[Out of the corner of his eyes (because he's peeking, even though it would be a better idea to keep his eyes forward) he can see that Giorno is smiling. And that his eyes are closed. Giorno isn't watching, because he--]
[Giorno's trust-- his... admiration?-- for him is a living thing. Green. He can feel how it's taken root; how it brushes up against him now, whisper light, along the side of his hand. No. That's... Giorno's thumb, moving back and forth. Fugo shivers, then shakes his head, caught between the Bond and his physical senses.]
... I don't think I could focus on anything else. [He doesn't have to look, does he. The sunshine of Giorno's pleasure shines across to him, bright and unmistakeable and warm. Even if he wasn't sneaking a look, he would know, wouldn't he. That Giorno is smiling.] So let's go home.
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[Giorno's trust-- his... admiration?-- for him is a living thing. Green. He can feel how it's taken root; how it brushes up against him now, whisper light, along the side of his hand. No. That's... Giorno's thumb, moving back and forth. Fugo shivers, then shakes his head, caught between the Bond and his physical senses.]
... I don't think I could focus on anything else. [He doesn't have to look, does he. The sunshine of Giorno's pleasure shines across to him, bright and unmistakeable and warm. Even if he wasn't sneaking a look, he would know, wouldn't he. That Giorno is smiling.] So let's go home.