[In this moment, the Bond between them is a mirror. Their chests ache with the same pain, born from two different pits of loneliness: they are both startled by how the other does not pull away.]
[Between one moment and the next, amidst the warmth of Giorno's gladness and relief, Giorno wraps his arms around Fugo's torso and pulls him close. It's less of an embrace and more of an awkward tangle of limbs, because Fugo isn't sure where to put his own arms at first; it doesn't occur to him to hug back for an awkward few seconds. It's not until Giorno rests his forehead on his shoulder does he realize that, oh, it's alright to hug back.
That Giorno would probably like it, if he hugged him back.]
[So he does. He repositions his arms around Giorno twice, trying and failing to find a more natural way to reciprocate, but in the end he applies gentle pressure around his back.]
Like this? [Probably a stupid question. The prevailing emotion he's getting through the Bond is just-- contentment. Giorno is glad to be close, even if it's awkward.]
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[Between one moment and the next, amidst the warmth of Giorno's gladness and relief, Giorno wraps his arms around Fugo's torso and pulls him close. It's less of an embrace and more of an awkward tangle of limbs, because Fugo isn't sure where to put his own arms at first; it doesn't occur to him to hug back for an awkward few seconds. It's not until Giorno rests his forehead on his shoulder does he realize that, oh, it's alright to hug back.
That Giorno would probably like it, if he hugged him back.]
[So he does. He repositions his arms around Giorno twice, trying and failing to find a more natural way to reciprocate, but in the end he applies gentle pressure around his back.]
Like this? [Probably a stupid question. The prevailing emotion he's getting through the Bond is just-- contentment. Giorno is glad to be close, even if it's awkward.]