*** HARMONIA has joined 710.35.155.17 <HARMONIA> Buongiorno, sorry I missed you. <HARMONIA> I'll happily get back to you as soon as I'm done with whatever business I'm on. <HARMONIA> Please leave a message.
[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?]
[ Kind of unfair how much classier than him Giorno manages to look at all times, including when he's about to cry.
Still, he could consider this getting back at him for the other day. He'd probably feel pretty proud of the results of his little attempt at a Giorno level speech were he not becoming increasingly worried that these aren't just tears of happiness. As things currently stand, he barely contains yet another urge to butt even further forward into Giorno's space, which he suspects would have ended in offering him the worst tissue in the world, primarily because his tongue still lolls out. But with no unsuspecting nymph faces in reach, it anxiously laps at the big black nose just above it instead.
The fingers that work their way into his hair leave him feeling more inclined to stay put, at least. ]
I want you.
[ Even Steve is caught off guard by the intensity of his own delivery.
Embarrassment strikes him immediately, his muzzle opening and closing for a few seconds after the fact. He's not sure if he should to explain himself further, because those words can be taken to mean a couple different things.
Yet, ultimately, the last thing he wants to do is ruin their sincerity. ]
I- Uh, know that doesn't make up for the past.
[ More importantly, Giorno's trying to tell him where his doubts are coming from, that a couple nice sentiments won't make those insecurities go away overnight, because they have nothing to do with the present and everything to do with what he's been through. ]
And it's okay if it's hard for you to believe it. Even more reason I should say it, and that you should hear it.
[Steve is — genuine. All the time. That's a big part of why he can be so disorienting. Steve doesn't hide what he's feeling. He doesn't lie. He certainly doesn't lie convincingly enough that Giorno would believe them. And because Steve has never misled him, he believes what he says on principle, without question.]
[So of course his breath catches and holds when Steve responds like that. His wide, alien eyes fix on Steve's face, staring and searching, not for an untruth but for more truth — a desperate, greedy need for validation of what he already knows.]
[Because he does know. He knows it's true that he's wanted here, that he has been for months and the more time they spend together the more he's wanted. If he didn't know that on some level, he wouldn't want to do this. He wouldn't want to be seen as clearly as Steve will see him after this. This is a place he belongs, right here, and the rest of it — doesn't matter. Not right now. It curls curious and tight in his chest, but right now it doesn't matter.]
[His head lolls slightly to the side, crooked, tense smile relaxing into something easier and a bit goofy. He's terribly unselfconscious about what he looks like right now. He feels safe. It's okay to just exist as he is here, in this space.]
. . . Thank you.
[Soft. He brushes Steve's hair back and away from his face, entirely unnecessarily, just because he wants to.]
I do believe it. But it helps. Hearing it, I mean, because sometimes it's harder than others. You know?
[At this point, he can't even tell if he's stalling. There's a part of him that still doesn't want to get into the details, because this is so comfortable and safe, and while he knows it won't be any less safe if he explains, it will be less comfortable. Steve will be—]
[Ah.]
I don't want to make you sad. That's hard right now, I think, because I don't think I can avoid it. And we're happy right now, so . . .
[So he feels like he's going to ruin it. But all the same. His expression goes distant for a moment, looking for an avenue, and then he refocuses.]
Riley's probably told you . . . that she was really lonely when she was little, right?
[He will. His lips peel back to reveal a defiantly bright smile, because look at what he can still do in spite of everything. Yes, if they're using Riley's story as a lead-in here, there's a good chance he's about to have his heart pounded like a speed bag. His face might do some things as that's happening, and who knows what other parts of him might join in; he's never been upset in a dog body before. But that's all just temporary. As soon as Giovanna's gotten everything off his chest, he'll be on the case, figuring out exactly what stupid thing he needs to do to lighten the mood. He's sure that's how this is going to go, so—
Until then, he nods his head.
Really, she's been telling him silently this entire time, and only now does it all add up: how she never seems to be in the best spirits when any holiday comes around, how she rarely told any stories about home, and also how when she did they only ever involved Cairo, the person who'd singularly made it her mission to take this girl by the hand and show her the world.]
After I got her a birthday present, she wanted to explain to me why it was so important. And then last month I met that lonely little girl in person, and she was so scared to talk to me, to do... anything, at first, like it was going to get her in trouble.
