Work Text:
Bruno takes a little longer than usual while meeting with a higher-up so it’s past the time they usually go out to lunch. They’re waiting across the street at one of the tables for four designed for office workers to have a coffee or have a midday snack, so they’re painfully obvious: Abbacchio as de facto leader in Bruno’s absence over a trio of teenagers. He scowls as his stomach rumbles. “Someone go get something to eat,” he orders.
Mista, Fugo, and Narancia have a silent round of exchanging looks, all urging the other to volunteer. This, predictably, goes nowhere. “Mista, you go,” Fugo says finally. “Seniority. You were last to join the squad, so you’re lowest on the pecking order.”
“What?” Mista squawks, his hand twitching toward his pistol. He’s responsible enough to know not to seriously harm a teammate with violence, but it won’t stop him from threatening it. “That’s bull. You go, if we’re going on seniority - you’re the baby of the group.”
Fugo’s lips purse, as they usually do when he’s frustrated. “You certainly wouldn’t think so with the way you act.”
Narancia, who had the most reasonable suggestion of drawing lots, opens his mouth to contribute but finds himself mute. He agrees with Fugo, because there’s a way of doing things, but he agrees with Mista too, because children should wait on their elders. He looks to Abbacchio for help.
“I don’t care who goes, but they’d better go before I lose my temper.” For certain, it won’t be Abbacchio. Narancia has a feeling it’ll turn to him if Mista and Fugo realize and decide to gang up on him, so he shuts his mouth.
“Fugo, you’re always saying you know where best to eat. Your little rich boy palate. Go get us lunch; it’s only fair.”
“Hmm, that’s rich. You’re always saying you’re the fastest at running errands. I guess I should have known better of a new recruit that they’re only in to find fast ways to rise to the top.”
Mista turns to him, and Narancia freezes. Quickly scrambling his brains to find a logical reason why he shouldn’t be the one to do it, he’s about to unleash a sloppy argument but Mista only says, “You agree with me, don’t you, Narancia? The gang is all about who’s older and has more experience. Maybe I’ve been in this for shorter than you all but I’ve definitely seen more fights than Fugo. Don’t you think he’s the one who should be getting food?”
“You’re appealing to him?” Fugo rolls his eyes. “Narancia,” he says, and Narancia instinctively sits up straighter. It’s only been recently that Fugo’s begun giving him basic lessons on high school vocabulary and middle school math, but when Fugo gives someone his full attention, it’s electric. It makes the base of Narancia’s spine tingle. “Remember when Mista joined and you were so excited to have an underling to boss around? Clearly that hasn’t happened, but the principle still stands. He’s got the shortest time, so he’s the youngest in the gang, right?”
Abbacchio is willfully ignoring them, not interested in their petty squabbles. Narancia hates being in the middle of these kinds of things. Mista is his good friend, who will do crazy dares with him and will entertain the weirdest trains of thought. Fugo, for all his mothering and lecturing - Narancia likes getting attention. It’s been a weakness of his since he was small. Mista chases a good time, but Fugo is there after the hangover settles in, muttering as he makes him stay hydrated and get some food in his system. To be honest, Narancia’s a little smitten, but he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if anyone else finds out.
“Hah...” he says slowly. “Didn’t you know, Fugo? Kids are meant to wait on others. What does it look like, if we went around running errands for you? You’re younger than us, don’t get all full of yourself!” There - if he’s a little mean, then no one will know. Mista laughs and fist-bumps him. Fugo turns red, having been abandoned by everyone in the squad, but he stands up and collects his things.
“Fine. I’ll go. We won’t eat if we keep arguing. Just don’t complain about what I get you.” He storms off. Narancia swallows. It’s fine if Fugo never knows too, so it’s good if he’s mean.
Mista’s fast at running errands, but Fugo is fast too; Bruno is just emerging from the restaurant when Fugo comes back bearing sandwiches. Abbacchio eats his without a word of thanks, sliding into the passenger’s seat of the car and shrugging responses when Bruno asks about the scouting. Mista grabs his own and piles into the backseat with Sex Pistols in tow, already bickering with them over their shares. Fugo hands Narancia his food without a single word and pushes him into the back next to Mista, squeezing in to pack them all in. Bruno begins driving.
Narancia thinks about it, and maybe it isn’t good to always be mean. In any case, Fugo has ways to make his life miserable, and Bruno is very supportive of his squad members being fairly educated. He’ll be trapped in infinite practice drills if Fugo has his way, and it won’t matter if he’s sided with Mista when Mista goes off to have fun and Narancia can’t. “Hey Fugo?” he says quietly, so Mista won’t hear him over the yelling from his Stand. Fugo just gives him a look. “Sorry. I mean, I don’t take back what I said...about you being younger...but you know what I mean.” He’s not good with words, has never been. Fugo finishes chewing and swallows, but he keeps looking at Narancia like he’s disappointed. It makes him squirm, and there already isn’t much room in the backseat.
Then Fugo leans over and takes a big bite out of his sandwich, and Narancia watches with a bit of horrified awe the way Fugo’s mouth moves, how his lips brush against where Narancia’s has been and the flash of teeth that tears through the bread. It’s a completely innocuous gesture, but it puts Narancia on edge, like it’s something totally intimate. Fugo leans back and eats with a triumphant look. “I’m not worried about it,” he says, after his mouth is empty. “I know you’ll give me what I want if I ask.” It’s knowing - Fugo could decide that he wants to swallow Narancia whole, could say it and Narancia knows that after protesting and resisting, he’d turn his head at the end of it and expose his neck for Fugo to sink his fangs into. Narancia feels his face heat all the way to his neck, and he goes back to ravaging his sandwich, glad when they finally reach their home base and everyone can stretch their legs. He’s mean, he knows, but Fugo can be downright cruel.