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[Fugo's hand is in his. That . . . that in itself isn't strange. It feels strange, startles him, not because of the action itself or because it's Fugo, but because when he's focused on Gold Experience like this he is now he feels like a different person. Younger and more afraid and worse. Worse all over.]
[Fugo's fingers curled around his remind him that he is himself, here and now. Fugo's fingers are warm, they feel warmer than his own even though that's got to be impossible. Maybe it's just that the presence and touch of them is so grounding, like half an instant of traveling home. For that moment he knows who he is without question, the Don Giovanna, Mista's and Trish's and Fugo's and everyone's, someone who belongs to himself but to the world, as well.]
[That knowledge doesn't preclude pain, though. It makes him feel less vulnerable, but he still feels everything else, too, the strange cocktail of affection and confusion and homesickness and protectiveness that Fugo stirs up in him, the aching possessiveness that makes him want to tighten his grip and never let go. Gold Experience leans over the desk and reads, and the shock waves are there, too.]
[It meant a great deal to me then and still does today.]
[I'll never forget that morning.]
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
[Take half a step towards me. Just half a step. That's all.]
[That first day, there was a moment when Giorno relaxed, from his head to his toes. It happens again now at the tail end of a shudder; he has to close his eyes to keep the sudden inexplicable tears in (the tears he could explain if he wanted to, but he doesn't, so he won't). Mascara faintly dots under his lower lid when he opens them again, the only clue besides the shakiness of his smile, but he laces his fingers through Fugo's to keep him from leaving. Not that he thinks he will. Not really. But he always worries, somewhere in the back of his mind, what if?]
[He glances at his Stand, who glances back at him, checking for . . . something. Approval, maybe. Whatever it is, he sees it, or feels it, and so he very, very carefully tears the piece of paper off and folds it into a small square. He considers the square for a moment, turns it around to consider all of its edges, and folds it in half again so that it's a triangle: three sides, not four.]
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Giorno laughs under his breath, bows his head, and presses his forehead to the back of Fugo's hand.]
He's going to keep that forever, you know.
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
I'm going to keep you forever, too, though. So that's all right.
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Not anymore.]
[Fugo's fingers curled around his remind him that he is himself, here and now. Fugo's fingers are warm, they feel warmer than his own even though that's got to be impossible. Maybe it's just that the presence and touch of them is so grounding, like half an instant of traveling home. For that moment he knows who he is without question, the Don Giovanna, Mista's and Trish's and Fugo's and everyone's, someone who belongs to himself but to the world, as well.]
[That knowledge doesn't preclude pain, though. It makes him feel less vulnerable, but he still feels everything else, too, the strange cocktail of affection and confusion and homesickness and protectiveness that Fugo stirs up in him, the aching possessiveness that makes him want to tighten his grip and never let go. Gold Experience leans over the desk and reads, and the shock waves are there, too.]
[It meant a great deal to me then and still does today.]
[I'll never forget that morning.]
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
[Take half a step towards me. Just half a step. That's all.]
[That first day, there was a moment when Giorno relaxed, from his head to his toes. It happens again now at the tail end of a shudder; he has to close his eyes to keep the sudden inexplicable tears in (the tears he could explain if he wanted to, but he doesn't, so he won't). Mascara faintly dots under his lower lid when he opens them again, the only clue besides the shakiness of his smile, but he laces his fingers through Fugo's to keep him from leaving. Not that he thinks he will. Not really. But he always worries, somewhere in the back of his mind, what if?]
[He glances at his Stand, who glances back at him, checking for . . . something. Approval, maybe. Whatever it is, he sees it, or feels it, and so he very, very carefully tears the piece of paper off and folds it into a small square. He considers the square for a moment, turns it around to consider all of its edges, and folds it in half again so that it's a triangle: three sides, not four.]
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Giorno laughs under his breath, bows his head, and presses his forehead to the back of Fugo's hand.]
He's going to keep that forever, you know.
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
I'm going to keep you forever, too, though. So that's all right.
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Not anymore.]
[Fugo watches the two of them, Giorno and his Gold Experience, with a quiet, solemn fondness. Before Giorno laces their fingers together his thumb slowly brushes, back and forth, over the top of Giorno's knuckles. He doesn't shift away when Gold Experience leans over the note; when Giorno laces their fingers together, his lock together around Giorno's.
It's a little strange, he thinks, how familiar this gesture has become; how naturally their fingers seem to criss-cross and fold together. His concern from before seems almost silly now in the face of how easily their palms fit up against each other. He's quickly distracted by Gold Experience, who tears out the note with the kind of reverence and care that it's like he's preserving a piece of artwork. And he laughs too, his shoulders briefly shaking with a voiceless chuckle, when he sees Gold Experience eliminate that pesky fourth edge--because that's a Mista habit, something he's seen dozens of times over in in letters and toast and sandwiches.
