[Even as his nerves rush forward in the moment where his vows have ended and before Giorno has begun to say his, Fugo does not look away from him. He memorizes the strange set of his mouth, so different from the smiles he's used to seeing from Giorno; the shakiness in his breath, the clamminess of his hands. Even before the ceremony is complete, he can feel signs of Giorno's well-hidden nerves all around him. More than just what Giorno says, Fugo puts to memory how he says it-- the way his words fall out of his mouth too quickly, how they seem to stumble into each other before trailing off as if he's lost track of what he wants to say entirely.
It's so unlike him. Giorno Giovanna, perfectly put together and purposefully inscrutable, allows himself to falter. Allows Fugo to see him as he is, imperfect and rambling and nervous. I trust you with everything that I am. The good hand in hand with the bad. The weak in turn with the strong.]
[He will never forget the way Giorno stubbornly tips his chin forward, facing the vulnerability of their Bond with both eyes open.]
I trust you. [What else can he say in response to that but this? It occurs to him, with a sudden clarity that at the heart of a Bond is trust. In the first breaths of the spell taking, as the Witch deftly stitches their magical signatures together, Fugo finds himself reaching in the gap between them. As afraid as he is to be seen--
He's certain in his trust of Giorno. That after everything, no matter what he sees, Giorno will not turn away from him. He has to believe that.]
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[Even as his nerves rush forward in the moment where his vows have ended and before Giorno has begun to say his, Fugo does not look away from him. He memorizes the strange set of his mouth, so different from the smiles he's used to seeing from Giorno; the shakiness in his breath, the clamminess of his hands. Even before the ceremony is complete, he can feel signs of Giorno's well-hidden nerves all around him. More than just what Giorno says, Fugo puts to memory how he says it-- the way his words fall out of his mouth too quickly, how they seem to stumble into each other before trailing off as if he's lost track of what he wants to say entirely.
It's so unlike him. Giorno Giovanna, perfectly put together and purposefully inscrutable, allows himself to falter. Allows Fugo to see him as he is, imperfect and rambling and nervous. I trust you with everything that I am. The good hand in hand with the bad. The weak in turn with the strong.]
[He will never forget the way Giorno stubbornly tips his chin forward, facing the vulnerability of their Bond with both eyes open.]
I trust you. [What else can he say in response to that but this? It occurs to him, with a sudden clarity that at the heart of a Bond is trust. In the first breaths of the spell taking, as the Witch deftly stitches their magical signatures together, Fugo finds himself reaching in the gap between them. As afraid as he is to be seen--
He's certain in his trust of Giorno. That after everything, no matter what he sees, Giorno will not turn away from him. He has to believe that.]