Chapter Text
It’s a moderately nicer Wednesday than when all of this started now. Still rainy, but a whole centigrade warmer than it was a month ago. And much, much less boring. Giorno now has: three tankfuls of fully grown frogs hiding in the back, ready to be released into the wild, three new friends to keep him company during work, and one. New. Boyfriend.
They never order anything, because why the fuck would they pay money and support the business when they can instead buy dollar store ice creams and eat them at the tables, and support Giorno instead. Nothing scares off white soccer moms like three teenage loiterers sitting by the entrance, dressing like thugs for the world’s gayest gang, and saying swear words without caring about whether young ears are nearby.
“Elitist scum ass bastard.”
“Okay, okay. I’m not saying I love Remy more than you, I’m saying your food combinations are not on the same level as him, and that’s okay because he has training and - ”
“NOT THE SAME? Oh sure, when the rat eats cheese with a strawberry it’s Art and it’s Cuisine , but when I do it, it’s gross.”
“There is a difference . Between. Fresh - artisan - fruits and cheeses. And . A strawberry fished from your yogurt cup and a dollop of spray cheese.”
“Nope. You’re a food racist. You’re a food racist and I’m ahead of my time.”
“You know what? Fine. I’m elitist. All that means is that I have great taste.”
“You got shit taste in everything, stinky.”
“Even in my beloved and dearest? In my sweetest darling? Hmm?”
“Yes.”
“Wrong. So wrong. You know why? Because I wuv you so much and I wuv you even though you make me wanna puke with your yucky widdle food combos. ”
“Bro. Don’t do the voice.”
“What voice? All I’m saying is how much I wuv you and wanna kiss your widdle face. Just a widdle kissy-wissy for the woad. A widdle snuggle before we head out.”
“ I’m gonna muwdur you in your sweep. I’m gonna smuvver you in a piwwow. ”
“See, you took the voice too far and now it’s incomprehensible. You gotta weel it back in a widdle and twy again. ”
Giorno watches as Fugo decides he’s going to have an aneurysm if he keeps listening to this and speaks up for the first time since arriving. “I fucking hate both of you. Jesus Christ, just shut the fuck up for thirty fucking seconds.”
“ Pwetty pwease don’t use the Woahd’s Name in Vain. ”
“See? Much better that time, babe. I knew you had it in you. It’s so fun, right?”
“Yeah! If it makes Widdle Fwugo angwy, it’s a whowe wotta fun! ”
“Go suck three dicks at once. I’m never talking to either of you again.”
Panna drags up a chair to sit as close to the register as possible and props his head on his elbows to mope. Or sulk, or whatever. It’s cute. He gets all pouty and pretends to be mad but Giorno knows that he’s not really that upset. And it’s hard to take him seriously as a dark, emotional, brooding figure when he’s still wearing his scented strawberry earrings Giorno bought him from Claires for their one month anniversary.
Part of Giorno knows that it’s bad to feel excited as he watches Fugo leave his friends all upset.
A bigger part of him doesn’t give a fuck whether it’s bad or not because now he gets to talk with his boyfriend . He has a boyfriend now. And a large part of talking with Panna is just listening to him vent about things and either getting mad with him or calming him down with Frog Therapy.
Or kisses. Giorno is hoping this is a kisses scenario.
“What are our options for shutting them up? I’m willing to try anything with a jail sentence under five years.”
Or crime. Crime is fun.
“Contaminate their chapstick with superglue so they can’t talk anymore.”
“They’ll just make out or something and pretend it’s romantic to need a surgical procedure to get off of each other. Do you think we could get them jinxed and then just refuse to let them go? You know they’d respect it.”
“Probably, but they’d also keep it up in private, and I wouldn’t want Narancia’s dad to hate me any more than he already does.”
“Yeah, he’s overprotective. And stubborn. And an asshole.”
“I think he’s nice.”
“You just said he hates you.”
“Irrelevant. Maybe if we threaten to crash their wedding and change all the songs to be Mozart or Beethoven or something.”
“That… that could work. I’ll be back.”
Giorno is not a clingy boyfriend. He’s not a clingy boyfriend. And he’s definitely not going to lean all the way over the counter to the point where he’s basically just crawling on top of it so he can watch Panna for longer. He just wants to see the drama because he’s nosy. Yeah.
In the few minutes since he last looked over to check on his friends, Narancia, wonder of wonders, somehow ended up in Mista’s lap. Again. Even though they were threatening to break up over a fucking children’s movie just a few minutes ago. They’re perfect for each other, in a weird, stupid way that makes Giorno feel all warm and fuzzy.
