*** 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.
[ No, it's like before. He's asking her questions, and— and she's going to trip and walk into the wrong one. It's going to be like that again, she's— ]
If we're not- they're...perceptive, Giorno. [ Is that a correction? Will he get angry at her for that? ] They'd- be able to tell, if-
[ Riley... Did you really think you could do this? The tired, judgmental voice of her mother freezes her. No, that's- he's not her, she knows that, she knows, she knows ]
I can- I can work out a...schedule, I mean, if that's- so we don't have to- be there at the same time, so- I mean, so you don't have to- see me, or, talk to me—
[He steps back from her, staggers really, like he's been slapped. His back bumps against the trunk of his tree, something that would not have happened last month; but things are different now. He doesn't believe her. He does believe her; he doesn't understand her. How could she possibly have twisted this so much?]
Riley. You — you flew away. You haven't spoken to me. I can't . . .
[Has she just decided, then? Is this how lose ends will be tied up? Then why the hell did she apologize?]
[ The sound of movement, and she looks up again, just as terrified, but now baffled. Because... Because— ]
Because- Giorno, you hate me.
[ It's looking at him, that does it. It's saying the words. It cracks her voice, breaks her. ]
You- made that clear, when... [ Big, glossy tears cling to her eyelashes. ] You said it...was fine...so I walked with you. But, it- it wasn't fine.
[ She thought she knew him. She said she didn't—but maybe that's not true. She always knew there was a cruel part of Giorno. Maybe she just became the type of person he'd show it to. ]
I'm sorry...I didn't think...but I didn't- want to get hurt, anymore.
[ Selfish. What a selfish girl she is. Disgusting. ]
[He's getting a headache. He's . . . he doesn't know what to do with this. He's trying to make sense of it, but it simply doesn't make sense, and that's the truth of it. What she's saying to him almost adds up, but it doesn't quite. He said it was fine, but it wasn't fine. Of course it wasn't fine. Of course it . . .]
[His fingers curl, loose and weak, and he presses his knuckles to the space above the bridge of his nose, between his brows. If he presses hard enough, maybe the pain will ease. Maybe it will be easier to understand.]
I don't . . . hate you. I don't hate you.
[He doesn't. He's just — tired. And sad. There are so few people he hates. Riley doesn't come close enough to register. He's just tired, and sad, and lonely. All of this feels terribly inevitable, somehow.]
I don't understand why you think I . . . That's — why you—
[Haven't wanted anything to do with . . . no. He shakes his head. He's asking, he has to listen to the answer.]
[ The tears fall. As she shouts, because he's not her mother, despite the words...sounding like it, like her, in a different form. ]
You said- you just wanted to- to be with me, that- [ Still. She takes a step back, a frightened one. ] You wouldn't- judge, but—
[ But that was a lie. ]
I thought- [ She can feel her breathing quicken. She can feel herself panicking. ] Why else- would you- would you do- exactly what...she always...?
[ I just want to have a little talk, Riley. Don't worry so much. ]
I know- I know- I didn't- think, I- just- acted, and it- I know, I was- s-so stupid, just- a stupid- selfish— but I- I didn't real- realize- I didn't- know you were mad. I'm s- sorry. You s- said- no matter how ugly— so- I th- thought- since it wasn't- true, anymore—
[ He's not her mother. So, she can actually talk to him. But the fear's the same. It's turning her inside out, and she wants to fly away again, but if she has to do this another time, she doesn't know if she can survive it. ]
[Lie, she says. He didn't lie. He doesn't remember lying. She lied. He asked her questions, and she told him lies, and the truths she told him were unacceptable ones. If she had been honest about the things that mattered, about herself, then he could have worked with the rest of it, he could have tried—]
[But the part of Riley he trusted wasn't there. He reached out for her, and she pulled her hand away.]
[Lie, she says, and his mind turns. Wanted to be with her. Wouldn't judge. Lied. He lied. Did he lie?]
[There's a moment — was a moment — is a moment. Closing off. Pulling the walls back up again. He looked at her and smiled and didn't mean it. When is the last time he did that? Months and months. So long. And then—]
[Oh.]
[Oh. Oh, no, no, that's—]
[His pupils, wide and wine-deep, expand so sharply they consume his irises. Hands coming down to claw at his chest, he shakes his head, no, no, that's not what he meant, that's not what — but he did.]
I didn't — I didn't r— I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to lie, I—
[But that's all he does, isn't it? All he does is lie.]
[The bark scratching at his back makes him feel wild. If he has to be this way, can't he go back in the tree? Can't he go somewhere he won't hurt people? He's so tired of breaking things.]
[He sounds strangled. His throat is tight. Now he's the one panicking, back pressed to the tree with no method of escape. He could try to fly, but there's no way he could get away. She's faster than him. And she's here just to leave. That's all this is. That's all she wants.]
I don't hate you, you scared me! I couldn't — I didn't understand, I still don't understand! I thought—
[That she understood. He thought she knew. But she didn't, and she wasn't there, she was someone else, she wasn't Riley. Not really. The person who was talking to him then, that was someone else, somebody locked behind a wall — so he pulled his up too. But behind the wall, he was angry. More than angry enough to send friendly fire.]
