[Bent over his knees to unlace his shoes, Fugo can't see the way Giorno's expression unfolds. This would make him nervous. (It does make him nervous, even though it's Giorno; even though this is someone who he could-should-does trust, not being able to see his face makes him nervous.) But he can feel it. A pale brush of concern. And then-- calmness. Not that Giorno himself is calm, but he wants Fugo to feel better. His hand is cool on his shoulder, but his touch feels warm.]
[Fugo's back is tight underneath Giorno's hand. At first, it tenses further; Fugo feels embarrassed, a little ashamed, to be caught in what he considers to be a fit of needless nerves.]
I know that. I believe you. [Mechanically, his hands go through the simple task of unlacing his shoes. First the right, then the left. He slides them under the bed, out of the way.] This is just-- [He purses his lips, frustrated, then tries to adjust his posture; he takes a deep breath, breathing in deep and then releasing it all in a gusty sigh. The end result is... slightly less tension. Fugo turns to look at Giorno, giving him a sort of helpless look.] Just who I am. It's always like this.
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[Fugo's back is tight underneath Giorno's hand. At first, it tenses further; Fugo feels embarrassed, a little ashamed, to be caught in what he considers to be a fit of needless nerves.]
I know that. I believe you. [Mechanically, his hands go through the simple task of unlacing his shoes. First the right, then the left. He slides them under the bed, out of the way.] This is just-- [He purses his lips, frustrated, then tries to adjust his posture; he takes a deep breath, breathing in deep and then releasing it all in a gusty sigh. The end result is... slightly less tension. Fugo turns to look at Giorno, giving him a sort of helpless look.] Just who I am. It's always like this.