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Fugo was no stranger to the illusion of choice.
Ever since he was very small he'd been presented with countless chances to make decisions that amounted to very little difference. Would he rather learn violin or piano? Either way his talent would be flaunted like a dog doing a clever trick. Did he want to earn his early burnout by going to law school or medical school? Was he willing to risk getting pissed off at the wrong person and dying alone on the street, or would he join a gang and take advantage of the temporary protection being a child soldier afforded him?
In the end there was always someone over him forcing him to work toward their goals and not his own. The end results would always be the same no matter what choice he picked. Passed hand to hand ad infinitum, it wasn't like he would even know what he wanted in the first place. In the end did anything even matter at all?
"Mmm smells good, Fugo."
"Hey," Fugo turned towards the speaker and lifted his knife up off the cutting board to lazily point at the bowl full of prepared strawberries he'd piled up. "Stop eating those or we won't have enough for the cake. You're the one who wanted to make this."
"They're so juicy though, and I don't have anything to do 'til the timer goes off since I got the frosting all whipped up in the fridge already. How am I supposed to resist eating some?" Mista whined as he reached for another piece of strawberry. His mouth was stained as red as Fugo's fingers.
"No patience," Fugo grumbled as he turned back to his cutting board. "Just like Narancia…"
There was a comfort in the monotonous motion. Every strawberry got the same treatment. First, Fugo chopped off the leafy top, and then, he cut it in half lengthwise to create two perfect symmetrical strawberry halves. The good part of the strawberry got placed in a shiny stainless steel bowl and the bad part tossed in a pile on top of a towel to throw away later.
Mista hadn't reached for a single strawberry top to suck away the little bit of fruit left behind clinging to leaves.
"Just like Narancia, huh?" Mista's hand retreated out of Fugo's peripheral vision.
"Mhm," Fugo hummed in agreement because he was bad at knowing when to keep quiet and when to speak up. "You know how he was."
"Yeah…" Mista replied woodenly.
It really should have been a sign. Don't go there. Not yet. The wound was still too fresh, but Fugo didn't notice. He didn't look up to see the smile dropping off of Mista's face. He was too busy chopping up strawberries to go between the layers of the cake finishing up in the oven, almost high off of their mingled sweet scents. He was doing a good job exactly as expected of him.
It was too normal standing side by side at a kitchen counter. After everything that had happened, it felt too good to have Mista there with him so domestic, so warm. How was Fugo supposed to know how to avoid ruining it? He was used to choices between bad and worse, to doing his best to mitigate risk. He wasn't used to good options. He wasn't used to having anything worth keeping.
Chop. Leafy top in a pile. Chop. Strawberry halves in a bowl.
"You know how he was. Always moving ahead full speed," Fugo recalled fondly. "He never wanted to slow down to really think about what he was doing and never wanted to take any advice even up to the end."
Chop. Mista's easy goodwill.
"Excuse me? What do you mean 'up to the end'?" Mista asked.
Fugo reached for the last strawberry before he answered, "You know. I told you all what would happen if you went up against the Boss. You're lucky you made it back in one piece. If he'd used the full strength of Passione against you more effectively you'd have—"
He didn't get to finish his explanation because he found himself on the floor before he could get another word out. Mista fist drew back before hurtling into his face.
"Mista," Fugo gasped out as Mista drew back again for another punch. The smell of blood mingled with the sugary sweet aroma of cake and fresh strawberries. He could taste it between this teeth. "What are you doing? You know I'm right."
"Shut up." Punch. "Shut up!" Punch. "Shut the hell up, Fugo!" Mista loosened his grip on Fugo's shirt with his other hand and let both slide up around Fugo's neck like he could squeeze out all of the words he didn't want to hear.
There was never a choice. How could Fugo have known how to prevent this?
His fingers slid desperately over the backs of Mista's hands as the other man squeezed his neck. He wondered what would happen if Mista could squeeze hard enough to pop off his head, his useless leafy top to discard in a trash heap. Would he look as pretty sliced in half as the fruit he'd placed in the bowl on the counter? Would his ribs look as good splayed out on either side of his chest as the white lines in the strawberries halves? His heart hammered against them in both fear and excitement at the thought.
Mista's lips were already stained red. His fingers would grow stained too when they were covered in the wet warmth of Fugo's blood. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen going to his brain talking but Fugo thought it would be nice if Mista was the one to do that. He'd like it if Mista devoured him like a fresh strawberry and licked his fingers after to chase the taste.
Fugo knew he would make a good garnish. He already had experience being a decorative object. He was smart! He could learn to be delicious too if only Mista wanted to steal a bite.
Survival instincts kicked in as Mista's dark, dark eyes swam in Fugo's vision. He sputtered as he tried to suck in air past Mista's unwavering grip. Mista's body was a solid and immovable weight over him and pinning him down to the floor that was impossible to buck off when he was already so tired.
"Shit!" Mista's eyes went wide and he let go of Fugo's neck just as suddenly as he had attacked. "Fuck, are you okay? Say something."
Fugo couldn't comply.
He could only gasp in greedy mouthfuls of air. The pressure lingered on his throat in the shape of Mista's hand. Later in the privacy of the dark he would press his fingertips to the bruise as he arched off his mattress thinking about all the hypothetical choices he couldn't imagine ever being offered, but in the moment he could only stare.
Mista folded forward to press his forehead against Fugo's chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but why the hell would you say that? What's wrong with you?"
There were far too many answers for that question. Fugo didn't even know where to start.
He lifted one shaky hand to place on the back of Mista's head, and touched the knuckles of his other one to his nose for a moment to check if he was still bleeding. Distantly he became aware of an awful, grating noise that pulsed in time to the pain signals flaring through him like klaxons.
"Hey, that's the timer," Fugo said quietly. "Get up. We need to take the cake out and let the layers cool so we can finish putting it all together."
It took half a minute for Mista to respond. He slowly unfolded himself from on top of Fugo and got to his feet. Fugo took the opening to immediately get up and go to the sink to wash his hands and wipe up his face a little so he wouldn't get blood on the cake when he took it out of the oven and set it up to cool. There was still work to do after all. He could deal with the swelling in a few moments; this was far from the worse pain he'd ever been in. His eyes weren't even really swelling shut so he was basically fine.
"I could have killed you," Mista noted wonderingly as he watched Fugo turn the switch to turn off the oven and hang the pot holders back up where they belonged. "You're not even mad at me."
"Why would I be?" Fugo tried to frown but stopped because it made the ache in his face flare up with new pain.
The way he felt was quite the opposite really. Here was a better question: did Fugo love Mista because he was all Fugo had left or because Fugo knew Mista could never love him back? What choice did Fugo have but to take what he could get either way?
"Don't say shit like that." Mista swept in to take the bowl of strawberry halves before Fugo could put them away while they waited to be able to perform the next step for their recipe. He reached down to take one and press it against Fugo's lips as a peace offering or maybe just a way to shut Fugo up for a few seconds.
Fugo took it between his teeth without question.