[Now, he's shaking.]
I don't know how to hate you. I don't know how. I can't. But I thought you knew. I thought you knew, I thought if I asked there would be more, I thought if I understood I would understand, but asking just made it worse, and then — I lied.
[ He's panicking, and it's like looking into a mirror to another world. He's babbling. He never babbles. Never sounds...like her.
Another step closer. ]
I didn't.
[ That's all there is to it. Except it's— ]
I didn't- I knew, I wanted to- to do this, but I hadn't- thought, about the- the logistics, and then, I—
[ Of everything, she can't say it. It's a hand closing around her throat. It's— ]
When... I woke up, it- I was right...b-back there and, they— left me, they didn't even- the- police kept call- calling, but they wouldn't- answer their phones, and- then Dad wouldn't, 'cause- he's gone, and- I tried- t-to beg for him b-back, but of course, she just- and I—
[ A rush. A horrible, horrible rush, one that she's barely even been able to tell Cairo, because the whole time they were together they were desperately trying to run out the clock of the cursed object killing her slowly. She thought maybe it'd feel better to say.
[That's what was waiting for Riley behind her closed eyes, back in the world that didn't want her. He didn't ask, and she never specified, but this is what it was. Add insult to injury: they didn't even answer their phones.]
[He hates them. He does. He always has, but now . . . now he thinks of Mista, and it isn't the same, he knows it isn't, it's an unfair comparison, but at least it's in Riley's favor this time. Either of them alone in a dark room by themselves, locked away. Two people who, for very different reasons, simply cannot function in isolation.]
[His heart is breaking. Not only because of what she's telling him, but because it isn't good enough. Not for this. He can accept it, he can understand, he can stand by her, but he can't forgive this.]
I would have helped you.
[A barely-audible whisper. He feels like the air around him is stealing his breath.]
[ She almost takes another step. But she stops, midway.
She can't say I know, because...she does, sort of, but she didn't at the time. Didn't know anything except pain and fear and loss, and how she had to do something about it, had to do something right.
If only she could ever do anything right. ]
I wish I'd— [ It's unspoken. Like she can't even speak it. She told them all, she was just going to mess up again.
Riley bows her head, ashamed. ]
I'll- m-my whole life. I'll never- never stop...trying to fix it. Those kids- they're my- they're my life now, I swear.
[He wants to believe her. He pushes, hard, trying to force it. But it doesn't go. The key and lock are incompatible. The trouble is that, a month ago, he would have believed anything she said without question. Now he can't trust himself, let alone her. After what she did, he can't believe her just because she said it.]
[It's an ugly feeling. Distrust is a chasm in his chest. Thorns pushing out through the inside of his skin, except this time, they're not his. And he doesn't know what to say, because what could he possibly say to her that won't make this worse? He doesn't believe her. He'll believe what he sees. That's all.]
[There's no way to make her understand, he thinks. He feels so flat, so empty, so hopeless. What's the point? What's the point of any of this, if she was willing to just walk away?]
[But he pushes, and pushes, and all he can ask in the end is the question that's been dogging him for weeks. Pale and gaunt as he is, it comes out like a death rattle, eyes pinned on her face, desperate.]
[His mouth is . . . dry. He speaks slowly, haltingly, like every word is an effort. A month ago, she saw Giorno alone and at his cruelest, Haruno boarded up behind a wall. Today there's Haruno alone, all trappings of confidence and resolve skinned away to leave an ugly, aching, broken, bleeding thing. Talking like he doesn't believe any of the words he's saying. Like even as he says them, he's convincing himself they don't matter.]
Back home . . . where I lived. It's like that. Everywhere. Kids without parents, or with parents who don't want them . . . on the streets or with strangers, or joining . . .
[Joining gangs.]
[Maybe that's the other reason he went to Fugo, after all. Maybe that's why. Because Fugo's life is quite literally an open book to him now. Because Fugo took the only choice available to him. The one that provided food and shelter and relative safety.]
[Relative safety.]
[He doesn't meet Riley's eyes. He can't. His own are so dull, it doesn't seem like he's looking at much of anything.]
. . . I walked out my front door, turned a corner . . . they were sleeping in alleys. They'd run away from orphanages and foster homes, because there wasn't . . . enough. There was never enough. No one cared. Just . . . left. Like trash. I wanted . . .
[to fix it]
[to go home]
[to believe you understood me]
[He shakes his head. It doesn't matter. What he wanted doesn't matter, here and now.]
[She speaks. Rapid, scattered, broken, but she's speaking, like she didn't before. Like he didn't give her a chance to before. And slowly but surely, his gaze lifts from the ground to examine her.]
[Maybe Riley has some idea, now, of why he was punished so many times for staring. It's not staring at, but staring into. She's experienced firsthand how brutal his analysis can be, and is perhaps the only person who's received it and come out physically unscathed so far. Some time not terribly far from now, Giorno will realize this, will understand on a bone-deep level how phenomenally inappropriate it was to do that to her. Right now, he just knows it was wrong; right now, he's just in shock.]
