[There's a soft noise, and then a weight on his chest, heavy but comfortable. He believes instinctively that Steve wouldn't allow anything into their space that could be dangerous, or he wouldn't have closed his eyes in the first place. So the weight doesn't startle him, but it does surprise him. When he opens his eyes again and catches sight of Steve, what he's doing, the way he's looking at him—]
[Under the weight of Steve's head, his chest tightens. He holds his breath.]
[It's not fair. It really isn't fair, to be trying to explain something that hurts and be given something so warm and good he barely remembers how pain is supposed to feel. All of the words he's been trying to organize crash into each other in his head, tumbling out of order and scattering to the winds.]
[What does he do? He doesn't know how to hold things like thoughtful and kind and fun when they're used to refer to him. Instinct tells him to tell Steve all the ways he's wrong, all the counterevidence and arguments that he could dig up and throw in Steve's face. All his heart wants, in contrast, is to protest all the things Steve is that he isn't, the words he's done his best to bury deep enough that he won't accidentally unearth them in company. How people like Steve don't really exist, and that's why it's hard, because this shouldn't be real. Something will go wrong, and the illusion will break, and that, that's the hard part.]
[But Steve keeps talking, and his tail wags a little bit, and Giorno's staring like an idiot because of course he is, and by the time it's done he's grown a crooked, wobbly smile and covered his eyes with his arm and gone a little flushed. And sniffly.]
I know. I know that — you're so unfair, I don't know what to say to any of this. I'm always supposed to know what to say, you know? That's supposed to be what I'm good at, and then you go and—
[Huffing out a sharp breath, he pulls his arm off his face and wipes at the corners of his eyes. A moment later and he's let his hand plunge deep into the thick hair at the back of Steve's skull in a move that he could, if he wanted to, pretend he would only do now, with Steve in this shape. If he wanted, he could lie.]
[Stupid.]
. . . You're right, though. That this is important.
[Blinking slowly, he refocuses, regarding Steve with attention more blatantly self-conscious than he's ever shown. He's hesitant and uncertain and there's no point pretending he isn't. It's — hard, being genuine, but if not now . . .]
You're important to me. Sometimes I don't know why you want anything to do with me, but I'm less worried about it than I used to be, because you keep — not going anywhere. I keep turning around and seeing you there.
It's part of why I hated that place so much. Nobody ever wanted anything to do with me before until I . . . made myself more interesting, and even then— It just didn't seem fair that he had people who cared about him so much when nobody w-wanted me.
[In the end, he stumbles. He can't help it. When his voice wobbles, he tries to save the landing by shoring up his smile, but that only goes so far. His fingers tighten slightly at the back of Steve's head, burying themselves deeper and more securely. Already he has to remind himself: It's not going to be that easy, alright?]
no subject
[Under the weight of Steve's head, his chest tightens. He holds his breath.]
[It's not fair. It really isn't fair, to be trying to explain something that hurts and be given something so warm and good he barely remembers how pain is supposed to feel. All of the words he's been trying to organize crash into each other in his head, tumbling out of order and scattering to the winds.]
[What does he do? He doesn't know how to hold things like thoughtful and kind and fun when they're used to refer to him. Instinct tells him to tell Steve all the ways he's wrong, all the counterevidence and arguments that he could dig up and throw in Steve's face. All his heart wants, in contrast, is to protest all the things Steve is that he isn't, the words he's done his best to bury deep enough that he won't accidentally unearth them in company. How people like Steve don't really exist, and that's why it's hard, because this shouldn't be real. Something will go wrong, and the illusion will break, and that, that's the hard part.]
[But Steve keeps talking, and his tail wags a little bit, and Giorno's staring like an idiot because of course he is, and by the time it's done he's grown a crooked, wobbly smile and covered his eyes with his arm and gone a little flushed. And sniffly.]
I know. I know that — you're so unfair, I don't know what to say to any of this. I'm always supposed to know what to say, you know? That's supposed to be what I'm good at, and then you go and—
[Huffing out a sharp breath, he pulls his arm off his face and wipes at the corners of his eyes. A moment later and he's let his hand plunge deep into the thick hair at the back of Steve's skull in a move that he could, if he wanted to, pretend he would only do now, with Steve in this shape. If he wanted, he could lie.]
[Stupid.]
. . . You're right, though. That this is important.
[Blinking slowly, he refocuses, regarding Steve with attention more blatantly self-conscious than he's ever shown. He's hesitant and uncertain and there's no point pretending he isn't. It's — hard, being genuine, but if not now . . .]
You're important to me. Sometimes I don't know why you want anything to do with me, but I'm less worried about it than I used to be, because you keep — not going anywhere. I keep turning around and seeing you there.
It's part of why I hated that place so much. Nobody ever wanted anything to do with me before until I . . . made myself more interesting, and even then— It just didn't seem fair that he had people who cared about him so much when nobody w-wanted me.
[In the end, he stumbles. He can't help it. When his voice wobbles, he tries to save the landing by shoring up his smile, but that only goes so far. His fingers tighten slightly at the back of Steve's head, burying themselves deeper and more securely. Already he has to remind himself: It's not going to be that easy, alright?]