パン 🥖 JJBA oneshots!

✂️ | [abba & nara] presentable

Narancia has a fear of looking presentable.

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Character(s): Narancia Ghirga, Leone Abbacchio, Narancia Ghirga's parents, Bruno Bucciarati, other Bucci gang members

Relationship(s): Narancia Ghirga & Leone Abbacchio, Narancia Ghirga & his parents, Narancia Ghirga & Bruno Bucciarati, Narancia Ghirga & the gang

Tags & warnings: angst, child abuse (mild but i'll tag it), mild language, fluff, family fluff, canonical minor character death

Completed: 5/6/20

Word count: 1378

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Narancia stares at the mirror. His tie is tied. His suit is buttoned. He even put that goddamned pocket square in like Bucciarati told him to. But this hair will get him shouted at for sure. This scraggly, unconventionally lengthy mop that hangs over his eyes, that he's been standing here refusing to fix for the last twenty minutes, that will totally make him stand out like a sore thumb at the party they're about to attend. Why are we even holding that stupid event anyway? It's a weapons deal; just do it in the office. What a dumb thing to throw a party and dress up all fancy for. He winces when somebody yells his name from downstairs:

"Narancia! Hurry up!"

"Coming!" The teenager shouts a reply, before exhaling sharply and reaching for the pomade. Fuck it. All I gotta do is put this in my hair and slick it back, right? It's just gonna be for a few hours, anyway. Narancia digs a finger into the clear jelly and takes some out, but as soon as he pushes his hair back to get an idea of what it will look like, that feeling of dread comes crashing down on him again.

"Narancia!" His head lifted from the table when he heard the voice. A series of angry footsteps came to a stop outside his bedroom door, and then the doorknob began to rattle aggressively. "What... Narancia, open the door. I know you're in there. Open the damn door right now."

Pushing himself up from his desk, the eleven-year-old shuffled to the door and unlocked it. Immediately, a pair of hands roughly seized him by the shoulders:

"I told you to come downstairs once you're done. What the hell are you still doing up here? And... what's with your hair?! It's a fucking rat's nest! Come on!"

Narancia stared at his father emotionlessly. He'd already emptied his heart and soul into the tears he cried for his late mother. There was nothing this man could say or do that could move him anymore.

Seemingly realizing that himself, his father let out an irritated sigh before dragging Narancia to the bathroom. He forced him to straighten up in front of the mirror, then grabbed the jar of pomade and began lathering an extensive amount onto the boy's hair. The way he tugged at and ripped through the tangles hurt, and the chemical's cloying smell was so different from his mother's usual sweet perfume, that it made Narancia's eyes well up. He desperately hoped the man behind him wouldn't misunderstand that these tears were for him — he'd already lost that privilege — but he soon realized that even if he'd cried, his father wouldn't have cared. He kept pulling Narancia's hair back just as harshly, even as tears streamed down either side of his son's face, dripping messily onto his suit. It seemed an eternity before he finally moved away, going to wash his hands and leaving the young boy to stand there frozen. When he turned back and saw that Narancia hadn't stopped crying, the only thing he could spare was a scoff: