PSEUMINO, VENTO AUREO.

P. FUGO

═ ☆. THANKS FOR COMING WITH ME," Fugo said. "Signor Pericolo always gets a huge shipment of new inventory right around now. His shop is small enough for him to manage by himself, but he always appreciates it when I come by to help with cataloguing."

You pretended to look bored. "Oh, is that what we're doing? I thought we were going to do something fun."

"Hey, we're both fresh out of the hospital. There's no need to overexert ourselves."

You rolled your eyes, smiling. You didn't mind helping with book sorting at all. The little bookstore was a great place to spend an afternoon, and frankly, you were happy to spend any time with Fugo that wasn't in the hospital. Already, he was looking noticeably better, his dark-blonde hair shining in the sunlight and his eyes bright despite the slight shadows beneath them. The doctors had removed the bandages wrapping his limbs, and the welts and sores left behind from Purple Haze had faded to pink, healing skin.

You didn't know why, but you absolutely loved the short-sleeved shirt Fugo was wearing today. It was one of those indie shirts you could only find in independent clothing stores, plain beige with a green monster decked out in crooked horns. Or what you thought was a monster, anyway. The design was on the verge of ugly, but veered over to the realm of adorable instead. And the little green scarf peeking out of Fugo's collar was so cute you were tempted to tear it off and kiss him.

"Do you mind if I stop by the café quickly? I just need to grab something," said Fugo, pulling into the parking lot.

You agreed to wait for him in the car, feeling like a kid whose dad had forgotten something at the store. A few minutes passed, and someone tapped on your window. A girl with sharp eyes and a mouth already curling into a smirk. Since the engine was still idling, you hesitantly rolled the window down.

"Hey," the girl said. Her long hair was drawn over her shoulder, along with braids that were a few shades lighter. There was an eight-pointed star over one of her eyes that could have been a scar or a tattoo. "Are you with Fugo?"

You had stumbled across random Stand users enough to be wary of anyone approaching you out of the blue. "... Who's asking?"

The girl stuck her hand through the window, nearly catching you in the eye. "Call me Sheila. I work with Fugo at the café."

You reluctantly returned the handshake and told her your name.

"I honestly thought you'd be more attractive."

You blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't be. It's not really your fault. Genetics and all that."

Sheila surprised you by opening the backseat door and getting in Fugo's car, cool as a cucumber. Was she supposed to get a ride with you and Fugo or something?

"I mean, with the way he was going on about you, people would think you were straight out of a renaissance painting. I've never seen Fugo act like such a dumbass. Has he asked you out yet?"

"I don't—"

"I don't know how he would. That guy has less charm than a concrete wall. He always gets more tips than me when he busses tables, though. It must be how painfully timid he seems. Is that what drew you to him? His tragic shyness?"

You blinked at her. Blunt. That was the word you had been looking for. This girl didn't seem fond of softening her words, no matter what it was she said.

The driver's side door opened, and Fugo slid into his seat.

"Sorry you had to wait. I had to look around for—Sheila? What the hell are you doing in my car?"