[There is no first step to their Bond. Instead, Fugo feels a sense of vertigo; in those first moments, he loses his footing, falls, and is pulled out to sea by the powerful riptide of Giorno's possessive, demanding affection. He feels half a dozen spines of emotion that aren't his: gladness, relief, awe. An undercurrent of fear, nearly drowned out by a powerfully resonant sense of trust and thankfulness but nonetheless there. Giorno does not try to hide any of it from him.

So of course he's lost in it. Knowledge-- belief in the should-be-impossible-- of Giorno's belief in him is so different from the reality of it that in, in the moment, he just gets lost in it. Locked in is the only way to describe it. He can feel Giorno let go of his hands, but it doesn't quite click with him what's happening.]

Teleporting spell? [Oh, right, they're still-- Fugo tries to turn to look at the Witch who officiated the ceremony, only to be held firmly in place by Giorno's cool palms and slender fingers. Oh. Giorno's-- even though there's no hiding that the touch flusters him, not anymore, his eyes briefly duck away when Giorno's thumbs brush over his cheekbones.] I don't-- ... sorry, no. Not that one.

[He bites the inside of his cheek, takes a breath, and squares his shoulders. Right. He can do this. He just... won't think. About how warm his face is, or how stupid his expression must be right now. It's over. It's done. They can leave, now.]

Thank you. The spell was a success, obviously. We'll be-- leaving now. Excuse us.

[It may be with their own two feet instead of some flashy teleportation spell, but that will get the job done. Without thinking, Fugo reaches for one of Giorno's wrists, tugs on it, and then takes his hand to firmly lead him out of the room. The Witch, who has overseen plenty of Bonding ceremonies, waves them off with a Knowing sort of expression. Not that Fugo sees. For once, he keeps his eyes forward instead of looking back.]