[There are moments sometimes, in Souda's presence, where his feet almost go out from under him with sheer force of gratitude.]
[With Souda, things are never complicated. They're always just . . . how they are. He doesn't have to explain or overthink or be more than his first instinct. He's enough just as he is. Even if he isn't the first version of himself and he never will be again, Souda doesn't ask for anything but him, the core of him. Whoever that is.]
[Souda says it all so simply. A couple of days ago, that was still him. Souda knows that. It isn't strange. It isn't something he needs spelled out. It's just part of who Giorno is, plain and simple. There's nothing to question. And Souda likes him just as he is, even the parts that are . . . like that. Like Haruno.]
[There's a moment when he just stares at Souda wide-eyed, wrist caught in the gargoyle's grip like he's a lifesize doll all over again. As ever, he marvels at simplicity. He wants it to be okay to just exist, to be accepted as only himself, but it's surreal, it's so strange that every time he second-guesses it.]
[But Souda never lets him down. Not once.]
[In the blink of an eye, he's thrown his arms around Souda's neck and pulled close in a tight, grateful hug. There's too much emotion in him to be spoken, but it doesn't matter. They — don't entirely need to, do they? Not always.]
[Not this time. There's a fierceness, a joy in the love he has for Souda that's radiating off of his skin. No translation necessary.]
it did thank god
[With Souda, things are never complicated. They're always just . . . how they are. He doesn't have to explain or overthink or be more than his first instinct. He's enough just as he is. Even if he isn't the first version of himself and he never will be again, Souda doesn't ask for anything but him, the core of him. Whoever that is.]
[Souda says it all so simply. A couple of days ago, that was still him. Souda knows that. It isn't strange. It isn't something he needs spelled out. It's just part of who Giorno is, plain and simple. There's nothing to question. And Souda likes him just as he is, even the parts that are . . . like that. Like Haruno.]
[There's a moment when he just stares at Souda wide-eyed, wrist caught in the gargoyle's grip like he's a lifesize doll all over again. As ever, he marvels at simplicity. He wants it to be okay to just exist, to be accepted as only himself, but it's surreal, it's so strange that every time he second-guesses it.]
[But Souda never lets him down. Not once.]
[In the blink of an eye, he's thrown his arms around Souda's neck and pulled close in a tight, grateful hug. There's too much emotion in him to be spoken, but it doesn't matter. They — don't entirely need to, do they? Not always.]
[Not this time. There's a fierceness, a joy in the love he has for Souda that's radiating off of his skin. No translation necessary.]