[Suddenly, he remembers he still has hands of his own. They're furry like the rest of him, lined with leathery pads. Monstrous like the rest of him, but he has a feeling they'd be really warm, even so. It would be a shame not to put them to use at least once.
Just as it seems like Giorno won't be able to wriggle out of talking about this thing he's dreaded talking about for very much longer, Steve extends one shiny black palm where Giorno can see it, unusual fingers splayed out in an offer to hold anything placed in them.]
Eventually, she came around to my jokes, but—there was this other little guy I met who seemed really similar, except I don't think he was as ready to try goofing off.
[Anything he can do to make this easier for him, he will... like snort and sigh airily as though little Haruno looking at him like he was the devil is something he remembers fondly. He honestly kind of does. It was like running into a living baby picture, and those are always funny.]
Edited (now i can do my own late edit without feeling like a nerd) 2021-11-08 09:37 (UTC)
[It's actually a little heartbreaking how hard Steve is trying right now. He's trying so hard to make this easier, and that's something that Giorno's simply never experienced. Not that the few people he's spoken to about this were cruel, because they weren't — but they were present for him, listening. Not trying to help. Not trying to lighten the burden.]
[He thinks about saying you don't have to, but the thing is . . . even if he did, he doesn't think it would make a difference. There's something conscious about the way Steve is approaching the situation, but if he tried to stop, it would continue by default. In everything, he tries to make the world around him better, gentler, easier to cope with.]
[Another tiny marvel. So Giorno doesn't say anything. He's just quietly, warmly grateful.]
[There's a paw in his face, then. Hand, paw, something. He's surprised, simply because Steve has seemed self-conscious about the change so far, but he doesn't hesitate to take it in his own, or to examine it with fascination. It doesn't occur to him that that might be strange, curious as he is; instead he pokes at the fur between the fingers, runs his thumb carefully across the padded palm. And then he smiles, because — it is warm, and it's still Steve, of course. Takes it in his own properly and feels a little more secure. Another one of a dozen little things Steve is doing for him to make this easier.]
Hm. He sounds like a pain.
[It comes out more self-deprecating than he intends or realizes. It's just what he thinks. Squeezing lightly on Steve's hand, he glances skyward for a moment. It really is a nice day for all of this, which might be ironic.]
. . . So I'm not Italian, [he offers, seemingly apropos of nothing, looking back at Steve with a general air of sarcastic ta-da.] The name I had in that other place is my real — my birth name. My father was . . . it's complicated [and he doesn't want to get into it right now], so let's say European. My mother was Japanese. I looked a lot more like her when I was younger.
[Though as ever, Haruno is the key — or maybe cipher is a better word. When seen through the lens of Haruno, he can't entirely hide between the facade he's built for himself. He can't just be Giorno, no questions asked. As much as he looks like his fathers, he looks like his mother, too. That's part of why he hates people knowing as much as he does. There's no undoing it. It's uncomfortable.]
[Then again, it's . . . of all the things he's worried about sharing, that's the least of them. The worst is ahead. Unconsciously, he squeezes Steve's hand again, just to feel the pressure.]
She didn't want me. She didn't want kids at all. I don't know if she was pressured to keep me or if it was a snap decision or something, but she kept me, and then . . . [How to put it. It was so normal for him, but he knows abstractly it shouldn't have been.] I suppose she kept on living as though she hadn't? She'd leave for a long time to go live how she deserved to. She'd say she was young, so she wasn't going to be . . . tied to some kid.
[He frowns slightly, trying to remember the exact words. Dozens of individual instances blur together to form a mass of dismissal. They're so hard to separate from one another.]
The first thing I remember is being by myself in the apartment, looking for her. It's . . . it was always dirty, and there wasn't a lot of food. [And he couldn't cook, of course; but he doesn't say that. Again, it doesn't occur to him.] I tried to save things sometimes. Food that wouldn't go bad.
[ Steve's big mitt curls around Giorno's hand like a catcher's glove cupping a baseball within itself. They have a system for this that wasn't invented all that long ago. When one of them needs comfort for any reason at all, all they have to do is squeeze. They'll feel a squeeze back, and then they'll know. There's someone who cares for them very deeply a wordless distance away.
He's not here to laugh, even about a big damn snob admitting he's not the thing he was being high and mighty about. He'd feel shitty about it in an instant if he did. And does it really matter if he's not Italian? Giorno loves Italy. He convinced him of that in a moment that felt as honest as this one, salty air nipping at them as he described the beauty of Naples.
