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Tutor

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It was no secret that Narancia was bad at math, or rather, school in general. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t grasp simple concepts or just simply didn’t pay attention. It all began in primary school and as he grew older it became a bigger issue. He still struggled with basic multiplication at times. Needless to say, it could get embarrassing to be called on in a class where you’re expected to remember formulas when you barely know the difference between a divisor and a dividend.

When his math teacher recommended a tutor who was a year below him, Narancia couldn’t help but feel conflicted. He was ashamed of himself in a way for even needing a tutor, and for whatever reason having someone in a grade below him do the job felt like an insult. Advanced placement and honour student or not, Narancia was offended.

Narancia had been familiar with his tutor, Fugo Pannacotta. He was a year beneath Narancia, however, incredibly intelligent. Fugo was in all the advanced placement classes available to his grade and passed all of them with ease. Narancia even had the boy in some of his own classes now that he thought about it. Fugo never spoke to him until he began to see him every other day of the school week. From what Narancia could tell, he was quiet and somewhat reserved. Although, when Fugo got miffed or irked about something he wasn’t afraid to express it. This intimidated Narancia to a degree… When the two first met up he feared Fugo would snap on him for his basic mistakes.

Soon enough the two began to spend more and more time together for their tutoring. Narancia never attempted to get to know Fugo more, still slightly scared of him, and yet Fugo seemed interested in him. Narancia couldn’t help but feel as though Fugo only started small talk so he could to distract himself from the mental exhaustion that is teaching a high school student how to multiply. Then again, the more often they spoke the more Narancia became relaxed. After all, talking about your weekend is a lot less tense than being harshly glared at from the sidelines for the inability to multiply sixteen and fifty-five. Narancia got annoyed by Fugo’s tendency to look down on him, though he began to get used to it.

He couldn’t pinpoint when, but there was a day where Narancia’s heart began to skip a beat at praise and he got excited for his Monday, Wednesday, and Friday study sessions. Narancia would stare at Fugo instead of paying attention to the process of how to find the square or cube of a number. He admired the other, even. Narancia did his best for Fugo. ...He still barely knew his multiplication tables and had a hard time knowing how to subtract negatives. Before he knew it, Narancia was fantasising about Fugo during almost all of his spare time. Even now. He couldn’t shake the thought of them holding hands, cuddling, sleeping in the same bed, kissing, being on top of--

“Narancia, are you listening?” A familiar, seemingly honey dripping voice called. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” No, he didn’t. The older boy tried to keep his head up, a weak attempt to prevent nodding off. “Repeat it again anyways.”

Fugo sighed in frustration, inhaling audibly as he tried to regain his composure. “Do you take any of this seriously? We’ve been doing this for four months and yet you can barely say what five times eight is off the top of your head.”

“It’s twenty five!” Narancia huffed dramatically, offended. A small smirk was plastered on his face as he patted himself on the back for such a quick answer.

Fugo stared for a moment, unsure of whether or not the other was joking. Sometimes Fugo wanted to laugh and other times he wanted to ram the mechanical pencil between his fingers into Narancia's face. The younger one’s eyes grew hazy with disappointment. The two remained silent for a moment. Fugo finally opened his mouth to give a curt response.

“Fourty.”

The smirk faded. Narancia flinched in his seat at the correction, exhaling softly. How humiliating. He was still ticked off that Fugo was younger than him.

Fugo tilted his head in curiosity. It wasn’t exactly unnatural for Naracia to be bummed out about his mistakes, but he usually got more dramatic. A pensive look developed as he studied the older boy in an attempt to figure out why he was so genuinely upset.

Narancia caught on, furrowing his brows at the mentor. He didn’t speak, averting his gaze. He noted that he couldn’t make direct eye contact with Fugo, and when he did it felt like a small victory when he could maintain it. A shade of red began to manifest from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. Unfortunately Fugo did notice his odd behaviour. The two came to a silence for a moment once more.

“What’s wrong?” Fugo was the first to speak up, as Narancia predicted.

“It- It’s nothing,” Narancia started, “not a thing.”

“What a terrible liar.” A loud, exaggerated groan escaped the other’s lips. Now it was Fugo’s turn to be playfully dramatic. Narancia pouted at his mentor, resting his chin in his hand and facing away. “For real, though, what’s wrong?”

Narancia hesitated. How was he supposed to just tell Fugo he couldn’t pay attention because he was thinking about them dating, being together, holding each other… It was damn near impossible. The two knew each other enough to be friends, but not lovers. If he professed his undying love right here and now everything would be awkward.

“It’s nothing. Let’s continue, sorry for zoning out like that.” Narancia apologised uncharacteristically, a small and genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Fugo blinked with a skeptical look, but continued. “Ah, alright. The square of a number is…”

Fugo went on and on, and before he knew it Narancia was zoned out all over again. When would this be over?

