[Giorno does like it when he gets a hug back. So much so that he really doesn't need to say anything, probably; the ripple of joy through the Bond is simple and clear, the emotional equivalent of sunlight shining off a dozen bright surfaces at once. He didn't mind the shuffling, the awkwardness, but once Fugo is actually embracing him everything seems right. Easier to understand, too. Nothing is nearly as complicated as either of them made it out to be.]
Mm, [he affirms, a soft hum of delight against Fugo's shoulder as he recognizes the security of their reflected Bond — that he doesn't have to worry he's doing something wrong, because Fugo would let him know, or he would let Fugo know. They don't have anything to fear from each other now — that's what he thinks, in this moment.]
[That and, a breath later: it could be more comfortable, couldn't it? With a contemplative noise, he leans back and looks at Fugo. They're very close. He can see each of Fugo's pale eyelashes and the slight flush across the bridge of his nose.]
[Not close enough. He smiles, faint and guileless, and tips himself backwards into the pile of blankets, pulling Fugo with him without a hint of regret.]
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Mm, [he affirms, a soft hum of delight against Fugo's shoulder as he recognizes the security of their reflected Bond — that he doesn't have to worry he's doing something wrong, because Fugo would let him know, or he would let Fugo know. They don't have anything to fear from each other now — that's what he thinks, in this moment.]
[That and, a breath later: it could be more comfortable, couldn't it? With a contemplative noise, he leans back and looks at Fugo. They're very close. He can see each of Fugo's pale eyelashes and the slight flush across the bridge of his nose.]
[Not close enough. He smiles, faint and guileless, and tips himself backwards into the pile of blankets, pulling Fugo with him without a hint of regret.]