Before he has a chance to recover he's surprised again, this time when Giorno brings his forehead down onto their hands and-- God, Giogio, he thinks, you're so much sometimes. The back of his neck heats up and he briefly raises his other hand, pen still loosely held between his fingers, to cover his face. Even though Giorno's head is bowed, he is not allowed to see how red his face is all of a sudden, because he's just going to say something else embarrassing and it's just never going to stop. When he recovers, he smiles bashfully up again at Gold Experience and gingerly reaches out to pat the top of Giorno's weird, overdramatic head.]
[It's fine. All of that's fine. Gold Experience can keep what he wrote. Giorno can keep him. Because he isn't going anywhere. Wherever Giorno is--that's where he wants to be.]
It's a little strange, he thinks, how familiar this gesture has become; how naturally their fingers seem to criss-cross and fold together. His concern from before seems almost silly now in the face of how easily their palms fit up against each other. He's quickly distracted by Gold Experience, who tears out the note with the kind of reverence and care that it's like he's preserving a piece of artwork. And he laughs too, his shoulders briefly shaking with a voiceless chuckle, when he sees Gold Experience eliminate that pesky fourth edge--because that's a Mista habit, something he's seen dozens of times over in in letters and toast and sandwiches.
Before he has a chance to recover he's surprised again, this time when Giorno brings his forehead down onto their hands and-- God, Giogio, he thinks, you're so much sometimes. The back of his neck heats up and he briefly raises his other hand, pen still loosely held between his fingers, to cover his face. Even though Giorno's head is bowed, he is not allowed to see how red his face is all of a sudden, because he's just going to say something else embarrassing and it's just never going to stop. When he recovers, he smiles bashfully up again at Gold Experience and gingerly reaches out to pat the top of Giorno's weird, overdramatic head.]
[It's fine. All of that's fine. Gold Experience can keep what he wrote. Giorno can keep him. Because he isn't going anywhere. Wherever Giorno is--that's where he wants to be.]
buongiorno
1. can you talk to fugo and get him to let me look at purple haze (also: why didn't you tell me that purple haze was in the city)
2. is gold experience named after the prince album? kakyoin and i were wondering
3. how is gold experience doing
1. can you talk to fugo and get him to let me look at purple haze (also: why didn't you tell me that purple haze was in the city)
2. is gold experience named after the prince album? kakyoin and i were wondering
3. how is gold experience doing
1. he might have been worried about you or he might just have been grumpy that day. was he grumpy or worried?
2. WHY WERE YOU AND KAKYOIN GOSSIPPING ABOUT ME
3. um i think so. and yes a little! he was confused about the flowers a few weeks ago but less confused now i think
2. WHY WERE YOU AND KAKYOIN GOSSIPPING ABOUT ME
3. um i think so. and yes a little! he was confused about the flowers a few weeks ago but less confused now i think
1. you are always nice carlos but sometimes fugo isn't. especially about purple haze. he really really tries to keep people safe
2. all right . . . you better not be!! prince is good
3. no but he might soon. he got a note so maybe it's in his mind. i'm not sure how to tell. he's watching me write more, sometimes.
2. all right . . . you better not be!! prince is good
3. no but he might soon. he got a note so maybe it's in his mind. i'm not sure how to tell. he's watching me write more, sometimes.
1. i can talk to him about talking to you about purple haze. you want to know for the same reason you want to know about gold experience, right?
3. if he writes anything else he'll probably write it to you. i think he likes you best. well you and fugo.
3. if he writes anything else he'll probably write it to you. i think he likes you best. well you and fugo.
[There's a very long pause before the next text, due to Carlos appreciating how good and wonderful Gold Experience is, most likely.]
i want to know more things about stands and the more he refuses to talk about it the more curiouser i get. i don't like knowing that i don't know things, if that makes sense? i just want to see it and know what it does
also oh my goodness i am his favorite. oh my goodness. oh my goodness
i want to know more things about stands and the more he refuses to talk about it the more curiouser i get. i don't like knowing that i don't know things, if that makes sense? i just want to see it and know what it does
also oh my goodness i am his favorite. oh my goodness. oh my goodness
it makes him sad, is the thing, carlos. it makes him sad and angry with himself, i think, and worried about hurting people. but it does make sense. i want to see and understand things too.
haha oh no did that make you happy? that's so good. yes of course you're his favorite who else would it be?