Chapter Text

“Ah, for real?” A soft voice hummed, slightly surprised. The boy’s lips pursed as he pulled a loose strand of blonde hair behind his ear.

“Yes! Why are you so surprised, you have no room to speak.” Another voice snapped back. This one was louder, it had an irritated ring to it.

“It’s not a bad thing, Narancia.” Said boy couldn’t tell if he was talking about what he just admitted or if he was trying to defend himself over the fact Giorno himself acted like he needed tutoring to be with his senior crush, Bucciarati. In response, Narancia scrunched up his nose and tilted his head. “That you like him, I mean.”

Giorno Giovanna, age 16, in advanced science classes, a year behind Narancia, in three of Narancia’s classes. He has been Narancia’s friend since last year ever since they met in a biology elective Narancia was forced to take (and that he failed). Giorno tried to help Narancia with his science grades to the best of his ability, considering they were in the same class. Nowadays, he helps him find out more on Fugo than ecology.

Narancia felt self conscious about his crush. After all, this was his math tutor who nearly punched him for being unable to do long division. Narancia’s excuse was that there was always a calculator, and that sent Fugo over the moon and back. Plus Narancia was older than Fugo, even if it was only by a year. On top of all of that, Fugo was a guy. Not that that’s an issue, and nobody in the school would judge, but up until now Narancia only really crushed on girls.

Giorno and Narancia continued to walk down the hallways. It was after school, and today would be one of the days Narancia had off from tutoring. Who knew people could miss studying. The boy fumbled with his fingers, thinking about Fugo. He wasn’t sure what he did on the days he wasn’t tutoring him. Did he ever miss tutoring? Did he miss Narancia? ...Was he a bother? Those were questions for later.

Narancia asked Giorno to get more intel on Fugo and his life. Since the two were in the same grade and had some idea of their fellow classmates, Giorno began to befriend Fugo with ease. Giorno noted that Fugo didn’t seem to have many friends. Not that he was alone, he just didn’t seem to hang out or talk with anyone outside of school. Giorno managed to get through to him and at least get a phone number, but all they exchanged were confirmations on homework for the night and the occasional conversations about their peers.

Fugo was apparently exceptionally intelligent out of his classmates. He was a rather well liked student who kept to himself yet didn’t mind helping others. At the same time, Narancia had heard he’s the type to read you on read when you ask to copy homework (Giorno was the same way, which is honestly why they clicked so well). Fugo spent his time at the library after school when he wasn’t with Narancia, according to Giorno. He also tutored some other kids over the weekend on occasion, however, there were other notable tutors throughout the grades people went to.

“You know, he’s probably in the library as we speak.” Giorno voiced in his usual soft voice, glancing at Narancia. The blonde’s emerald eyes were gentle. “Do you want to go and see him?”

“N-No!” Narancia shrieked. Giorno blinked at him cooly. “I mean… no it’s okay! Just tell me more about him.” Narancia huffed. He could feel his cheeks becoming hot, the tips of his ears were warming up as well.

Giorno nodded stiffly, sighing out as he prepared himself. “Well, he lives with his parents and studies all day and all night, his parents pressure him to hell and back from what he’s told me. He also comes from a wealthy family. There’s no one he seems to have an interest in and he helps with tutoring for you and a couple other students. Ah, what else…”

“I have to go to the bathroom!” Narancia declared with a yelp, making a beeline towards the restrooms. Giorno was left before he could say anything, confused. Narancia was confused too, he didn’t even know why he was so panicked himself.

Narancia sighed softly when he reached the bathroom. He probably just wanted to get away from thinking about Fugo. As warm and bubbly as it made him on the inside, he couldn’t help but get waves of grief and despair over it. After all, dating Fugo was basically a pipe dream at this point. Even if they were to date, the other would definitely get sick of Narancia quickly, right?

Narancia sighed, glancing up at himself in the mirror. He usually didn’t stay after school like this, not unless he expected his father to be home or angry at him that is. He usually hung out with Giorno or Josuke around this time if they stayed after. Then again, Narancia caught himself loitering around in the bathrooms often too. People who stayed after weren’t usually on this wing of the building.

Narancia frowned, his violet eyes watched him in the mirror as he stared back at himself with a pouty expression. How long does this whole crush thing last? Almost subconsciously, the boy let out an extended groan of annoyance and furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to say something to himself, but was instantly silenced by the sound of a toilet flushing.

Narancia whipped around, eyes wide as he noticed moving around beneath one of the stalls. He stiffened up, shifting himself to have a more upright stance than before. The sound of a lock resounded throughout the bathroom and a stall door to Narancia’s left opened wide. Before he was able to say anything, he was met with the familiar face that belonged to Pannacotta Fugo. While he still looked beautiful with his signature plum purple eyes and almost perfect honey blonde hair, he seemed… upset? Not his usual rage upset, but more defeated, tired.