[But it's true, too, that he desperately wants to believe her, and this is the first thing she's said that fills him with anything but doubt. There's a suspicion under his skin that he can't get rid of, not yet, but it recedes slightly at what she tells him now. Because she's telling the truth, and because . . . this is Riley. He recognizes her now. This is his sister.]
[He missed her.]
. . . Okay.
[His voice is so terribly quiet, it's nearly inaudible. But it's his voice, not anyone else's. Just Giorno, not who he tries to be to anyone else, not the version of himself that tries to right wrongs.]
I believe you. It's just . . .
[He presses his lips together, hesitating, wavering on whether to say anything at all. After a moment, he shakes his head.]
Good intentions don't . . . mean good outcomes. It's not that simple. I wish it was, but . . .
[His hands curl into frustrated fists. Why is this so hard to articulate? He's supposed to be good at words.]
You've never — before, when you hurt people, no one else was involved. You didn't have to worry about collateral damage. And this — I know you didn't intend it to be, but that's what this is. You can't take care of . . . all of them all the time, Riley, you're one person and bad things happen to us all the time. What if you fall asleep again? What if something happens to change you for a while, because that happens all the time? What if you disappear? We'll help you, we'll all help, but I'm — scared—
[scared?]
Because what if it happens again? What's the plan? I have a plan now, for the— the orphanage, but what's stopping all of this from happening again? Even if you mean well, that's not . . . that doesn't fix everything.
[ As his gaze bores into her, the fear takes hold of Riley again. That he's analyzing her, a witness on the stand, picking her apart like a thing to be dissected. Like her mother would, for as long as she can remember.
But...then he speaks. And it's Giorno. It's just Giorno. Listening to her stammer out her name in the dark tunnels. Kneeling before her, covered in blood. Waking her in the soft snowy forest. Shining, in a beautiful garden in a house under the hills.
She sees him again. Hears him again. The one who won't hurt her. ]
I... [ Another step closer. ] Giorno, I—
[ When he says that, no one else— she doesn't think that's true. There were always other people involved. Other people she hurt. But, she hurt them by taking away someone good. Someone loved. She thought, if the people weren't like that—if it wasn't like Chess or Farrah, or even Clark who died not by her hand but her actions— then it would be okay. She would make it okay. Whatever complications arose... Riley would give everything of herself, to make it okay.
But. That was just another delusion. She can see that now. One just as dangerous as what got her here.
It is different. Still. Because— ]
I'm not- [ She swallows, and automatically her claws come together, picking at dried skin on her hands. ] When I... woke up.
[ Back there. She starts again. But this time— ]
...It was over for me. I- it felt...like it was over for me. That I'd— ...They...broke me. Too much to be fixed. And I thought- all those kids... I'd been looking for them, you know? Ones to...help. To do something with, but I didn't- I didn't know what, how, but I thought—
[ How long ago did she break? How long ago was she damaged in such a way that no one...or nothing could fix her? ]
How many of them...are like me? How many of them...could one day make a difference? I thought, If I didn't do something now...
[ She shakes her head, looks away. ]
I know, it doesn't- it can't excuse it. But it's not... It won't...happen again. Not...if I can do anything to stop it.
[What happened back at home . . . it was enough to cause her to well and truly give up. That isn't, on an objective level, surprising. That is the purpose of prison, to dehumanize and break down. Not everyone is Polpo, living in a luxurious compound, safe from the world with anything he wants. So of course she would give up.]
[On a less objective level, it makes him want to break kneecaps. His brows knit together, a sharp, hurt frown making itself known on his face.]
I hear you. I hear, I understand, I believe you. I just—
[He shakes his head, fierce and fervent, shaking fingers coming to clutch tight at his opposite arm.]
There's no . . . It's never over. You're never too broken to change things for the better, Riley. The world — all worlds, I think, want to give up on people, and tell people to give up on themselves, and it's easy to believe, but it's a lie. Everyone I love has been — thrown away. Like trash. And they've all changed my life. You have, too. You change things every day.
Just don't—
[His frown wobbles, trying to figure out what to be.]
Don't believe that lie. You will never be broken beyond repair, and neither will they, or any of the other children in this city.
If...any day, she could just be that alone again...
The facts don't connect fully. The cause and effect, it doesn't make sense. But to her brain, it's still the undeniable truth. To be left confined and breaking, no one to talk to. To lose the only person to love her like a parent before. To scream at the sky and get nothing but patronization. To be told eventually...what she felt would fade, she'd listen to the Fog, like a good girl. It runs together, even here, she's lost, even here, their influence hangs over her, like it broadcasts that she's cracked, broken, desperate—
But Giorno.
Her talons tap against the crunchy, icy ground as she closes the distance between them, her own trembling hand wrapping around his arm, right where his own hand lands. She holds onto him like a lifeline—like a life preserver. For her, and for him. ]
I've missed you.
