who always helped Narancia out and even taught him math and other stuff, even if he stabbed him a few times, but Narancia stabbed him back so he wasn't gonna hold that against him.
He couldn't help Fugo with that weirdo he'd told him about, but he could help him now!
Narancia settled back onto his bed, scooting as close to the crevice between the two as he could without falling into it. Then he reached under the covers, pushing his hand into the tight ball Fugo had curled himself into until he found the blond boy's fingers clenched tightly into a fist that bunched around the sheets.
It took a little bit of wiggling around, but Narancia managed to get him to unclench his fist long enough to entwine their fingers together, replacing the cold sheets with his own warmth. There wasn't much else he could do because he didn't wanna wake Fugo up. Bucciarati had told him that sometimes nightmares made people confused and scared if they were disrupted and that it was better if they woke up on their own, after facing it themselves. Narancia didn't really understand what he meant, but Fugo seemed like the type of guy to just punch his bad dreams in the face.
"It's okay," he whispered as quietly as he could manage, using his free hand to pull his pillow over so that he could rest his head just a few inches away from Fugo's. "You'll be okay, Fugo. It's all okay. Everything's okay."
He continued to whisper what he hoped was calming stuff until he felt Fugo's hand soften against his own, the crease in his brow not as prominent anymore. Narancia didn't know if he was really helping or not, but he liked to think so.
And when he eventually fell back asleep, Fugo's whimpers didn't wake him again.
Mista woke up to sunlight streaming in through the window, curtains opened at some point during the day (night?) and it looked to be a beautiful sunny day outside, clear blue sky lighting up the white walls of the bedroom.
He debated going back to sleep for a minute or two before finally deciding that he may as well get up. He had to take a piss anyway.
Giorno had gotten up before him, judging by the vacant spot next to his in the bed, any remnant of human warmth long gone. The blond was probably the one who opened the curtains. It looked like he'd also tidied up the room a little, towels from his shower now missing from the spot where he'd dumped them on the floor and Mista's sweater folded neatly on the chair beside the bed.
Stretching his arms overhead, Mista figured he'd throw it on later since the room was pretty warm and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.
One look in the mirror and he realized he needed to shave. Dark brown stubble was beginning to grow along his chin and cheeks, forming sideburns that he knew from experience were not a good look on him. Maybe Bucciarati or Abbacchio had a razor he could use later. For now, washing his face and tousling some warm water through his hair was as good as it was gonna get; the house wasn't exactly lived in before this.
The hall was warm and inviting when he pulled the door open, light from the windows at the end of it brightening up the dark interior from the night before. One of the doors was still closed, the one further down from hsi and Girono's room, but the other one was open. So Fugo and Narancia were both awake already as well.
How late was it anyway? After taking a quick look, his eyes found a clock hanging over the stairs, reading a little after ten. Honestly, he was kinda surprised the guys let him sleep this long.
As he headed towards the kitchen, he could hear familiar voices echoing from the doorway.
Narancia, Fugo, and Abbacchio were seated around the table, Narancia chattering away aimlessly, something about cows and teeth, while Fugo looked like he was debating whether he should've come back or not. Still, there was fondness in his eyes. Abbacchio ignored them both, eyes fixed on Bucciarati who was helping prepare what Mista assumed was breakfast.
He and Giorno were flitting around the small kitchen, taking turns looking over whatever was sizzling on the stovetop while Giorno also made coffee and Bucciarati cleaned the dishes left in the sink the night before.
"Hey, you're up!" Narancia's cheery voice pulled his attention from where he was studying the blond's figure. "I thought you mighta been dead!"
"What're ya saying, this's early," Mista answered as he headed to the table, scratching his chest as he bit back a yawn.
"You look like a homeless thug," Fugo said disdainfully, eyeing Mista's rumpled appearance. "At least put on some damn clothes."
"You're just jealous of my six pack," Mista sneered. He pulled one of the chairs out from the table and fell into it with a sigh. Fugo rolled his eyes and Mista noted that he looked way better than he had yesterday, the sickly white pallor gone from his skin. He was wearing the hot pink suit Bucciarati had got him, and Mista had to admit, the color looked good on him, although how he'd already found the time to cut holes in it, Mista had no damn clue.
"I hope you rested well, Mista," Bucciarati said, smiling at him as he set a mug of steaming hot coffee down in front of Abbacchio. "Would you like some as well?"
It smelled damn amazing, and Mista said as much. Bucciarati nodded and went to grab another mug from the cupboard.
"When'd y'all have time to get all this stuff?" he questioned, confused where all the food had come from.
"I bought some basic necessities during our pit stop yesterday on the way here," Bucciarati explained, and really, what else did Mista expect. Leave it to the mom of the group to be sure all their basic needs were met.
"Eggs are done," Giorno interjected, moving a pan off the burner as he finally looked over at them all. Mista noticed how the blond's eyes seemed to settle on him for a split second longer than the others and suddenly he was glad he'd left his shirt off.
"Finally! I'm starv- ow!"
"Mind your manners, dipshit," Fugo scolded, pulling his hand back from where he'd smashed Narancia's head into the table. "Say thanks first."
Narancia looked like he wanted to say more than just that, but instead he bit his lip and muttered, "Thank you Bucciarati, thank you Giorno."
Fugo looked way too smug and Mista wondered how long Narancia trying to hold back from fighting Fugo would last. The guy was pretty much fine again and would probably get bored of Narancia not responding to his provocations, so Mista'd bet money on less than a day. Better enjoy the peace while it lasted, before they went back to trying to kill each other.
A plate with eggs and toast was set down in front of him and Mista looked up to see Giorno smiling softly down at him. "Two sunny-side up. I hope they're to your taste."
Feeling rather bold, Mista grinned back.
"Well seeing as you're to my taste, I'm sure they'll be great."
Giorno rolled his eyes as he walked back to the counter to get more plates but Mista saw the faintest hint of red on the blond's ears.
When Narancia made a retching sound and Fugo joined in, Mista debated the merits of just killing them both now and being done with it.
