[All things considered, they didn't live together for long before showing up here. It was more distant in the past for Giorno than Fugo, too, so by rights he shouldn't remember all the little things — except for how eagle-eyed he was for every tic, every motion, every breath. So yes, he does remember moments like this: Fugo hovering by the doorframe, carefully leaving it propped open before moving inside a room.]

[Why doesn't he do that anymore? He . . . does it matter? Everything matters more, with Fugo. Everything matters more to him now, with his cold skin wrapped tight around his bones.]

[Should he sit? In the end, he doesn't move.]

. . . I'm not sure it's comparable. [Emphasis being on not sure; he really doesn't know, and communicates this with a helpless shrug.] Purple Haze isn't [not wasn't, because he must fiercely believe that he is still in Fugo somewhere] mine. I've never been a witch. But from what I've seen, it isn't designed to be a closed system. Equilibrium can only be reached with two or more forces at play. Like in . . . physics, right?

[That's what physics is, isn't it? Briefly, he looks thoughtful and far away.]