[ Her voice cracks again. He says it's a lie. That what they did to her...it hasn't ruined her. It hasn't ruined any of them. ]
I really- really missed you.
[ It hurt. It hurt so much. But...only because he normally makes her feel like this. ]
[She grabs his arm. Under her grip, his own loosens as he looks up at her in shock. Part of him is surprised that she's touching him. Part of him, even after all of this, expects her to just turn around and leave.]
[But she doesn't. She takes hold of him like he's the only thing keeping her afloat. He stares at her, trying to understand, and she says . . .]
[She says she missed him.]
[And all the emotion he's been trying to push down for a month wells up in his face all at once. Tears fill his eyes, and he just barely ducks his head before the first one falls. It hits the ground below, but he doesn't see it, obscured as his vision is by more and more of them.]
[Violently, he shakes his head.]
Don't — don't leave again and you won't have to miss me . . . !
[ She doesn't know how to explain, how to say— she had to leave, she had to fly away, because it was the only thing she could do, to stay safe, but it killed her, because he didn't want her anymore, and if she stuck around he was just going to throw her away—
But it doesn't feel like that anymore. That certain knowledge isn't suffocating her anymore.
He isn't like her real— her old family.
He's her new family. ]
I'm n- I won't- I'm never—
[ As her own world blurs with tears, she presses herself against him, into a hug. It's the kind of hug neither of them normally allow themselves.
She won't leave. As long as she can help it. Even if one day...this world will probably take her family away from her, one by one.
[She throws herself against him, a maelstrom of arms and feathers and tears, and he hangs onto her instinctively, automatically, fervently. His arms wrap around her like it's that or he'll fall entirely apart. There's no time to think about it, but if he had, he'd make the same decision. He has to protect her. He has to. He can't ever let her go.]
[He loves her too much.]
[Maybe he holds on too tight. It's possible, certainly, because he can't feel how tight his chest is with the breath he doesn't breathe right now caught in it. His whole body feels like somebody else's. Maybe that's an excuse for why it's racked with silent sobs, rattling around inside his ribcage. The two of them together are storms, fighting and joining and fighting again — but he's so tired of fighting.]
[Ultimately, he's too tired to be the only one supporting them both. He lets his weight and balance rest on the trunk of his tree and allows it to hold a steadying presence at his back. That way, he can just focus on her. On crying into her shoulder, on feeling the tears soak into his shirt in turn, on grieving (or beginning to grieve) for everything that's happened to her that shouldn't have.]
[It shouldn't have. None of this is fair. None of it. He wants to tear it down and start her life over. But he can't. And — and she doesn't have to. Even like this, she's good enough. He just wants her to not have to hurt.]
[ She wants this. She wants it, she doesn't just want something to hold onto—she wants someone to hold onto her.
But, in return, she...has to hold onto him, too. He pushed her and pushed her and she left. But she pushed him too. In ways she didn't know, in ways neither of them understood, they kept crashing against each other, pressing against each other's deepest pains. That...probably won't just stop. She's probably going to screw up again. They're probably going to screw up again. But, she loves him. And...he loves her.
She's pretty sure. She's almost positive...he still loves her.
What Riley wants to do is support him too, but she physically can't. The exhaustion of revival's getting to her, and her knees almost buckle until he leans back against the tree.
Okay. She can take a moment. She can wait. She can, for the first time since all of this started, let herself rest. All she's wanted to do for weeks is cry on him. So...that's what'll happen. She can grow up and keep taking responsibility for everything she's ruined after. ]
[He loves her. It's because he loves her that he's thinking, even now in this moment of catharsis, of what he's done wrong and how to keep it from happening in the future. He remembers everything Fugo said, every word, just as he always does. He asked Fugo for a reason.]
[Do you think it's possible to know someone too well?]
[Her knees tremble. He wraps his arms still tighter around her, holding her so securely that if she falls, it's clear he'll catch her. Even so, he buries his face in her shoulder, because he has to protect himself too. Because shame curls like toxic smoke up his throat, saying this.]
I'm sorry. I made assumptions. Because I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to know people. The person who ever really mattered to me just — understood. About things like this. So I thought anyone who understood me would know like he knew, and it's—
[His heart rises into his throat, threatening to choke him. When he speaks, it sounds like he's forcing the words out past a blockage. Tears fall thick and fast on her shoulder.]
That's not fair, Riley. You're you, not anyone else. I'm really . . . really sorry.
...She wonders, if it's Mista. As she presses her forehead against him, that's the only thought she has time and coherency to have before his voice hisses apologies. She doesn't want him to have to—but at the same time, each one sparks another little tearful whimper. Each one, she nuzzles in closer, like she's still a tiger and not the phoenix desperately putting itself back together. ]
Mmm- mm, mmhmm— [ There's nothing she can say, because her tongue's stuck, because her loud, messy tears drown out everything else. She cries like she's never been allowed to, like she's never let herself. With each noise, she nods weakly. Shakily. She wishes she could give him something more concrete, but she's so tired and so—relieved, to just be here, in his arms again.