The rest of the story so far prompts more of a reaction. Steve kneads slowly at Giorno's linked hand, inserting his own unprompted reminders that he's treasured while he tries to conquer the difficult task of recounting all the ways that he wasn't. The look Steve is wearing, meanwhile, may not be as sad as Giorno expected. On the inside he's sad, but on the outside he's got the face of someone resolved, who's already decided that he'll personally fist-fight these bad memories if he's got to. ]
I don't know how anyone could see their kid suffering and not feel a thing.
[ There's that disgusted tone Haruno heard again, the one he used after the poor kid expressed that he was used to being ignored. ]
I also don't know what I'd do if I ever saw that happening. [ He shakes his head. ] Probably something I'd get sent to jail for if it was at all possible to arrest a man-dog with super strength.
[This time, when he squeezes, it's out of gratitude. A complex gratitude, certainly, because a dark and ugly part of him wonders if that's really true, if anyone would really have stepped in to save him. No one did, after all. That simply wasn't his reality.]
[Then again, people like Steve are few and far between. He didn't used to believe they existed, but he's been proven wrong, and in this moment Steve's doing a very good if unwitting job reinforcing heroic categorization. Looking at him now, it's easy to believe he really would do something like that. So even if it wasn't him — maybe some child someday will benefit from the look on Steve's face right now.]
. . . Thank you.
[It's quiet, but earnest. He's thankful for a lot of things Steve's doing for him right now, but this statement might be the most significant. Even retroactively, someone thinking what happened to him is wrong is . . . very new. Because Riley did, but not like that. She knew it too well.]
[His thumb skates over brand-new inhuman knuckles, gaze thoughtful as he once again wars with himself over omitting some things. Not after all of this, though. It would be such a waste.]
She met an Italian man. That's why we moved to Napoli. I saw even less of her after that. [Matter-of-factly:] He beat me. The less we saw of her, the more he beat me. He said he didn't like the way I looked at him, things like that . . . and I was bad in school because I didn't speak Italian yet, and no one wanted anything to do with the weird Japanese kid. They didn't want me there. No one did.
[Softly, he sighs. This is . . . the part that was so easy to explain to Riley and so hard to explain to anyone else. He tips his head to look at Steve, open and vulnerable and in pain.]
Have you ever . . . I don't know. Wanted to disappear? To just not be anymore?
[ As he listens, the wolf in him supplies the mental image of ripping out a human throat. He doesn't know what Giorno's stepfather looks like, so the man it belongs to is indistinct beyond the expression of fear he should die wearing. He's really not used to thoughts this violent, but he isn't scared by this one, not when he's this sure that it would be deserved.
So his jaw just flexes restlessly at the notion of an adversary that's too many worlds away to hunt, right up until he's dragged from his seething by a gut-wrenching question. ]
I—
Now I'm the one who doesn't want to make you sad—
[ But Giorno's asking him if he can relate to, or even just understand what he's about to say—what he's more or less said already, so he'll tell him about the closest thing that comes to mind, though he may have already guessed the when, the where, and the what based off of his hesitation alone. ]
Once, but I... don't think it even really counts. I was already dying. I just know how much I had to hurt to feel that way, and I still can't even imagine what it would be like to go on like that for more than one night.
[ Pain, an unbelievable amount of pain is what it took to make him want him to cease to exist. So, for Giorno to suggest that he had the same wish as someone being sliced up by a madman? When he was just a little kid trying to make it through school? Steve removes his head from Giorno's chest only to immediately nuzzle it into his side whilst shaking it, a faint whine escaping his muzzle despite his best efforts to stay upbeat. ]
Fuck him, I'd kill him. I'd really kill him. Fucking human garbage, both of them.
[It's a sad answer. Of course it is. It tugs at his heart and makes him feel like a fool at the same time, guilt scratching at him for asking such a stupid, necessary question. Part of him wishes he hadn't, most of him knows he had to, he doesn't know any better way to do this—]
[And then the world tilts on its axis, and he slides, obeying some newfound law of gravity.]
[He doesn't know if it's the wolf. He doesn't know if it's just the wolf. If Steve would actually think something like that, let alone say it, under other circumstances. It's just — this whole time, he's been himself as hard as he possibly can. The wolf is there, but first and foremost, there's just Steve.]
