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Everything came crashing down faster than Fugo could process. Unfortunately, this was the norm. He managed to piece together a few things as the pain ripping its way through his gut worsened and the blood became too much to hold behind his own two hands.
Fugo and a handful of higher-ups within Passione, along with a corresponding amount of bodyguards, had finished up a meeting at some fancy restaurant he couldn't have been bothered to learn the name of. He was too distracted with his own purpose for being there, and the way said purpose tended to underestimate how much danger being a mafia boss could be to his safety.
Yes, okay, Giorno knew there were certain risks involved when he took over, and he strove to take necessary precautions where he saw fit, but he also seemed almost naive to the lengths people would go to see him hurt. So Fugo had reluctantly obliged to be one of only 5 guards accompanying him. Though he knew it was impossibly dangerous to be out in the open like this with minimum protection, he kept his mouth shut so tight that at times he felt like it was stitched together.
And he kept it shut until he caught something move out of the corner of his eye, and the words has escaped his lips before he could do anything about it.
Purple Haze had never moved especially fast, but apparently Fugo's reaction time had been enough to deter the rogue Stand that had appeared from a bystander, who had revealed themselves now to be a bit more hostile than just that. A light-speed blow from his Stand's fist clocked Fugo's own directly in the stomach and sent the pair flying backwards, past a set of dumbfounded bodyguards, and colliding with the ground just behind them. Though of course in doing this, he didn't have time to comprehend that he had just saved Giorno from having his spine caved in.
The men who had been watching this rapid series of events pieced together what they could in the heat of the moment, and quickly escorted the various capos and et cetera into the vehicles that had been waiting for them beforehand. The scurry of people subsided quickly, though, leaving Fugo with a clear shot to regain his strength and rush the attacker once more.
This is where things got blurry.
Fugo remembered the familiar sense of rage flooding his mind, though it could be said that it never really left. Giorno had moved only slightly from where he originally stood, but it seemed his mind was more fully prepared. Fugo wouldn't be surprised if he was about to bring out Gold Experience in that moment, and he kicked himself for not thinking; that blind rage had clouded his judgement, as it usually did. Fugo didn't much consider the consequences before he was pushing the Don away with one hand and willing Purple Haze to attack the user with the other.
The flurry of fists that followed left no mercy to the aching that ripped through Fugo's torso, though he forced himself to power through. He reminded himself not to look down.
Purple Haze had broken 3 capsules before its rampage ended, though Fugo didn't know if the Stand knew this, or if it just felt like stopping. He didn't bother asking. The result was a melting Stand user, and a sea of toxic purple smoke that separated him from where it had all gone down. Across it stood a wary Giorno, fresh from the fight.
"Fugo!" GioGio called out, breathless. Fugo cradled his side and watched in horror as, unexpectedly, Giorno began to make his way towards him. It was only then, after a moment to scramble together his thoughts from the shock, that he found his voice once more.
"No! Stay away from me! Stay back!"
Giorno's feet planted themselves against the pavement immediately. To the outsider, it might have seemed like he'd done this out of surprise, out of fear, playing it safe in the risky game before him. Fugo knew Giorno better than that by now. This wasn't hesitation.
It was following orders.
Giorno was telling him that he was going to listen. Fugo's heart wrenched.
On the face of the younger boy was a pair of clear blue eyes, gaze fixed on Fugo. The expression Giorno wore was calm and serious, a feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing emanating from him every time it was displayed. It wasn't unlike the one that was used to intimidate a lazy capo or two, or defend the odd fly caught in a spiderweb. Only now, there were traces of that infamous kindness he had underneath it. Fugo wondered if those traces had been there all along, and he had just now noticed them.
"It's okay, Fugo. It's over," Giorno's eyes flickered underneath the shining sun. "You saved me."
Fugo let out a shaky sigh. The shallow breaths he was taking in an attempt to dull the pain were starting to wear thin. "I guess I did."
"I know how much you dislike bringing your Stand out. You didn't have to do that," Giorno called. Fugo shook his head.
"I'm here for your protection."
Another sting into Fugo's side. This time, the pain was too much to contain, and he let out a sharp hiss, struggling to stay on his feet. Fugo clamped down on his wound harder.
Giorno's attention fell to what his hands were covering up. As the realization hit him, he inclined his head down to look at his suit. Fugo resisting cursing himself when he noticed the large smear of a handprint across Giorno's chest. The boy looked back up to him and took a few more reckless steps forward.