“F-Fugo! Aha… how are you?” Narancia sputtered nervously. He couldn’t keep composed around Fugo in the end no matter his mood. He took a second glance at the younger again, the nervous sweat beads that were dripping down his forehead seemed to become those of concern. “U-Uhm, are you okay..?”

Fugo let out a heavy sigh, he looked like shit in all honestly. His eyes were sunken and his expression seemed exhausted which was a major contrast to how he looked just yesterday. From the looks of it, it appeared as though it took a lot out of him to engage in social interaction at the moment. He didn’t want to engage in social interaction at the moment. Nonetheless, he replied.

“Yes,” that would’ve been convincing if his voice didn’t sound strained, “I’m fine.”

“Call me crazy but for some reason I don’t believe you.”

Narancia regretted his words almost immediately, following up the comment with an awkward and misplaced laugh. He expected Fugo to tell him to fuck off or get pissy, but instead he shook his head. He smiled at the older boy, though it seemed rather sad.

“I won’t call you crazy.” Fugo bit his lip, visibly uncomfortable. Silence stood between the two. How did this always happen? Hours seemed to pass before either of them spoke again. “Sorry for worrying you, but I’ve got to go home now. See you tomorrow.”

And with that, he was gone. Narancia waved off, still wide eyed. Concern had been painted on his face the entirety of their little exchange. What the hell happened? As much as Narancia would like to run after him, he decided not to. Narancia stood there, wondering why he was so stupid. He didn’t even ask what was wrong!

The bathroom door opened again and golden blonde hair paired with firm green eyes came face to face with Narancia. Giorno gave Narancia an accusing, yet bewildered glare.

“Why does Fugo look like he’s about to cry, or already did?”

Chapter Text

Fugo stumbled to his English professor’s room fairly hesitantly. He didn’t really have a pep in his step, you could say. He definitely wasn’t excited by any means. He walked slowly, making sure to take his time with every foot forward. The more he walked, the heavier his chest felt and the more butterflies began to flutter in his stomach.

Fugo behaved in class and did well, he was an overall perfect student. He got flawless grades on nearly everything and most teachers were proud to have him in their class. His grades were no exception in English class. He wrote model essays and scored well on his exams. Fugo did his absolute best in that class. No matter what, though, it didn’t help.

Nothing Fugo could do could stop or prevent the way the professor checked him out in class, or the way he tried to touch Fugo’s shoulders, sides, or back whenever possible, or tried to talk him into staying after. After months of fighting off the discomfort and anxiety, he finally gave in to the pressure. He was blackmailed into it, anyways.

The professor learned of how hard Fugo’s parents were on him, and threatened to fail the student or suggest tutoring if he didn’t stay after with him. Of course, to prevent a harsh punishment, he complied. Then again, any punishment from his parents would’ve been better than what Fugo had to endure. It was too late now, unfortunately.

Fugo was forced to go after school with the professor. At first, Fugo would try to distract himself with school work, and eventually he’d be being touched in some way or being flirted to (the professor wasn’t exactly subtle). He hated it, he just wanted to punch the professor… Today would be the same day. The shoulder rubbing, the attempts at holding his sides, the hot breaths down his neck. It was absolutely vile.

Fugo found himself breathing somewhat heavily outside of the professor’s office. In an attempt to calm himself, he tried telling himself that it would stop, at least for today. He knew deep down that was an irrational thought, though. None of this would ever truly stop unless Fugo did something. But then again, but what if this was all a misinterpretation? Maybe the professor meant no harm after all. The teenager desperately thought of excuses. There was a time he looked up to and respected this man…

Fugo reluctantly opened the door to let himself in, being met by the professor gazing at him expectantly. It was as if he knew Fugo would be there. Then again, Fugo made sure he was on time to avoid any mishaps.

“Good afternoon, Fugo.” The teacher spoke up, standing from his seat. Fugo waved sheepishly, making a beeline towards a front desk. All he had to do was make up some school work, ask a few questions here and there, and be on his way. “How were classes?”

 

Fugo planted his palms on the desk after putting his stuff down, still standing. He was slightly bent over as he leaned forward, trying to catch his anxious breaths. It was then he felt a hand from behind meandering from Fugo’s shoulder to his side. Another joined, this one on his waist. Fugo’s heart dropped like a dime, the anxiety he had before came again but this time it was worse.

Fugo couldn’t speak, he could only press his lips together in anticipation for what would happen next. The professor never held him like this. Usually Fugo could brush him off or slip away, but now he was trapped between the desk and the body behind him. The hands on his waist trailed down to his crotch, palming against it. Fugo’s breath hitched as he tried to bite back a choke. This was all happening was too fast.