[He thinks . . . this is real. That sentiment, that's real. The desperate need to be close, to reassure, to protect, that's real too. That wasn't supposed to be part of this conversation. He didn't plan for it. He didn't expect it. He doesn't know what to think about it. He feels so safe so suddenly the air feels thin. He would do anything, anything for this boy.]
[Dizzying.]
[He half-turns on his side, one arm coming up awkwardly around Steve's shoulders, the other placed at the back of his neck, fingers burying themselves in the thick ruff of fur there. It's a strange hug, but it's contact he needs right now. He needs to contain and protect this moment, even if he couldn't in a million years articulate why it's so important.]
I know. [Voice shaky, heart pounding hard in his ears, eyes wet — he nods. Fervently, repeatedly. These are the only words he has in this moment, until he collects himself, but all the same they won't stop coming.] I know, I do.
[ Steve's longer than usual neck stretches out, rubbing along the insides of the arms that come to embrace him. It keeps stretching until he's up in Giorno's face, butting his cold nose against it. Even then, he's still shoving forward, turning his shaggy head and running a furred cheek against whatever he can reach. He's a flurry of movement even though they're sitting still on the top of this hill. He does everything but lick him in this explosion of canine affection.
Eventually, the dog lets up enough for the human to have some say, at which point Steve loops an arm over the side of Giorno's body that's facing the sky. He feels so small right now. He knows it's because of this new, gangling form, but he can't shake the image from his mind that he's holding that child who was left to waste away, the one he saw just weeks ago. He wishes he could hug it all better, is giving it his best shot, even if he knows the world doesn't work like that.
He wants to smother him in so much attention he can't say he doesn't have people now who think of him every day. ]
If he ever shows up here.
[ For real, or as a fleshy doppelganger that crawls out of his head, or in any way whatsoever... ]
If you need me to — I will. That piece of shit is dead.
Edited (it's 4 am, and grammar) 2021-12-22 08:48 (UTC)
[The world doesn't work like that. There's no going back and fixing what was. That's why he hated that other world's version of him so much, why that lie hurt so much. Why even the most recent memories of feeling a little safe and happy as Haruno are bittersweet. None of it was ever possible for him. It's just cruel, seeing it play out.]
[But he's not thinking about that right now. He can't. His whole world is the fluffy tornado of affection that is Steve in his arms right now, Steve insistently refusing to let Giorno forget his presence, that he cares so much he can't control the dog's instincts, or else he doesn't want to. That he's even trying to fix it with touch is — it won't work. The world doesn't work like that. But it helps. It helps as much as it did when Steve hugged him for the first time, in the van in the forest, with both of them covered in dirt and sap.]
[It reminds him that he's real. That people care. That he's allowed to be wanted.]
[He can't help but cry a little, albeit silently, as he takes fistfuls of Steve's fur between his fingers and holds on tight. His face pressed against anywhere he can manage, between the wiggling and all, he nods fiercely. He knows. He understands. He believes that — Steve would do this. For him. Because he matters that much.]
Thank you.
[Voice thick and halfway muffled, he buries his face deeper in fur. And suddenly, he knows how to explain the hardest part.]
I never had anybody like you before. Who'd — who wanted me to be okay. It was just me, and I couldn't take it. That's why I had to be — somebody else. Somebody stronger.
[That's not how he described it to Riley. Maybe it's not as truthful as that way, the language of destruction, the end of a life and the beginning of another. But he thinks Steve will understand. He'll get the parts that matter.]
But you won't let anything happen to me. The things I was scared of then aren't—
[His smile, where it's hidden, is little and wobbly, but very real.]
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[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
Still, he could consider this getting back at him for the other day. He'd probably feel pretty proud of the results of his little attempt at a Giorno level speech were he not becoming increasingly worried that these aren't just tears of happiness. As things currently stand, he barely contains yet another urge to butt even further forward into Giorno's space, which he suspects would have ended in offering him the worst tissue in the world, primarily because his tongue still lolls out. But with no unsuspecting nymph faces in reach, it anxiously laps at the big black nose just above it instead.
The fingers that work their way into his hair leave him feeling more inclined to stay put, at least. ]
I want you.
[ Even Steve is caught off guard by the intensity of his own delivery.
Embarrassment strikes him immediately, his muzzle opening and closing for a few seconds after the fact. He's not sure if he should to explain himself further, because those words can be taken to mean a couple different things.
Yet, ultimately, the last thing he wants to do is ruin their sincerity. ]
I- Uh, know that doesn't make up for the past.
