Disneyland was fun for a few days until it got boring. Luckily, Giorno's dad got just as bored as the two blond boys. At the moment, they were in a taxi cab, returning to Fugo's home. Remembering that Giorno had ignored his phone for the rest of the vacation and had it off on the plane, he turned it on and glanced at the notifications. There was a lot, but he had over 99 notifications on Twitter. Giorno knew to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of him. He sighed.
"Is something wrong, Giorno?" Fugo asked.
Not wanting his dad to know about the drama, he showed his phone to his boyfriend.
"Is this—" Fugo turned his phone on and checked his notifications. "Narancia," he growled. He was angry, but Giorno could tell he did his best to contain his frustration. However, Giorno wasn't sure what Narancia had to do about it. Then again, he only checked the message LittleFeet DM'd him. LittleFeet had revealed himself as Formaggio, the scammer from Pompeii. Giorno rechecked his DMs and noticed Formaggio was polite at first, but since he ignored social media during vacation, Formaggio got impatient and rude. Illuso DM'd him, too, but he was flat-out rude.
"What do we do?" Giorno texted Fugo.
"I don't know, but this is annoying," he replied.
"We just got off the plane, and you boys are texting people?" Dio questioned.
"Just telling our friends we're back," Giorno lied.
"I remember back when I was young, we didn't—"
They ignored Dio's blabbering while they replied, reported, and blocked away. Then the car stopped, but the boy didn't notice.
"Boys, off the phone!" Dio yelled, snatching Giorno's phone. "Hmm, what's this? Aha! Both of you, out of the cab!"
They got out, terrified. The taxi drove off. The two felt like Dio's piercing cold glare could kill them.
"Giorno, why lie to me about this little drama on that idiotic bird app? You know I can help make your problems disappear."
"I thought I could handle it," Giorno explained, trembling.
Fugo held onto his hands.
"Who's fault is it?" Dio inquired.
"It's Sheila's fault!" Fugo blurted. "Well, Clara. No, wait, Illuso!"
"Well, which is it?" Dio glared at him now, causing him to sweat.
"Illuso dumped Clara when he called her! It was unexpected! Clara didn't get over it! I don't know if she has, but Sheila is up in arms about it!" Fugo thought Dio was scarier than his parents.
"Ugh, drama. I used to hear people confess their sins to Pucci. Forget about this. I don't care. Just be careful with what you put on the internet."
"That's it?" Giorno questioned.
"Oh, that's it, but Giorno, you're grounded!"
"W-what about me?" Fugo asked.
"You're grounded, too!"
"Me? But you're not my dad!"
Dio shoved Giorno aside, pushing him to the ground with force, and whispered in Fugo's ears. "Don't forget I'm controlling your parents."
Fugo clenched his fists and smiled. "Hey, Giorno, do you want to know something?"
Dio dug his nails into the golden blond's shoulder. "What the hell are you doing, boy?" he hissed.
"It's just some silly drama," he whispered back.
"Some silly drama? Why is this foot person sending my son death threats and taking pictures of your mansion?"
"I'll report Formaggio. I know who that is. Let me take care of this. Do not punish Giorno for this!"
"If anything happens to my son, you're dead." Dio backed away, helped his son stand up, and handed him his phone. "You're not grounded. I'll head back in and find a house—quickly."
Due to the darkness, they couldn't do anything and headed inside the mansion.
"Oh, and I think you two should sleep in different rooms," they heard Dio say as they entered.
Giorno facepalmed in embarrassment and went into one of Fugo's elder brothers' rooms to rest.
-
Giorno and Fugo woke up, heading to the dining room. The servants made them a large breakfast with freshly squeezed orange juice. Before they could chow down, they saw Dio walk by.
"Have you dealt with your little problem yet?" Dio asked.
"Nope, not yet. We would've, but we need sleep," Fugo reminded him.
"Oh, right. I'm checking some houses." He left.
They gulped down their food, returned to their rooms, slipped on clothes, and left the house. Fugo texted their friends to meet them at a park. After he sent the text, he realized something.
"Do you ever realize we hardly spend enough time outside?" Fugo chatted while walking. "And I know we spent most of our time outside before Disneyland, but how often do we leave the house? Aside from school."
"Hardly." Giorno walked silently for a few seconds until he realized something. "I don't think I've ever taken a trip to the park in Japan."
"Really? You haven't?" Fugo looked at him, shocked. "But the games I— Oh, right. They're just games."
"I didn't have the time. I was too interested in Italian culture."
They sat on a bench in the park. A couple of people walked around, but nobody their age was around. That is until their friends showed up, but Fugo noticed somebody missing among them—Mista.
"Giorno," Fugo whispered, "you notice something?"
"Yeah, Mista isn't here," Giorno whispered. "And Narancia and Trish are avoiding your gaze. Sheila looks like she's ready to cry."
"D-did you text us to come here so you can talk to us about what happened?" Narancia asked, trying to hide behind Trish.
"Narancia! This is your fault," comforted Trish.
"Is it, though?" He stared at Sheila.
Her lips trembled.
"Where's Mista?" Giorno tried to shift the conversation.
"Huh, Fugo, have you text him?" Narancia asked, no longer cowering behind Trish.
"Yeah," Fugo responded, showing him his phone with the message. "He didn't text back. I thought you would know." He put the phone back in his pocket.
"He wasn't present when we were streaming," Trish said. "I think. I'm pretty sure he would've said something."
"Why don't we visit his house?" Sheila suggested. "Maybe we could find out who the blond guy is, too."
"Blond guy?" Narancia questioned. "Fugo?"
"No, he seemed taller and older."
"Taller and older, huh?" Narancia pondered.
