[Ugh. Okay, this is harder, because Giorno does actually kind of want to go wash his face. This is hardly the worst grime he's had on him, never forget that week he didn't stop to eat or sleep or shower, and dog spit is by definition not as bad as regular spit, but would it be nice to wash his face? Yes. Absolutely.]

[However.]

Nnnnno.

[With a moderate amount of internal conflict, he shakes his head.]

You have to stop giving me excuses to put off talking about this, Steve. I already need to ask why you're a dog suddenly. If you give me much more wiggle room, I'll wiggle all the way out of it.

[It's half a joke and half not. He's fairly set in his plan here. The idea of not doing it seems, after all of this, pretty stupid. But at the same time, he's not exactly eager to go into all of it. It's difficult enough not actively distracting Steve by using any of several regular tactics, or this new one where he completely immobilizes him with a simple headpat. He does not need any more reasons to delay.]

[So, fine. He turns to Steve, resolute and determined, with his mouth open on an instruction . . . that he does not give. Because, one, Steve is already sitting. Technically. He just happens to be huge. And two, is it rude to tell a person in dog-adjacent form to sit? Does that fire some other weird brain switch? This is confusing.]

. . . Are we staying here or walking? [is what he ends up at eventually, giving himself a second to stop spinning in mental circles.]