[In his own time. Giorno doesn't have to give him that. Now that they've made it to this point, if Giorno said come, let's take care of it now he would listen and follow without complaint or a second thought. The rest of it is up to you, Giorno promises instead, winding their fingers together.
He doesn't understand that, either. It falls into the blurry middle ground of their relationship, somewhere between his place as Giorno's follower and his friend. (You're one of the most important people in the world, in any world, to me. How can he just say that, so simply and so honestly? If it's true, why on earth would Giorno feel that way about him? It's completely backwards. It doesn't feel real.) And despite his own desire to stand on his own, something about what he sees reflected in Giorno's eyes is too much to look at. At least for now. At least in this moment. That is how he finds himself sagging forward, resting his forehead on Giorno's shoulder. His back is tight and tense; he's ready to pull himself back in an instant.]
Sorry. I just-- [He takes a deep breath, fingers tightening around Giorno's knuckles. When he exhales, he shudders.] I need a moment.
[To calm down, though he still doesn't understand why he's so upset or even what it is he's feeling. All he knows is that it's something like pain, sharp and bright and blinding, like being caught out in a spotlight on a stage. Ah. That's it, isn't it? This is the pain of being seen. Of letting Giorno get a glimpse of the festering poison in him that gave birth to Purple Haze.]
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He doesn't understand that, either. It falls into the blurry middle ground of their relationship, somewhere between his place as Giorno's follower and his friend. (You're one of the most important people in the world, in any world, to me. How can he just say that, so simply and so honestly? If it's true, why on earth would Giorno feel that way about him? It's completely backwards. It doesn't feel real.) And despite his own desire to stand on his own, something about what he sees reflected in Giorno's eyes is too much to look at. At least for now. At least in this moment. That is how he finds himself sagging forward, resting his forehead on Giorno's shoulder. His back is tight and tense; he's ready to pull himself back in an instant.]
Sorry. I just-- [He takes a deep breath, fingers tightening around Giorno's knuckles. When he exhales, he shudders.] I need a moment.
[To calm down, though he still doesn't understand why he's so upset or even what it is he's feeling. All he knows is that it's something like pain, sharp and bright and blinding, like being caught out in a spotlight on a stage. Ah. That's it, isn't it? This is the pain of being seen. Of letting Giorno get a glimpse of the festering poison in him that gave birth to Purple Haze.]