"You don't know? What kind of friend are you? I thought you were his best friend?"
"I—" He wanted to say something but stopped and sighed.
"Well," Sheila said, "what are we waiting for? Shall we head there?"
"We don't have anything else to do," Fugo answered. "Why not?"
-
The five of them stood near Mista's home. When one of them knocked, nobody answered. They hung around near his house, and the wait was uneventful. Sheila brought out her phone, and Fugo watched her.
"You're not going to bully Illuso, are you?" he joked.
"Really?" She glared at him. "Am I not allowed to look at my phone? Where the hell is Mista, anyway? I'm going to call him."
Narancia, sitting on the pavement, sighed. "Good luck with that."
Sheila dialed his number, but he didn't answer. "Answer, you dipshit! Where are you? Ugh!" She started texting on her phone.
"What are you doing?" Giorno asked.
"Asking the public where he is," she answered.
Fugo's phone rang right when Sheila made her post—an unknown caller contacted him. Nobody posted his phone number online, hopefully. It could be Mista. That would explain why he hasn't answered anyone's calls or texts.
Hoping to hear an explanation, Fugo answered the call, hearing a different yet familiar voice. "Hello, Fugo," Formaggio said.
"How the hell did you get this number?" Fugo attempted to keep it quiet, but Giorno was the only one who heard him and stayed silent for now.
"Who do you think? It was Mista, of course. Well, no, it's complicated."
"Complicated? Are you and Illuso starting to fight?"
"You wish. Anyway, I got your number from Prosciutto, who got it from Mista."
"Who?" That name did not ring a bell. "Is that someone I'm supposed to know?"
"I thought you and Mista were close. Why don't you ask Narancia?"
"Hey, Narancia, do you know a guy named Prosciutto?"
Narancia gawked at him, confused. "Who?"
"Who are you on the phone with?" Trish asked.
"Shhh!" hushed Giorno.
"None of you know him?" Formaggio questioned. "Huh, I shouldn't be surprised. Mista is younger than Prosciutto. I assume you don't know how close they are."
"Close as in—" Fugo's cheeks turned red. The gang got closer to him to hear the conversation.
"That's right. Mista and Prosciutto are in a relationship." Everybody gasped. They must've gotten close to Fugo while he focused on the conversation. "Uh, that was a loud gasp. Anyway, Risotto had just broken up with Trish's older brother. I don't want any drama between us when Prosciutto breaks up with Mista, and that will happen."
"Brother?" Trish questioned. "I don't—"
Sheila covered her mouth.
"Wait, hold on! Were Risotto and Prosciutto together?" Fugo asked. He was curious despite little knowledge of them.
"They were still together when Risotto was with Doppio or whatever his name is. He wanted to try something different. Turns out rice boy loves his ham, hehe!"
"Can we just find out what happened to Mista?" Narancia asked. "I don't care about this."
He's right. Mista had them worried. "Well, can you tell us where my friend is?"
"You won't harass us anymore, right?" Formaggio asked.
Fugo glared at Sheila, and she sighed. "I'll leave Illuso alone."
"Huh, what did Sheila say? Fugo, give her the phone. I want to hear her clearly."
Fugo handed her his phone, and Sheila repeated what she said but in an angrier tone and returned his phone.
"Thank you." Fugo could tell Formaggio was smiling. "That's all I wanted to hear. Mista might be at Prosciutto's house doing who knows what, hehe! Bye!"
The call ended.
"So, is Mista coming or not?" Narancia asked.
"He might be at Prosciutto's house," Fugo answered.
"Couldn't we search for the address of this guy's house?"
"Yes, but the tone in Formaggio's voice before he hung up sounded like they were"—his face turned red—"you know."
"But I don't know!"
"Narancia, I think it's best if you don't know," Giorno said.
"Why? Is Prosciutto a serial killer and seduced Mista just to kill him?" He panicked.
"Whoa! No, no!" Trish tried to calm him down.
"Wait, then—" His face turned red. "They're having sex!?"
Sheila and Trish chortled while Fugo facepalmed.
"I wouldn't believe a word Formaggio says," Giorno said. "It seems so sudden. They wouldn't jump to having sex. Also, it's none of our business."
"Well, we now know the mystery of Mista's disappearance," Sheila said. "What now?"
"I hoped we could all talk about things, maybe gossip about classmates," Fugo said. "But we spent most of that time looking for Mista. I'm in the mood to play some games. Who's with me? Minecraft, anyone?"
Everyone but Trish cheered.
"Wait!" Trish yelled. "Formaggio said I had an elder brother, but we all know I don't have one."
"Oh boy," Sheila commented.
"That guy at the beach, do you think that was him? And that name, Risotto, that rings a bell! Do you remember that one time at the beach, Sheila? Clara talked to Risotto and that pink-haired man."
"I love you, but could you give it a rest? I ended my drama with Illuso. I think it's time you got over your dad."
"But Sheila! What if—"
"Trish, I don't want you to get sick like your mom did when she tried looking for him. Please"—she grabbed her hand—"tell me you'll drop it."
"I— Fine."
"I'm not sure what's going on," Narancia said, "but it wouldn't hurt if we find this guy, right? His name is Doppio, right?"
"Narancia, what are you doing?" Sheila furrowed her brows, glaring at him.
"Mista knows Prosciutto, who knows Risotto, who knows Doppio! Let's wait until Mista texts us back."
"Giorno, Fugo, do something!" Sheila begged.
"Well, we did see them once," Giorno said. "I'm curious. Let's search for Doppio."
"Could we do this tomorrow? I'm bored," Fugo said.
Trish sighed. "Fine, but you better hand me some diamonds when we get on."
Sheila frowned. Nothing positive could come from this.
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