[ More importantly, Giorno's trying to tell him where his doubts are coming from, that a couple nice sentiments won't make those insecurities go away overnight, because they have nothing to do with the present and everything to do with what he's been through. ]
And it's okay if it's hard for you to believe it. Even more reason I should say it, and that you should hear it.
no subject
[So of course his breath catches and holds when Steve responds like that. His wide, alien eyes fix on Steve's face, staring and searching, not for an untruth but for more truth — a desperate, greedy need for validation of what he already knows.]
[Because he does know. He knows it's true that he's wanted here, that he has been for months and the more time they spend together the more he's wanted. If he didn't know that on some level, he wouldn't want to do this. He wouldn't want to be seen as clearly as Steve will see him after this. This is a place he belongs, right here, and the rest of it — doesn't matter. Not right now. It curls curious and tight in his chest, but right now it doesn't matter.]
[His head lolls slightly to the side, crooked, tense smile relaxing into something easier and a bit goofy. He's terribly unselfconscious about what he looks like right now. He feels safe. It's okay to just exist as he is here, in this space.]
. . . Thank you.
[Soft. He brushes Steve's hair back and away from his face, entirely unnecessarily, just because he wants to.]
I do believe it. But it helps. Hearing it, I mean, because sometimes it's harder than others. You know?
[At this point, he can't even tell if he's stalling. There's a part of him that still doesn't want to get into the details, because this is so comfortable and safe, and while he knows it won't be any less safe if he explains, it will be less comfortable. Steve will be—]
[Ah.]
I don't want to make you sad. That's hard right now, I think, because I don't think I can avoid it. And we're happy right now, so . . .
[So he feels like he's going to ruin it. But all the same. His expression goes distant for a moment, looking for an avenue, and then he refocuses.]
Riley's probably told you . . . that she was really lonely when she was little, right?
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[He will. His lips peel back to reveal a defiantly bright smile, because look at what he can still do in spite of everything. Yes, if they're using Riley's story as a lead-in here, there's a good chance he's about to have his heart pounded like a speed bag. His face might do some things as that's happening, and who knows what other parts of him might join in; he's never been upset in a dog body before. But that's all just temporary. As soon as Giovanna's gotten everything off his chest, he'll be on the case, figuring out exactly what stupid thing he needs to do to lighten the mood. He's sure that's how this is going to go, so—
Until then, he nods his head.
Really, she's been telling him silently this entire time, and only now does it all add up: how she never seems to be in the best spirits when any holiday comes around, how she rarely told any stories about home, and also how when she did they only ever involved Cairo, the person who'd singularly made it her mission to take this girl by the hand and show her the world.]
After I got her a birthday present, she wanted to explain to me why it was so important. And then last month I met that lonely little girl in person, and she was so scared to talk to me, to do... anything, at first, like it was going to get her in trouble.
[Suddenly, he remembers he still has hands of his own. They're furry like the rest of him, lined with leathery pads. Monstrous like the rest of him, but he has a feeling they'd be really warm, even so. It would be a shame not to put them to use at least once.
Just as it seems like Giorno won't be able to wriggle out of talking about this thing he's dreaded talking about for very much longer, Steve extends one shiny black palm where Giorno can see it, unusual fingers splayed out in an offer to hold anything placed in them.]
Eventually, she came around to my jokes, but—there was this other little guy I met who seemed really similar, except I don't think he was as ready to try goofing off.
[Anything he can do to make this easier for him, he will... like snort and sigh airily as though little Haruno looking at him like he was the devil is something he remembers fondly. He honestly kind of does. It was like running into a living baby picture, and those are always funny.]
cw child neglect/abuse, internalized racism, food shortage
[He thinks about saying you don't have to, but the thing is . . . even if he did, he doesn't think it would make a difference. There's something conscious about the way Steve is approaching the situation, but if he tried to stop, it would continue by default. In everything, he tries to make the world around him better, gentler, easier to cope with.]
[Another tiny marvel. So Giorno doesn't say anything. He's just quietly, warmly grateful.]
[There's a paw in his face, then. Hand, paw, something. He's surprised, simply because Steve has seemed self-conscious about the change so far, but he doesn't hesitate to take it in his own, or to examine it with fascination. It doesn't occur to him that that might be strange, curious as he is; instead he pokes at the fur between the fingers, runs his thumb carefully across the padded palm. And then he smiles, because — it is warm, and it's still Steve, of course. Takes it in his own properly and feels a little more secure. Another one of a dozen little things Steve is doing for him to make this easier.]
