[Mutely, he nods. Yes, he knows Fugo has been having trouble. He didn't have to ask. It would have been pointless to ask. He just knew by looking. Which feels like spying, in a way, and almost bad, but — if Fugo were able to keep this to himself, he would until he literally exploded.]
[He's so frustrating, sometimes, Giorno thinks, without an ounce of self-awareness.]
That makes sense. [Uncharacteristically, he dips his chin towards the ground, gaze below and just to one side of Fugo's face.] Here, I'll — get the trash can.
[He ducks back in the open doorway briefly, grabs the can and, after a moment, just removes the bag from it. No point burning through the whole thing. Idly wishing for some steel gloves, he tucks his shirt back over his nose and heads back to Fugo with the back open. Just keep moving, he thinks. This will be easier if he keeps moving.]
no subject
[He's so frustrating, sometimes, Giorno thinks, without an ounce of self-awareness.]
That makes sense. [Uncharacteristically, he dips his chin towards the ground, gaze below and just to one side of Fugo's face.] Here, I'll — get the trash can.
[He ducks back in the open doorway briefly, grabs the can and, after a moment, just removes the bag from it. No point burning through the whole thing. Idly wishing for some steel gloves, he tucks his shirt back over his nose and heads back to Fugo with the back open. Just keep moving, he thinks. This will be easier if he keeps moving.]
What are you going to do?