"No, I said stay away!"
"Fugo, you're hurt!"
"I'm fine! But you won't be if you get infected, GioGio."
"But you won't be fine for much longer," Giorno said, and in a blaze of light, Gold Experience manifested. "Let me heal you."
Without waiting for his approval, Giorno continued to walk forward, his Stand trailing close behind. Fugo felt a rush of panic shoot through his body from his brain, and once again without thinking, he summoned forth Purple Haze, putting the creature between him and the Don in his way of a final stand.
In the back of his anger-flooded mind, Fugo knew this was an awful idea. He didn't care though. He knew Giorno was reckless like this, and he would do anything for him, and he had risked his life like this for Fugo before. Back then, things were more complicated, and it was easier to see why he had done what he did- they had a mission, and Giorno was simply carrying out what he had been instructed to.
But things changed, and yet, the way Giorno interacted with him had not.
It started with infecting himself with Purple Haze's virus. Then he had reunited him with a long-forgotten memory, caught him when he tripped down a long flight of stairs, stuck his arm out in the way of oncoming traffic when he let his attention slip, comforted him when the nightmares became too much. He trusted him enough to let him back into Passione, into his inner circle.
He had trusted him with his own life by making him his personal bodyguard. Yet it seemed that Giorno was set on being the one to give his all.
And if Fugo didn't do something about it now, he was sure that Giorno wasn't going to stop until he had done just that.
At the sight of the Stand before him, Giorno stopped once more. This time, though, it was clear that he was taken aback. Concern furrowed his brow and he didn't bother peering around the figure to even look at Fugo.
"What are you doing?"
"What am I doing?" Pannacotta cried, voice teeming with anger and the burning in his side. "What are you doing? I told you to stay back. You know you'll die if you walk through that virus."
"It'll be okay, Fugo. I've got this."
"No, you don't! You think you can do these things for me, GioGio, but you can't."
"I survived the last time, if you just let me-"
"This isn't like last time! Last time... Giorno, last time was nothing but sheer luck. You can't pull that again. So listen to me when I tell you that I'm not going to let you kill yourself because you might be able to heal me before the virus destroys you." Purple Haze turned his drooling head in Giorno's direction, willed into defending his user. The boy in pink bit his lip. "And if it's going to be that way, I might as well go out fighting."
Fugo's knees dropped against the ground; he heaved an aching sigh, and caved into looking down. It was worse than he thought. The adrenaline must have kept him from the worst of it, but now that it was wearing down, it was taking a toll.
The blow to his torso had broken maybe a rib or two, and if he took too big a breath or projected his voice, only then could he feel them shuffle underneath his skin. However, it would have seemed that besides the impact alone, something had completely ripped through his frontside, raking through his shirt, deep into the layer of muscle underneath. He dared not take his other hand off of the wound, lest he feel the sting of his fingers against it once more when he eventually replaced the pressure.
The Stand must have had some kind of effect in its punch, another detail that he hadn't accounted for.
Fugo needed Gold Experience, needed Giorno. He had lost an indeterminate amount of blood already, judging by the incoming weakness he now sensed. Without immediate help, he would die soon.
And yet, if it meant GioGio lived, he couldn't help but feel at peace with that.
"Please, just stay back," Fugo finally said. "Don't trade your life for mine."
He couldn't tell if he was holding back tears or not.
"It's the sun, right?"
"...what?"
Giorno was walking towards Fugo, unbothered by the giant cloud of smoke he was about to enter. Purple Haze snarled, and lurched forward in preparation of attack.
"G-giorno! Stop!"
It took everything Fugo had not to use the last of his strength to push the Don away using his Stand. Instead, it just stood there, as if hesitant to stop him at all.
"The sun. It's the one thing that can cure Purple Haze's virus. Albeit, a slow one." Giorno's skin stayed unblemished as he began the journey towards him. "But it is still a cure."
"If you're banking on the sweet afternoon sun to cure you, Giorno, stop. This isn't funny."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind," he continued. Giorno had passed Purple Haze completely by. Against his skin, Fugo could feel the ghosts of Gold Experience grazing its fingers under the Stand's chin as it moved towards its user. With a shiver and the flick of a mental switch, Purple Haze dissipated in the thick of the fog.
Fugo couldn't explain why he'd done that. He couldn't explain why he'd suddenly allowed Giorno to approach him despite everything, every ounch of logic and emotion inside of him, screaming for him to get out of there.