Hm. He sounds like a pain.
[It comes out more self-deprecating than he intends or realizes. It's just what he thinks. Squeezing lightly on Steve's hand, he glances skyward for a moment. It really is a nice day for all of this, which might be ironic.]
. . . So I'm not Italian, [he offers, seemingly apropos of nothing, looking back at Steve with a general air of sarcastic ta-da.] The name I had in that other place is my real — my birth name. My father was . . . it's complicated [and he doesn't want to get into it right now], so let's say European. My mother was Japanese. I looked a lot more like her when I was younger.
[Though as ever, Haruno is the key — or maybe cipher is a better word. When seen through the lens of Haruno, he can't entirely hide between the facade he's built for himself. He can't just be Giorno, no questions asked. As much as he looks like his fathers, he looks like his mother, too. That's part of why he hates people knowing as much as he does. There's no undoing it. It's uncomfortable.]
[Then again, it's . . . of all the things he's worried about sharing, that's the least of them. The worst is ahead. Unconsciously, he squeezes Steve's hand again, just to feel the pressure.]
She didn't want me. She didn't want kids at all. I don't know if she was pressured to keep me or if it was a snap decision or something, but she kept me, and then . . . [How to put it. It was so normal for him, but he knows abstractly it shouldn't have been.] I suppose she kept on living as though she hadn't? She'd leave for a long time to go live how she deserved to. She'd say she was young, so she wasn't going to be . . . tied to some kid.
[He frowns slightly, trying to remember the exact words. Dozens of individual instances blur together to form a mass of dismissal. They're so hard to separate from one another.]
The first thing I remember is being by myself in the apartment, looking for her. It's . . . it was always dirty, and there wasn't a lot of food. [And he couldn't cook, of course; but he doesn't say that. Again, it doesn't occur to him.] I tried to save things sometimes. Food that wouldn't go bad.
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He's not here to laugh, even about a big damn snob admitting he's not the thing he was being high and mighty about. He'd feel shitty about it in an instant if he did. And does it really matter if he's not Italian? Giorno loves Italy. He convinced him of that in a moment that felt as honest as this one, salty air nipping at them as he described the beauty of Naples.
The rest of the story so far prompts more of a reaction. Steve kneads slowly at Giorno's linked hand, inserting his own unprompted reminders that he's treasured while he tries to conquer the difficult task of recounting all the ways that he wasn't. The look Steve is wearing, meanwhile, may not be as sad as Giorno expected. On the inside he's sad, but on the outside he's got the face of someone resolved, who's already decided that he'll personally fist-fight these bad memories if he's got to. ]
I don't know how anyone could see their kid suffering and not feel a thing.
[ There's that disgusted tone Haruno heard again, the one he used after the poor kid expressed that he was used to being ignored. ]
I also don't know what I'd do if I ever saw that happening. [ He shakes his head. ] Probably something I'd get sent to jail for if it was at all possible to arrest a man-dog with super strength.
cw child abuse, xenophobia/racism, suicidal ideation
[Then again, people like Steve are few and far between. He didn't used to believe they existed, but he's been proven wrong, and in this moment Steve's doing a very good if unwitting job reinforcing heroic categorization. Looking at him now, it's easy to believe he really would do something like that. So even if it wasn't him — maybe some child someday will benefit from the look on Steve's face right now.]
. . . Thank you.
[It's quiet, but earnest. He's thankful for a lot of things Steve's doing for him right now, but this statement might be the most significant. Even retroactively, someone thinking what happened to him is wrong is . . . very new. Because Riley did, but not like that. She knew it too well.]
[His thumb skates over brand-new inhuman knuckles, gaze thoughtful as he once again wars with himself over omitting some things. Not after all of this, though. It would be such a waste.]
She met an Italian man. That's why we moved to Napoli. I saw even less of her after that. [Matter-of-factly:] He beat me. The less we saw of her, the more he beat me. He said he didn't like the way I looked at him, things like that . . . and I was bad in school because I didn't speak Italian yet, and no one wanted anything to do with the weird Japanese kid. They didn't want me there. No one did.
[Softly, he sighs. This is . . . the part that was so easy to explain to Riley and so hard to explain to anyone else. He tips his head to look at Steve, open and vulnerable and in pain.]