Panna sits down in another chair he pulls from a table to the side. Giorno’s going to have to move that back once they leave, but if they stay for his entire shift he can dump it on his stupid coworkers. Another good reason to stay longer, then.
“Babe, you got something on your face.”
“Is it my nose? Because I’m not falling for it again.”
“No, it’s - ”
“My skin?”
“No, if you would listen - ”
“Is it - ” Narancia is cut off very quickly with a full hearted smooch right on the mouth. Maybe a little off target, but you need to be nice to Catholics because they’re still trying to leave room for the Holy Spirit and it’s the thought that matters or whatever.
“It’s a kiss. And you ruined my pickup line, by the way.”
“Oh no. What a shame. Guess we gotta try again.”
Thankfully, Panna seizes the opportunity to interrupt before any more poorly aimed attempts at canoodling can take place.
“Okay, first of all, cringe. Second of all, gross. Third of all, premarital kissing? I’m ashamed of you both.”
“It’s not.”
“It is cringe, and denying it only makes it more so. At least have the dignity to do things like that ironically like everyone else.”
“It’s not premarital , whore. And premarital kissing is the real cringe, right buddy?”
“Unless it’s kissing the homies goodnight.”
“Okay, duh.”
“I’m sorry, can we get back on topic? Because I don’t think you understand. Premarital literally means ‘before you get fucking married,’ so YES, actually, it IS still cringe - and why the fuck am I focusing on whether or not it’s cringe - YOU’RE NOT FUCKING MARRIED.”
“Okay but we are though.”
“Yeah, we got married on my birthday.”
“NO YOU’RE FUCKING NOT! I know you two dipshits and I know your dumbasses wouldn’t leave me out of your stupid fucking wedding even if I was in the middle of brain surgery - ”
“OHHH. So that’s what’s got you so worried.”
“I’m not worr-”
“It’s chill, little buddy. We didn’t have a wedding.”
Panna is going to have another aneurysm so Giorno takes it upon himself to slide the rest of the way over the counter and join in on the conversation. Not like anyone is going to come in anyways.
“I was under the impression you two spent a lot of time planning your wedding. Did something happen?”
“Okay, so we went out to see if we could get free birthday slushies at the 7/11, right? And the chick there said no, because we’d done the same thing earlier that month, and so we were explaining how childbirth can take a really long time and is it really so hard to believe Nara’s mom was in labour for two weeks when who should walk in but everyone's favorite Priest?”
“This is… the one who started a fight in here. My babysitter.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“No. No, no, no no no.” Panna must have forgotten about being mad, because he looks horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“WE GOT MARRIED IN THE PARKING LOT!”
“THAT’S STILL NOT A LEGAL MARRIAGE. YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY MARRIED UNLESS YOU SIGNED THE PAPERWORK AND THERE’S NO WAY YOU - ”
“Well damn, you hear that, Nara? We’re illegally married. We’re criminals, now.”
“Partners in crime.”
“Unlawfully wedded.”
“With a history of criminal engagement.”
“Mister and Miss Demeanor.”
“Til death sentences do us part.”
“Common Law marriage? More like, AGAINST the Law marriage.”
“Ayyy, I’m gonna get locked up and then knock-”
“THIS IS A HOUSE OF THE LORDT. Mind your fucking language, babe.”
“Shit, sorry bro. You’ll always be my most wanted criminal.”
“No homo?”
“No homo.”
And, with a hand-clasp-bro-hug which smoothly transitioned into an impromptu make-out session, the conversation ends. Or at least it would, except Panna still has questions. At least his thirst for knowledge is cute.
“There’s no way you scrapped all your wedding planning for a parking lot ceremony. Beyond how stupid it is, your dad would kill you if you didn’t invite him to your wedding.”
“Oh, we’re still having a wedding, bro! We’ve got it all planned out!”
“Yeah. Right now we’re married in the eyes of God, and that’s what really matters, but it would be rude not to have a wedding, so when you and Gio get married, we’re gonna tag along.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah! We’re your best men, you say your vows, smooch, the whole deal, then we swap out! We’ll already be all dressed up and everything, so why bother trying to get everyone together for two ceremonies when we can just jump in while everyone is still in the same place? It’s genius!”
“It’s not genius, its stupid. Everyone is going to catch on once they see that there’s two wedding cakes and you two are dressed like idiots.”
“I think it could be fun.” Giorno speaks up without even realizing it until it’s too late. “I think… I think knowing that it’s not something we’re going through alone would make it a lot less frightening.”