He'd given up on pushing him away, in every sense of the phrase.
When he looked up again, Giorno was standing close enough to reach out to. And reach out he did; all that blood loss had finally gotten to him, and he slumped forward into the arms of his boss.
"Fugo..!" And then, the feeling of Giorno wrapping his hand around is, the other pressing something cold into his wound. In a daze, Fugo pressed his forehead into the crook of his neck. Giorno was warm. No sooner was Fugo in this state of comfort, though, than he was torn out of it.
Fugo wanted to scream as the ladybug brooch, as he now saw, transformed into the missing section of his torso. He gripped Giorno's palm like a lifeline, and in doing so, placed his other on the back of the younger boy's neck to brace himself.
"God, fuck! It hurts," he groaned, breath steady once more. A relieved chuckle shook Giorno's entire body, Fugo could feel. It was light, yet it came from deep in his chest. He meant it.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Gold Experience can't do anything about the pain," he offered. "But you're okay now, see? And so am I."
Fugo froze, ignoring any lingering fragments of burning in his body. For the moment, he had been so relieved to be whole again that he'd forgotten why he'd protested it in the first place. Fugo lifted his head up from its perch on Giorno's shoulder and scanned his eyes around- his hands, he could feel, as well as his neck and shoulders- but there was no sign of the virus' hold anywhere. There were no bubbles or melted skin or screams of pain coming from Giorno's face, either, he realized. He had stared at it sometimes- snuck glances when he wasn't looking in an effort to place him. So, he There was only his blonde hair and blue eyes, and those sweet lips that said the most amazing things and only aggravated how much Fugo looked at him. Fugo's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, trying to place exactly what had happened.
"I don't understand."
"To be honest, I can't say I do either. The sun, I realized, was a very important clue," Giorno explained. Fugo made no effort to hide the look of bewilderment evident in his eyes.
"Do you remember how I sent you on that mission to take down Volpe and his crew? How your Stand adapted when you did, because you yourself had evolved?" Fugo touched his fingers to the scar tissue on his cheeks, a reminder at what that small adventure had left him with- both the benefits and the disadvantages.
"What's your point?"
Giorno's smile more curious in nature. "I had a theory. If your virus could change, why couldn't the cure?"
Fugo's eyes widened. "You mean..?"
"I took a chance that paid off," Giorno said, and turned his head around in the direction of a growing clamour of noise.
Fugo followed his gaze, and saw with him that the virus that formerly surrounded him had mostly burned out in the rays of Southern Italian sunlight. Among the debris behind it though, Fugo could make out several figures making their way towards the pair. At the sight if this, Giorno rose to his feet, taking the older's hands in his own, and turned back to face him.
"Giorno, I still have questions," said Fugo. The Don offered a kind smile in return,
"I find it best for you to come to your own conclusions, as I have."
And with that, Giorno turned on his heel to meet the sprinting forms of Mista and Sheila E. Fugo stood speechless, bloodied and alone, against the backdrop of some building's corner he had just found himself dying in.
Fugo had no idea how Giorno survived the virus, and it was tearing him apart. There was no way he wasn't infected either, as he thought up at one point. He'd gone straight through that cloud. So what had he done? What kind of solution... Maybe, he thought, it had something to do with Gold Experience Requiem? Is he just immune to everything now?
And then there was Giorno's clue.
The sun.
The biggest question was what he meant by that.
He cocked his head to one side and peered up at the boy, who stood a few meters away, and who was being poked and prodded and questioned by the two ignoramuses Fugo called his best friends. Over protests of "What if you'd gotten hurt, stupid?" and "Seriously, you've got to be more careful," Giorno returned his gaze and gave him a pleading look. Fugo laughed at this, for the first time in a while.
That daylight from before grew stronger with the clouds above moving in the wind, adjusting perfectly so that it shone against Giorno's golden hair and illuminated his skin, and he put up one hand to block it from his eyes.
Fugo could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the sight.
It was no secret that he respected Giorno, sometimes even came close to worshipping the guy. But now, he felt... Something more. Something that was there all along, but didn't have a name until now. It was the way they looked at each other, their trust and respect. It was sacrificing everything for a chance to the other's survival and the forgiveness when no one else gave it.
Fugo shoved his hands into his pockets. "Hmph. So that's what he meant."
And he strode off in pursuit of Giorno.
In pursuit of his sun.