He's sorry. Her mom never said she was sorry. Her mom just did it again and again, lied and picked her every flaw apart, until even demeaning her was too much of a waste of time and energy. That's not Giorno. She wishes she'd never once had the thought that they could be the same. ]
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no subject
If we're not- they're...perceptive, Giorno. [ Is that a correction? Will he get angry at her for that? ] They'd- be able to tell, if-
[ Riley... Did you really think you could do this? The tired, judgmental voice of her mother freezes her. No, that's- he's not her, she knows that, she knows, she
knows]I can- I can work out a...schedule, I mean, if that's- so we don't have to- be there at the same time, so- I mean, so you don't have to- see me, or, talk to me—
no subject
[He steps back from her, staggers really, like he's been slapped. His back bumps against the trunk of his tree, something that would not have happened last month; but things are different now. He doesn't believe her. He does believe her; he doesn't understand her. How could she possibly have twisted this so much?]
Riley. You — you flew away. You haven't spoken to me. I can't . . .
[Has she just decided, then? Is this how lose ends will be tied up? Then why the hell did she apologize?]
no subject
Because- Giorno, you hate me.
[ It's looking at him, that does it. It's saying the words. It cracks her voice, breaks her. ]
You- made that clear, when... [ Big, glossy tears cling to her eyelashes. ] You said it...was fine...so I walked with you. But, it- it wasn't fine.
[ She thought she knew him. She said she didn't—but maybe that's not true. She always knew there was a cruel part of Giorno. Maybe she just became the type of person he'd show it to. ]
I'm sorry...I didn't think...but I didn't- want to get hurt, anymore.
[ Selfish. What a selfish girl she is. Disgusting. ]
no subject
[His fingers curl, loose and weak, and he presses his knuckles to the space above the bridge of his nose, between his brows. If he presses hard enough, maybe the pain will ease. Maybe it will be easier to understand.]
I don't . . . hate you. I don't hate you.
[He doesn't. He's just — tired. And sad. There are so few people he hates. Riley doesn't come close enough to register. He's just tired, and sad, and lonely. All of this feels terribly inevitable, somehow.]
I don't understand why you think I . . . That's — why you—
[Haven't wanted anything to do with . . . no. He shakes his head. He's asking, he has to listen to the answer.]
no subject
[ The tears fall. As she shouts, because he's not her mother, despite the words...sounding like it, like her, in a different form. ]
You said- you just wanted to- to be with me, that- [ Still. She takes a step back, a frightened one. ] You wouldn't- judge, but—
[ But that was a lie. ]
I thought- [ She can feel her breathing quicken. She can feel herself panicking. ] Why else- would you- would you do- exactly what...she always...?
[ I just want to have a little talk, Riley. Don't worry so much. ]
I know- I know- I didn't- think, I- just- acted, and it- I know, I was- s-so stupid, just- a stupid- selfish— but I- I didn't real- realize- I didn't- know you were mad. I'm s- sorry. You s- said- no matter how ugly— so- I th- thought- since it wasn't- true, anymore—
[ He's not her mother. So, she can actually talk to him. But the fear's the same. It's turning her inside out, and she wants to fly away again, but if she has to do this another time, she doesn't know if she can survive it. ]
no subject
[Lie, she says. He didn't lie. He doesn't remember lying. She lied. He asked her questions, and she told him lies, and the truths she told him were unacceptable ones. If she had been honest about the things that mattered, about herself, then he could have worked with the rest of it, he could have tried—]
[But the part of Riley he trusted wasn't there. He reached out for her, and she pulled her hand away.]
[Lie, she says, and his mind turns. Wanted to be with her. Wouldn't judge. Lied. He lied. Did he lie?]
[There's a moment — was a moment — is a moment. Closing off. Pulling the walls back up again. He looked at her and smiled and didn't mean it. When is the last time he did that? Months and months. So long. And then—]
[Oh.]
[Oh. Oh, no, no, that's—]
[His pupils, wide and wine-deep, expand so sharply they consume his irises. Hands coming down to claw at his chest, he shakes his head, no, no, that's not what he meant, that's not what — but he did.]
I didn't — I didn't r— I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to lie, I—
[But that's all he does, isn't it? All he does is lie.]
[The bark scratching at his back makes him feel wild. If he has to be this way, can't he go back in the tree? Can't he go somewhere he won't hurt people? He's so tired of breaking things.]
. . . I'm sorry.
no subject
Riley looks at him, and she finally—finally looks at him. Finally sees.
He's hurting too. She thought...he was just angry. Just disgusted with her. ]
...You don't... You really...don't...hate me?
[ She takes a step closer. ]
You won't- leave?
[ He promised so much, that when the promise broke—
Just stay here. With me. Her safe, safe space. ]
no subject
[He sounds strangled. His throat is tight. Now he's the one panicking, back pressed to the tree with no method of escape. He could try to fly, but there's no way he could get away. She's faster than him. And she's here just to leave. That's all this is. That's all she wants.]