“It’s rude if you don’t answer, isn’t it?” The voice behind him spoke, hot breaths running down Fugo’s neck. The teen twitched in his place, wanting to run away. His feet were glued to the floor in fear, though.

The purr in the voice as well as the offer caused Fugo to turn red with embarrassment. He felt vulnerable. Trapped, even. Fugo finally found his voice, speaking in a raspy tone. “I… I-I don’t-” Just like that his voice was gone again.

The grip on him grew tighter. The hands pulled the younger one roughly against his professor. In a situation like this, Fugo would let his anger get the best of him. He would fight with all he had to get away and call for help. So why now did he struggle? Why didn’t he just whip around and punch or shove the professor?

“Fugo,” the professor spoke up and the boy beneath him could tell there was probably a disgusting grin on his face. “Today will be the last day you have to stay with me. You just have to do one thing…”

Last day? Did he hear that correctly? Either way, Fugo still felt gross. He tried to stop oncoming sniffles and remained still. With that, hands began to wander again, exploring all over.

“Relax, it’ll be over soon.”

—— Second half ——

Fugo scrunched his nose up in disgust at the toilet. The acidic burn of vomit coated his throat and mouth. His shaky hands reached for the handle on the side of the toilet, flushing down whatever he hurled. A dull expression remained on his face, not necessarily angry or sad, just dull. Lifeless.

Despite his seemingly calm natured expression, he was anything but. He, in reality, couldn’t feel anything but guilt, anger, fear, and despair. Fugo would probably be expelled or suspended tomorrow, or whenever they find the professor. He did knock him out, after all. With an encyclopaedia no less. The professor deserved it, though.

Fugo wanted to cry, he wanted to throw something, kick something, anything. He just needed to let it all out. He couldn’t, though. Nobody could know what happened. Rather, what Fugo let happen. If he just said no this could have all been avoided, right? Maybe it was best to just ignore it and try to distract himself. Tears threatened to spill when he remembered for even a second.

The noise of shoes clacking on the tile ground snapped Fugo from his thoughts, luckily. This only lasted a moment or so, as his brain immediately came back to the idea no one could know no matter what. After all, they’d probably find him disgusting. Even if they didn’t, Fugo thought he was disgusting. He felt soiled and dirtied. His professor just sexually assaulted him and he just let it happen. Never mind that for now, how long had this person been here? When he first arrived he made sure no one was there, maybe midway through being sick somebody entered. How embarrassing...

Fugo bit his lip, reluctantly standing up properly and inhaling. He reached for the lock on the stall, taking a deep breath. With every other breath, anxiety rose. His heart was thumping through his ears and he swore he’d be sick again if he stepped out of the stall. Fugo found enough strength to swallow down the lump in his throat that was already reforming and step out. He managed not to cry, somehow.

Rather than greeting an angry staff member ready to scream at him about knocking out a teacher, he was met with a familiar face. Upon seeing Narancia already facing him, Fugo’s heart instantly ached. Now he really wanted to hide. Narancia seemed slightly panicked himself.

“F-Fugo! Aha… how are you?” Fugo took note of how Narancia’s face shined with a light sweat. He couldn’t help but wonder if he knew anything. God, what would Narancia think of him? “U-Uhm, are you okay..?”

No. That’s what Fugo would’ve said, but words couldn’t come out. He sighed heavily, gazing down at the ground. As much as he longed for comfort and love at the moment, he also wanted to be alone. Fugo wanted to isolate himself to avoid an oncoming rage, or questions, or anything. He yearned to talk about his feelings but he knew that he’d be shamed.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Fugo couldn’t come out with the truth. His focus seemed to blur between Narancia and the events that happened previously. He didn’t even notice the strain in his voice.

“Call me crazy but for some reason I don’t believe you.” Narancia pressed. Well no shit? Fugo could feel a spark of annoyance come with that. Narancia must have caught on that Fugo wasn’t in the mood to hear it even if he didn’t look as angry as he would when Narancia could barely define a quadratic because he let out a half concerned half terrified laugh. Fugo blinked, looking up to the older with a sad simper on his face. At least Narancia tried.

“I won’t call you crazy.” Fugo couldn’t help but bite down on his lip again. What was going through the other’s head right now? Fugo’s heart was still pumping, and he couldn’t bare the silence between them. It was only a matter of time before Narancia asked what was wrong. “Sorry for worrying you,” something Fugo never thought he’d say, “but I’ve got to go home now.” Nothing he’d want to do. “See you tomorrow.”

Fugo brushed past Narancia, tears finally winning the war as they streamed down his face. He opened the door, wiping away the dampness on his cheeks. He glanced to the side, his eyes locking for a brief moment with the blue eyes of somebody in his grade. Giorno Giovanna. Why was he even there? Fugo turned away automatically, continuing down the hallway. It was only a matter of time before--

“Pannacotta Fugo.” Ah, there it was. “Come to my office, please.”