ic inbox ( ǣfenglōm )

[digiorno]

"buongiorno! sorry i missed you; i'll happily get back to you as soon as i'm done with whatever business i'm on. leave a message!" ⯈ text ⯈ voice ⯈ video ⯈ action

Comments

[digiorno]

Bother me?

[It comes out muffled into Fugo’s shirt, because even in the wake of such a strange question he isn’t willing to pull away. Instead he peeks over Fugo’s shoulder to stare at the opposite wall in confusion, brows drawn together. Instead his fingers tighten instinctively in the back of Fugo’s shirt — because of course they do.]

No, Fugo. I— [And then Fugo’s arm reaches around to hold him. Fingers tighten in the back of his shirt, an overcautious echo of his own desperate grip. Unable to stop himself, he sighs and closes his eyes, burying his face against Fugo’s shoulder again.]

. . . I like this. I like when you reach for me. [He likes to be needed, to be held. Strange as that is for both of them, there’s no point denying it. Not now, when it’s so obvious.]

[unholey]

[It has been a very long time since someone willingly held him. He pulled away out of his grandmother's arms so long ago that his memories of her arms around his shoulders have grown fuzzy with time; it's less of a memory and more of a story he told himself. Once I cried-- because my brothers were cruel; because I was afraid to go on stage; because Grandfather was disappointed-- and my grandmother held me, for as long as I needed. It probably happened. His grandmother was a very kind woman. Even to him, when he was so cold and standoffish and difficult to talk to.

Giorno holds him now. His embrace is tight. It would be a little difficult to pull away, if he wanted to. He doesn't want to. He feels tired, in a way that's beyond physical aches and pains; worn thin, in a way that makes it difficult to stand on his own. He doesn't really understand why it helps. He's never needed to be held. He gave up wanting it a long time ago. Even, so--]

[It feels better. It's such a relief, to be held. That Giorno hasn't pushed him away, even though he's been such an insufferable asshole lately. Fugo makes a vague affirmative sound. He doesn't ... really understand why Giorno likes it. But it's hard to deny it, either. He was so tense earlier, but he's so relaxed now. The biggest difference is the distance that has been closed between them.]

... I won't go, then.