[Between one heartbeat and the next, two spikes of emotion pulse through the Bond: possessiveness hand-in-hand with fear. Giorno is afraid. Of what? That Fugo will turn away from this. That Fugo will leave him.
Before Fugo can turn to say something like I'll stay or at least I won't go, Giorno tugs him closer. They're a little too close. The rest of the way home they jostle each other on the street. But neither of them takes that step to move farther away. In this moment, it's more important to be close.]
[They make it home. Giorno pulls him upstairs with just a brief explanation, the bed is better, that doesn't make much sense until they actually get up to his room. And Giorno finally lets go of him to pull out extra quilts from his closet because, oh. Oh. Giorno ... means for them to sit together, on the bed.]
I'll-- be a moment. [The tips of his ears are burning. This shouldn't be embarrassing. Right? Part of a Bond is-- it's not just magical, it's physical contact. It's not a big deal, Fugo thinks, as he unbuttons his jacket and hangs it over the back of Giorno's desk chair. They can maybe read, or talk, or-- or something. He forgets to take his shoes off, at first; it's only when he sits at the edge of the bed that he realizes that they need to come off.] Sorry, I wasn't thinking.
[Or, rather: he's thinking too much. He should stop, probably. Is there a way to turn off his thoughts? How much of a sense does Giorno have of them? He has to feel the nervous buzz like a hive of wasps, of them between his ears.]
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Before Fugo can turn to say something like I'll stay or at least I won't go, Giorno tugs him closer. They're a little too close. The rest of the way home they jostle each other on the street. But neither of them takes that step to move farther away. In this moment, it's more important to be close.]
[They make it home. Giorno pulls him upstairs with just a brief explanation, the bed is better, that doesn't make much sense until they actually get up to his room. And Giorno finally lets go of him to pull out extra quilts from his closet because, oh. Oh. Giorno ... means for them to sit together, on the bed.]
I'll-- be a moment. [The tips of his ears are burning. This shouldn't be embarrassing. Right? Part of a Bond is-- it's not just magical, it's physical contact. It's not a big deal, Fugo thinks, as he unbuttons his jacket and hangs it over the back of Giorno's desk chair. They can maybe read, or talk, or-- or something. He forgets to take his shoes off, at first; it's only when he sits at the edge of the bed that he realizes that they need to come off.] Sorry, I wasn't thinking.
[Or, rather: he's thinking too much. He should stop, probably. Is there a way to turn off his thoughts? How much of a sense does Giorno have of them? He has to feel the nervous buzz like a hive of wasps, of them between his ears.]