I don't hate you, you scared me! I couldn't — I didn't understand, I still don't understand! I thought—
[That she understood. He thought she knew. But she didn't, and she wasn't there, she was someone else, she wasn't Riley. Not really. The person who was talking to him then, that was someone else, somebody locked behind a wall — so he pulled his up too. But behind the wall, he was angry. More than angry enough to send friendly fire.]
[Now, he's shaking.]
I don't know how to hate you. I don't know how. I can't. But I thought you knew. I thought you knew, I thought if I asked there would be more, I thought if I understood I would understand, but asking just made it worse, and then — I lied.
[He lied.]
[He wants to be anywhere else.]
no subject
Another step closer. ]
I didn't.
[ That's all there is to it. Except it's— ]
I didn't- I knew, I wanted to- to do this, but I hadn't- thought, about the- the logistics, and then, I—
[ Of everything, she can't say it. It's a hand closing around her throat. It's— ]
When... I woke up, it- I was right...b-back there and, they— left me, they didn't even- the- police kept call- calling, but they wouldn't- answer their phones, and- then Dad wouldn't, 'cause- he's gone, and- I tried- t-to beg for him b-back, but of course, she just- and I—
[ A rush. A horrible, horrible rush, one that she's barely even been able to tell Cairo, because the whole time they were together they were desperately trying to run out the clock of the cursed object killing her slowly. She thought maybe it'd feel better to say.
But it doesn't. It just keeps hurting. ]
I snapped.
[ But. Another step closer. ]
I'm sorry. I'm- sorry. I couldn't- I'm sorry.
no subject
[That's what was waiting for Riley behind her closed eyes, back in the world that didn't want her. He didn't ask, and she never specified, but this is what it was. Add insult to injury: they didn't even answer their phones.]
[He hates them. He does. He always has, but now . . . now he thinks of Mista, and it isn't the same, he knows it isn't, it's an unfair comparison, but at least it's in Riley's favor this time. Either of them alone in a dark room by themselves, locked away. Two people who, for very different reasons, simply cannot function in isolation.]
[His heart is breaking. Not only because of what she's telling him, but because it isn't good enough. Not for this. He can accept it, he can understand, he can stand by her, but he can't forgive this.]
I would have helped you.
[A barely-audible whisper. He feels like the air around him is stealing his breath.]
We all . . . would have helped you.
no subject
She can't say I know, because...she does, sort of, but she didn't at the time. Didn't know anything except pain and fear and loss, and how she had to do something about it, had to do something right.
If only she could ever do anything right. ]
I wish I'd— [ It's unspoken. Like she can't even speak it. She told them all, she was just going to mess up again.
Riley bows her head, ashamed. ]
I'll- m-my whole life. I'll never- never stop...trying to fix it. Those kids- they're my- they're my life now, I swear.
no subject
[It's an ugly feeling. Distrust is a chasm in his chest. Thorns pushing out through the inside of his skin, except this time, they're not his. And he doesn't know what to say, because what could he possibly say to her that won't make this worse? He doesn't believe her. He'll believe what he sees. That's all.]
[There's no way to make her understand, he thinks. He feels so flat, so empty, so hopeless. What's the point? What's the point of any of this, if she was willing to just walk away?]
[But he pushes, and pushes, and all he can ask in the end is the question that's been dogging him for weeks. Pale and gaunt as he is, it comes out like a death rattle, eyes pinned on her face, desperate.]
Have you ever known someone . . . without a home?
[You haven't, have you?]
no subject
Hot tears hit the ground as she shakes her head. ]
cw child abuse/neglect, systemic child neglect, homelessness
[His mouth is . . . dry. He speaks slowly, haltingly, like every word is an effort. A month ago, she saw Giorno alone and at his cruelest, Haruno boarded up behind a wall. Today there's Haruno alone, all trappings of confidence and resolve skinned away to leave an ugly, aching, broken, bleeding thing. Talking like he doesn't believe any of the words he's saying. Like even as he says them, he's convincing himself they don't matter.]
Back home . . . where I lived. It's like that. Everywhere. Kids without parents, or with parents who don't want them . . . on the streets or with strangers, or joining . . .
[Joining gangs.]
[Maybe that's the other reason he went to Fugo, after all. Maybe that's why. Because Fugo's life is quite literally an open book to him now. Because Fugo took the only choice available to him. The one that provided food and shelter and relative safety.]
[Relative safety.]
[He doesn't meet Riley's eyes. He can't. His own are so dull, it doesn't seem like he's looking at much of anything.]
. . . I walked out my front door, turned a corner . . . they were sleeping in alleys. They'd run away from orphanages and foster homes, because there wasn't . . . enough. There was never enough. No one cared. Just . . . left. Like trash. I wanted . . .
[to fix it]
[to go home]
[to believe you understood me]
[He shakes his head. It doesn't matter. What he wanted doesn't matter, here and now.]
I can't see that again. I can't.
cw: juvenile criminal justice mentions, child abuse/neglect
Giorno— [ Her voice breaks, but she pushes past it. ] You got one...really big thing wrong. I may not've- known, how to do this...for the future, but—
The moment I laid eyes on all of those kids... I could never just leave them.