Have you ever . . . I don't know. Wanted to disappear? To just not be anymore?
cw torture, murder, suicidal ideation
So his jaw just flexes restlessly at the notion of an adversary that's too many worlds away to hunt, right up until he's dragged from his seething by a gut-wrenching question. ]
I—
Now I'm the one who doesn't want to make you sad—
[ But Giorno's asking him if he can relate to, or even just understand what he's about to say—what he's more or less said already, so he'll tell him about the closest thing that comes to mind, though he may have already guessed the when, the where, and the what based off of his hesitation alone. ]
Once, but I... don't think it even really counts. I was already dying. I just know how much I had to hurt to feel that way, and I still can't even imagine what it would be like to go on like that for more than one night.
[ Pain, an unbelievable amount of pain is what it took to make him want him to cease to exist. So, for Giorno to suggest that he had the same wish as someone being sliced up by a madman? When he was just a little kid trying to make it through school? Steve removes his head from Giorno's chest only to immediately nuzzle it into his side whilst shaking it, a faint whine escaping his muzzle despite his best efforts to stay upbeat. ]
Fuck him, I'd kill him. I'd really kill him. Fucking human garbage, both of them.
[ He's not even going to be coy about it now. ]
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[And then the world tilts on its axis, and he slides, obeying some newfound law of gravity.]
[He doesn't know if it's the wolf. He doesn't know if it's just the wolf. If Steve would actually think something like that, let alone say it, under other circumstances. It's just — this whole time, he's been himself as hard as he possibly can. The wolf is there, but first and foremost, there's just Steve.]
[He thinks . . . this is real. That sentiment, that's real. The desperate need to be close, to reassure, to protect, that's real too. That wasn't supposed to be part of this conversation. He didn't plan for it. He didn't expect it. He doesn't know what to think about it. He feels so safe so suddenly the air feels thin. He would do anything, anything for this boy.]
[Dizzying.]
[He half-turns on his side, one arm coming up awkwardly around Steve's shoulders, the other placed at the back of his neck, fingers burying themselves in the thick ruff of fur there. It's a strange hug, but it's contact he needs right now. He needs to contain and protect this moment, even if he couldn't in a million years articulate why it's so important.]
I know. [Voice shaky, heart pounding hard in his ears, eyes wet — he nods. Fervently, repeatedly. These are the only words he has in this moment, until he collects himself, but all the same they won't stop coming.] I know, I do.
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Eventually, the dog lets up enough for the human to have some say, at which point Steve loops an arm over the side of Giorno's body that's facing the sky. He feels so small right now. He knows it's because of this new, gangling form, but he can't shake the image from his mind that he's holding that child who was left to waste away, the one he saw just weeks ago. He wishes he could hug it all better, is giving it his best shot, even if he knows the world doesn't work like that.
He wants to smother him in so much attention he can't say he doesn't have people now who think of him every day. ]
If he ever shows up here.
[ For real, or as a fleshy doppelganger that crawls out of his head, or in any way whatsoever... ]
If you need me to — I will. That piece of shit is dead.
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[But he's not thinking about that right now. He can't. His whole world is the fluffy tornado of affection that is Steve in his arms right now, Steve insistently refusing to let Giorno forget his presence, that he cares so much he can't control the dog's instincts, or else he doesn't want to. That he's even trying to fix it with touch is — it won't work. The world doesn't work like that. But it helps. It helps as much as it did when Steve hugged him for the first time, in the van in the forest, with both of them covered in dirt and sap.]
[It reminds him that he's real. That people care. That he's allowed to be wanted.]
[He can't help but cry a little, albeit silently, as he takes fistfuls of Steve's fur between his fingers and holds on tight. His face pressed against anywhere he can manage, between the wiggling and all, he nods fiercely. He knows. He understands. He believes that — Steve would do this. For him. Because he matters that much.]
Thank you.
[Voice thick and halfway muffled, he buries his face deeper in fur. And suddenly, he knows how to explain the hardest part.]
I never had anybody like you before. Who'd — who wanted me to be okay. It was just me, and I couldn't take it. That's why I had to be — somebody else. Somebody stronger.
[That's not how he described it to Riley. Maybe it's not as truthful as that way, the language of destruction, the end of a life and the beginning of another. But he thinks Steve will understand. He'll get the parts that matter.]
But you won't let anything happen to me. The things I was scared of then aren't—
[His smile, where it's hidden, is little and wobbly, but very real.]
I know they don't stand a chance.