Wary eyes flutter open and closed, trying to keep open as a quiet clock hand ticks away, drowned by the chatter of a boisterous young Italian. The boy's mouth seems to run on, with not even he keeping track of his rambling, as he would pause often to recall the last thing he said to reassure himself he was making sense. For a moment, he halts speech longer than usual, and draws his attention to his tired peer.

"Fugo? You're listening, right? You'll never get it if you don't listen."

Fugo was a taller, fair-skinned, sleek male with pale silver hair. He glances up, his expression oblivious, yet he nods in understanding.

"Sure, Narancia."

With a smile, Narancia continues on with his speech about God knows what, and Fugo continues to tune him out. Growing wary of having to sit in the same chair for hours, the tired male gets up and stretches. Narancia stops speaking and watches him, the two locking eyes as Fugo leaves the room. Offended, Narancia peruses him, quickly catching up to the sluggish boy and grabbing him by the sleeve.

"Where are you going?! Did you get it, or are you sick of hearing me talk? Fugo, it's really rude to just--"

"Listen, Narancia." Fugo sighs, turning back to face the shorter male. "I'm tired. It's past 12. I don't know what Bruno wants us to do tomorrow, I don't know if we'll be busy, I - I don't know. I need to sleep." He continues walking, gaze focused intently on reaching his room that lies a few feet away. "You should too."

Narancia puffs out his lower lip and skips two steps ahead, walking backwards in front of his companion with a pleading expression.

"Aww, Fugo, you know I can't sleep! Someone else is staying in my room, and I don't know him! He's a tight-ass! I don't want to be around that!"

Fugo shrugs and slips his way past the shorter boy, his hand gripping his doorknob and turning.

"Sleep on the couch."

"No! It smells!" Narancia grumbles. "...Let me sleep with you."

With narrowed eyes and an almost disgusted expression, Fugo begins closing the entrance to his room, merely shaking his head warily in response. A foot stops the door from shutting, and soon the rest of the other boy's body worms into the room. Quickly, before anything can be done, Narancia runs to Fugo's bed and throws himself on it, burrowing under the covers. Sighing loudly, Fugo seems to tread water as he approaches his bed. He sits on the end of it, staring at the lump in his blanket. He does this for a minute, staying completely quiet, until a pair of eyes peeks out from the covers and swiftly hides once more.

Cracking a small smile, the boy slides off the bed and prepares to rest, putting on his sleepwear before settling into his bed. He gives the bump in his bed a small tap and it shifts, giving him room to get comfortable. After situating himself, he flicks off the lamp on his nightstand and lays down completely. He waits a moment, eyes fixed on the boy hidden and barely visible in the dim light until he sprouts out of the blanket like a flower. The two locked eyes and began to laugh a bit.

"Your bed is comfy, Fugo. Mine's all.. eugh."

Fugo lets out a gentle chuckle.

"Your bed isn't bad, Narancia. You make it worse than it is."

"Yeah," The boy hums. "I've slept on worse stuff."

Silence overtakes the room in an instant, and the two shift into a better position, each unconsciously scooting closer to one another. In their closeness, Fugo can feel a shiver run through the smaller male, and he instinctively piles more of the blanket on top of him. With curious amber eyes that almost seem to shimmer in the moonlight, Narancia watches him fumbling around with the fabric in an attempt to cover up his kind act, only to embarrass himself. He begins to laugh.

"You're silly, Fugo. Here,"

The Italian wraps his arms around his friend, hugging him close and nuzzling up to his warmth. This is much more comfortable, and it provides a far more soothing alternative to lifeless cloth. Unmoving and appearing almost frightened, Fugo seems to freeze like a deer in headlights. Narancia stares up at him until he wiggles under the discomfort of being watched and hugs the boy tighter.

Suddenly, Narancia stops. He stops completely - it's hard to even feel him breathing. It is as though his life had come to a halt in this exact moment.

"This is wrong..." He whispers softly, eyes falling to Fugo's chest.

"...What?"

"You can't keep living like this."

Fugo shoots up in bed, his breathing labored and his forehead coated with sweat. He stares blankly in front of him, his mind a-flurry. His gaze flicks to the clock. 2:48 am. Slowly, the boy brings his hands to his face and holds them there for some time. No words are spoken, no sound is made, and the city outside seems completely still. It was just a dream. The same memory he has been reliving since he last saw Narancia. Though, the ending always changes - every night, Fugo is uncertain if the outcome will be tragic or not. Perhaps it will stop when they meet once more, after he has helped Trish and everything is better. Yes, when they meet again...