[ The story was never over for her. She just couldn't find half the pages. ]
...It'd make me just as... worse, than—
[ Anything? Any calls?
No. Not today.
We can't even read her her rights like this.
I know... Just...give it a few more days. If they keep avoiding it—
Right outside her room. As if they didn't know she could hear—or didn't care. ]
I couldn't. Not that.
no subject
[Maybe Riley has some idea, now, of why he was punished so many times for staring. It's not staring at, but staring into. She's experienced firsthand how brutal his analysis can be, and is perhaps the only person who's received it and come out physically unscathed so far. Some time not terribly far from now, Giorno will realize this, will understand on a bone-deep level how phenomenally inappropriate it was to do that to her. Right now, he just knows it was wrong; right now, he's just in shock.]
[But it's true, too, that he desperately wants to believe her, and this is the first thing she's said that fills him with anything but doubt. There's a suspicion under his skin that he can't get rid of, not yet, but it recedes slightly at what she tells him now. Because she's telling the truth, and because . . . this is Riley. He recognizes her now. This is his sister.]
[He missed her.]
. . . Okay.
[His voice is so terribly quiet, it's nearly inaudible. But it's his voice, not anyone else's. Just Giorno, not who he tries to be to anyone else, not the version of himself that tries to right wrongs.]
I believe you. It's just . . .
[He presses his lips together, hesitating, wavering on whether to say anything at all. After a moment, he shakes his head.]
Good intentions don't . . . mean good outcomes. It's not that simple. I wish it was, but . . .
[His hands curl into frustrated fists. Why is this so hard to articulate? He's supposed to be good at words.]
You've never — before, when you hurt people, no one else was involved. You didn't have to worry about collateral damage. And this — I know you didn't intend it to be, but that's what this is. You can't take care of . . . all of them all the time, Riley, you're one person and bad things happen to us all the time. What if you fall asleep again? What if something happens to change you for a while, because that happens all the time? What if you disappear? We'll help you, we'll all help, but I'm — scared—
[scared?]
Because what if it happens again? What's the plan? I have a plan now, for the— the orphanage, but what's stopping all of this from happening again? Even if you mean well, that's not . . . that doesn't fix everything.
no subject
But...then he speaks. And it's Giorno. It's just Giorno. Listening to her stammer out her name in the dark tunnels. Kneeling before her, covered in blood. Waking her in the soft snowy forest. Shining, in a beautiful garden in a house under the hills.
She sees him again. Hears him again. The one who won't hurt her. ]
I... [ Another step closer. ] Giorno, I—
[ When he says that, no one else— she doesn't think that's true. There were always other people involved. Other people she hurt. But, she hurt them by taking away someone good. Someone loved. She thought, if the people weren't like that—if it wasn't like Chess or Farrah, or even Clark who died not by her hand but her actions— then it would be okay. She would make it okay. Whatever complications arose... Riley would give everything of herself, to make it okay.
But. That was just another delusion. She can see that now. One just as dangerous as what got her here.
It is different. Still. Because— ]
I'm not- [ She swallows, and automatically her claws come together, picking at dried skin on her hands. ] When I... woke up.
[ Back there. She starts again. But this time— ]
...It was over for me. I- it felt...like it was over for me. That I'd— ...They...broke me. Too much to be fixed. And I thought- all those kids... I'd been looking for them, you know? Ones to...help. To do something with, but I didn't- I didn't know what, how, but I thought—
[ How long ago did she break? How long ago was she damaged in such a way that no one...or nothing could fix her? ]
How many of them...are like me? How many of them...could one day make a difference? I thought, If I didn't do something now...
[ She shakes her head, looks away. ]
I know, it doesn't- it can't excuse it. But it's not... It won't...happen again. Not...if I can do anything to stop it.
no subject
[What happened back at home . . . it was enough to cause her to well and truly give up. That isn't, on an objective level, surprising. That is the purpose of prison, to dehumanize and break down. Not everyone is Polpo, living in a luxurious compound, safe from the world with anything he wants. So of course she would give up.]
[On a less objective level, it makes him want to break kneecaps. His brows knit together, a sharp, hurt frown making itself known on his face.]
I hear you. I hear, I understand, I believe you. I just—
[He shakes his head, fierce and fervent, shaking fingers coming to clutch tight at his opposite arm.]
There's no . . . It's never over. You're never too broken to change things for the better, Riley. The world — all worlds, I think, want to give up on people, and tell people to give up on themselves, and it's easy to believe, but it's a lie. Everyone I love has been — thrown away. Like trash. And they've all changed my life. You have, too. You change things every day.
Just don't—
[His frown wobbles, trying to figure out what to be.]
Don't believe that lie. You will never be broken beyond repair, and neither will they, or any of the other children in this city.
no subject
If...any day, she could just be that alone again...
