*** 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.
[Sometimes all it takes is the tiniest push, a small but consistent reminder that someone in this world thinks you're worth the barest bit of decency. Sometimes that keeps a broken child going long enough that he finds a way to rebuild himself anew.]
[Sometimes that isn't enough. Sometimes it's harder. It takes longer, and more. Sometimes, learning to believe in a future is an almost-insurmountable task, because of how many times the future has been crushed to dust in front of a child's eyes. How much has been lost, and how often he's been told he deserves this pain and more. How many times he's been abandoned. What is the difference between a child who had nothing and gained everything, and a child who had one thing and lost it over and over and over? A matter of minutiae, of nuance, not of worth or resilience.]
[Fugo is so worthy, and he always has been. Distant as he is from the version of himself who brought that light of hope to Fugo's eyes, Giorno finds pride welling up within him along with stubborn tears. It was some other self, but he's on a collision course for that version of Giorno, and he always has been. Fugo has been his priority since the day he set eyes on him. Since that very first moment.]
[He lets Fugo speak his peace, lets it resonate; then he reaches for Fugo's hand with both of his own and lifts it to his lips. The kiss he lays on Fugo's knuckles is unapologetic, devoted, and faithful. It's all reciprocity.]
[And if he's a little flushed and a bit teary when he lifts his head again, maybe Fugo will just notice it, like he notices everything, and choose not to comment.]
As long as I live, I'll believe in you in turn. Every second of every day.
[Not much of a hardship. He's believed since that first moment, too.]
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[Sometimes that isn't enough. Sometimes it's harder. It takes longer, and more. Sometimes, learning to believe in a future is an almost-insurmountable task, because of how many times the future has been crushed to dust in front of a child's eyes. How much has been lost, and how often he's been told he deserves this pain and more. How many times he's been abandoned. What is the difference between a child who had nothing and gained everything, and a child who had one thing and lost it over and over and over? A matter of minutiae, of nuance, not of worth or resilience.]
[Fugo is so worthy, and he always has been. Distant as he is from the version of himself who brought that light of hope to Fugo's eyes, Giorno finds pride welling up within him along with stubborn tears. It was some other self, but he's on a collision course for that version of Giorno, and he always has been. Fugo has been his priority since the day he set eyes on him. Since that very first moment.]
[He lets Fugo speak his peace, lets it resonate; then he reaches for Fugo's hand with both of his own and lifts it to his lips. The kiss he lays on Fugo's knuckles is unapologetic, devoted, and faithful. It's all reciprocity.]
[And if he's a little flushed and a bit teary when he lifts his head again, maybe Fugo will just notice it, like he notices everything, and choose not to comment.]
As long as I live, I'll believe in you in turn. Every second of every day.
[Not much of a hardship. He's believed since that first moment, too.]