“YEAH! See? Toldja this shit was gonna be cool.”
“So as far as decorations go, we’re thinking classic, but with hints of bowling alley thrown in. Tastefully, though, tastefully.”
“No. If you’re gonna hijack OUR wedding, you get to fucking deal with whatever decor WE want.”
“And what do you have in mind, Fugly? Huh? How much thought you been giving it now that you’ve actually got someone in mind.”
“N-none.” Panna’s turning all red again. And sweaty. But in a cute way, like a nervous little tomato. Or probably a strawberry. “I’m sixteen. It’s too early for me to be thinking about this kind of stuff.”
“BULLSHIT! You were doing SAT prep in 7th grade. Don’t try to tell me your nervous little brain isn’t cross referencing all the venues with their crime rates or evacuation plans or whatever you do.”
If Panna turns any redder he might pass out, so Giorno takes mercy on him by placing a hand on his shoulder and relieving him of his place in the conversation.
“It’s good to plan ahead. And we’ve got lots of time now. Can Jean-Pierre be the ring-bearer?”
“The turtle or your uncle?”
“Tortoise.”
“Fuckin’ sick. I vote ring-tortoiser. Geddit? Cuz he’s not a bear?”
“Think we could teach him to ride a skateboard? Like not any fancy tricks, but maybe just like steering so we can give him a push and he can ride down to us.”
Giorno lets the two of them talk it out, knowing full well that none of their discussion will amount to anything. But it keeps them off of Panna for a few minutes, which is all he really cares about. And so when they’re busy with post-marital wedding planning, Giorno is going to get in some pre-marital hand holding. Maybe a solid side-hug if he’s lucky. He’s already done his part to wrap his arm around Panna’s shoulders, which is great on it’s own, but until he gets some kind of reciprocal arm-wrapping, it’s not really a hug. It’s just an armrest.
“I want you to know,” Panna eventually gets the courage to speak up again. “That I am not planning our wedding.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Popcorn’s done.” Giorno pulls the bag out of the microwave by the corner, keeping it pinched between his fingers before filing it back down to the counter.
“And by done, you actually mean burnt?” Narancia’s voice calls back from the living room.
“Yes, very. Almost on fire.”
“Perfect. Bring it in, Gio.”
No way in Hell is he going to touch that bag again. Not until it’s cooled off. So he stalls for time by getting two small bowls and one larger one. Because getting four small bowls last time was… a mistake.
Once he’s burned off his fingerprints opening the bag and unceremoniously dumping very unequal amounts in each bowl, he carries them back out to the living room and sits on the ground next to Panna.
“What movie are we watching?”
“ Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties . And no, it’s not any good.”
“Oh it’s awful. It’s amazing.There’s a drunk ferret.” Narancia snatches the larger bowl away and goes back to sitting in Mista’s lap. “Dad refuses to come in while we watch this movie, so like, we’re free to hold hands and shit.”
“The scandal.” Mista falls back over the armrest of the vouch in a swoon. “I’m a married man, I could never .”
“You sit in his lap every time we hang out. I don’t think hand-holding is going to offend your father.”
“Nah, he just gets jealous cuz he’s a lonely old bastard. Now shush, Garfield’s on.”
Giorno's hand is warm. Not because of popcorn burns, but because it's in his boyfriend's hand. Fugo is seated right next to him, the two squished together on the couch under the spiderman blankets Mista had lent them. Being so cozy is a nice break, and every time he and Fugo got to spend quality time together, he got to save memories of their fun in photos that he's hung up across his wall.
Real-dad and Mom are very approving of his boyfriend, so he knows that when they eventually reach that special summer when Fugo will claim he proposed, even though it will all be exactly to Giorno’s plan, and the two will be engaged.
Resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder, giorno decides to push his luck and lean in for a quick smooch. Turning his face to Fugo's smooth cheek he purses his lips l and closes his eyes as he leans in.
"Huh-mmmmph?"
Oh.
Oh .
Panna had turned his head at the last moment.
Turning bright red as he started to pull away, Giorno was surprised as Fugo chased his lips to continue the sweet affection.
"Panna?" Turquoise eyes sparkled far too much, given that they were only illuminated by a Garfield movie. God, Giorno was gone for this boy.
“Mhmmph.”
Fugo didn’t seem capable of forming a complete sentence. How sweet. Gently reaching an arm behind his boyfriend’s back, he pulled him in a little closer to snuggle. This seemed to settle him down pretty quickly, and within minutes Giorno felt fingers interlace with his own.
Giorno’s never letting go of this one.