The facts don't connect fully. The cause and effect, it doesn't make sense. But to her brain, it's still the undeniable truth. To be left confined and breaking, no one to talk to. To lose the only person to love her like a parent before. To scream at the sky and get nothing but patronization. To be told eventually...what she felt would fade, she'd listen to the Fog, like a good girl. It runs together, even here, she's lost, even here, their influence hangs over her, like it broadcasts that she's cracked, broken, desperate—
But Giorno.
Her talons tap against the crunchy, icy ground as she closes the distance between them, her own trembling hand wrapping around his arm, right where his own hand lands. She holds onto him like a lifeline—like a life preserver. For her, and for him. ]
I've missed you.
[ Her voice cracks again. He says it's a lie. That what they did to her...it hasn't ruined her. It hasn't ruined any of them. ]
I really- really missed you.
[ It hurt. It hurt so much. But...only because he normally makes her feel like this. ]
no subject
[But she doesn't. She takes hold of him like he's the only thing keeping her afloat. He stares at her, trying to understand, and she says . . .]
[She says she missed him.]
[And all the emotion he's been trying to push down for a month wells up in his face all at once. Tears fill his eyes, and he just barely ducks his head before the first one falls. It hits the ground below, but he doesn't see it, obscured as his vision is by more and more of them.]
[Violently, he shakes his head.]
Don't — don't leave again and you won't have to miss me . . . !
[Don't leave again. Don't leave.]
no subject
But it doesn't feel like that anymore. That certain knowledge isn't suffocating her anymore.
He isn't like her real— her old family.
He's her new family. ]
I'm n- I won't- I'm never—
[ As her own world blurs with tears, she presses herself against him, into a hug. It's the kind of hug neither of them normally allow themselves.
She won't leave. As long as she can help it. Even if one day...this world will probably take her family away from her, one by one.
She won't leave anymore, before it happens. ]
no subject
[He loves her too much.]
[Maybe he holds on too tight. It's possible, certainly, because he can't feel how tight his chest is with the breath he doesn't breathe right now caught in it. His whole body feels like somebody else's. Maybe that's an excuse for why it's racked with silent sobs, rattling around inside his ribcage. The two of them together are storms, fighting and joining and fighting again — but he's so tired of fighting.]
[Ultimately, he's too tired to be the only one supporting them both. He lets his weight and balance rest on the trunk of his tree and allows it to hold a steadying presence at his back. That way, he can just focus on her. On crying into her shoulder, on feeling the tears soak into his shirt in turn, on grieving (or beginning to grieve) for everything that's happened to her that shouldn't have.]
[It shouldn't have. None of this is fair. None of it. He wants to tear it down and start her life over. But he can't. And — and she doesn't have to. Even like this, she's good enough. He just wants her to not have to hurt.]
no subject
But, in return, she...has to hold onto him, too. He pushed her and pushed her and she left. But she pushed him too. In ways she didn't know, in ways neither of them understood, they kept crashing against each other, pressing against each other's deepest pains. That...probably won't just stop. She's probably going to screw up again. They're probably going to screw up again. But, she loves him. And...he loves her.
She's pretty sure. She's almost positive...he still loves her.
What Riley wants to do is support him too, but she physically can't. The exhaustion of revival's getting to her, and her knees almost buckle until he leans back against the tree.
Okay. She can take a moment. She can wait. She can, for the first time since all of this started, let herself rest. All she's wanted to do for weeks is cry on him. So...that's what'll happen. She can grow up and keep taking responsibility for everything she's ruined after. ]
no subject
[Do you think it's possible to know someone too well?]
[Her knees tremble. He wraps his arms still tighter around her, holding her so securely that if she falls, it's clear he'll catch her. Even so, he buries his face in her shoulder, because he has to protect himself too. Because shame curls like toxic smoke up his throat, saying this.]
I'm sorry. I made assumptions. Because I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to know people. The person who ever really mattered to me just — understood. About things like this. So I thought anyone who understood me would know like he knew, and it's—
[His heart rises into his throat, threatening to choke him. When he speaks, it sounds like he's forcing the words out past a blockage. Tears fall thick and fast on her shoulder.]
That's not fair, Riley. You're you, not anyone else. I'm really . . . really sorry.
cw: child abuse mentions
...She wonders, if it's Mista. As she presses her forehead against him, that's the only thought she has time and coherency to have before his voice hisses apologies. She doesn't want him to have to—but at the same time, each one sparks another little tearful whimper. Each one, she nuzzles in closer, like she's still a tiger and not the phoenix desperately putting itself back together. ]
Mmm- mm, mmhmm— [ There's nothing she can say, because her tongue's stuck, because her loud, messy tears drown out everything else. She cries like she's never been allowed to, like she's never let herself. With each noise, she nods weakly. Shakily. She wishes she could give him something more concrete, but she's so tired and so—relieved, to just be here, in his arms again.
He's sorry. Her mom never said she was sorry. Her mom just did it again and again, lied and picked her every flaw apart, until even demeaning her was too much of a waste of time and energy. That's not Giorno. She wishes she'd never once had the thought that they could be the same. ]