haha oh no did that make you happy? that's so good. yes of course you're his favorite who else would it be?
i don't want to make him uncomfortable!!! if he had said all those things as up-front as you did i wouldn't have been pushing it so much, but he just made it seem like he was being rude for rudeness' sake. i wish people talked plain so i wouldn't have to interpret as much
for example, i am very very happy. i like being people's favorite, but i guess that makes me a bit selfish? but it does feel nice.
for example, i am very very happy. i like being people's favorite, but i guess that makes me a bit selfish? but it does feel nice.
people are difficult and complicated sometimes. it's frustrating. bruno helped me figure it out a little better but it still seems terribly arbitrary sometimes. i know more about how fugo reacts to this particular subject because i've lived with him and fought with him, but there's really no way you could know.
i don't think it's selfish. i like being people's favorite too. it's the best thing! being people's favorite and helping people are both the best things.
i don't think it's selfish. i like being people's favorite too. it's the best thing! being people's favorite and helping people are both the best things.
some people can see the world laid out like a chart across the sky in dotted lines and arrows and circles. i wish i could see everything like that. it would certainly make things easier! well. easier in some ways but much harder in others, though i guess most everything is like that, if you really think about it.
sometimes being people's favorite can have its drawbacks, but i think being gold experience's favorite is a good thing. some people want you to feel special for unspecial means i guess
sometimes being people's favorite can have its drawbacks, but i think being gold experience's favorite is a good thing. some people want you to feel special for unspecial means i guess
i don't think we see things exactly the same way, but. i don't know. i respect you very much, however you see the world, and sometimes it feels as though you see it closer to the way i see it than anyone i've ever met. it feels very safe.
i wish that weren't true but it is. gold experience isn't like that, though. i don't think he ever wants to hurt anyone. he wants things to be better, not worse.
i wish that weren't true but it is. gold experience isn't like that, though. i don't think he ever wants to hurt anyone. he wants things to be better, not worse.
nobody's ever really told me that, i think. i have never ever seen the world Right. and i guess that's my fault but i'm glad you feel that way because then it doesn't feel like it's ONLY my fault, which is not a good way of putting it, but i'm not a very smart person so i guess that evens out. i'm sure you can think of a pretty way to say that i don't feel as alone
gold experience has good intentions i think. he likes flowers. and plants. and gardening. bad people don't like gardening, bad people like deserts and death and blood and viscera
gold experience has good intentions i think. he likes flowers. and plants. and gardening. bad people don't like gardening, bad people like deserts and death and blood and viscera
. . . maybe i shouldn't say this. i'm not really an expert about what way is the right way to do anything. i just have a lot of opinions about it. and one of my opinions is that there isn't a right way, there's just a way that most people see the world, but something being in the majority doesn't make it Right. the way you see the world seems right for you, to me, because you are the right kind of carlos to me, and i like you how you are. i like the way you say things too. i like that you say "i don't feel as alone" because sometimes it's better that things are a little more straightforward like that.
[. . .]
if there were bad people here who liked those things, would you tell me?
[. . .]
if there were bad people here who liked those things, would you tell me?
sometimes it's hard to tell what's Right for me, though. sometimes i feel like i unsettle myself with the way i think, and i don't like that at all, but i guess that's a normal feeling. well, not a common Feeling, but a normal Reaction, and so it's not that weird. strange things happen to people but people are only made strange by how they react to them, and i try and react consistently. i feel like that's a good goal to have. i might not be nice or even tolerable but as long as i keep consistency in my life, i can be somewhat normal
there's nobody like that here i don't think. yet
there's nobody like that here i don't think. yet
. . . No.
[He's biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, frustrated and uncertain. It doesn't seem, logically, like he's done anything wrong by lying. But it feels like he has. Lying to Carlos feels as wrong as killing someone, wronger — like hurting something helpless. Not that Carlos is helpless, but the way Carlos cares for him is so . . . strange and unhurtful, impossible to understand, that it ought to be protected.]
[So he shouldn't lie to Carlos. He shouldn't. The inside of his cheek hurts. He's really sad.]
No, you're right. I shouldn't lie to you. I just . . . do, usually. Lie. To everyone. Unless they ask, and even then . . .
[He gives a brittle smile.]
I don't want anyone to know? That I'm sad. I don't want anyone to know because if I'm lonely then people will try to take care of me and I don't, I can't, I don't know . . . how to let that happen. It doesn't feel good. It sc— I don't like it, Carlos, I don't.
[He's biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, frustrated and uncertain. It doesn't seem, logically, like he's done anything wrong by lying. But it feels like he has. Lying to Carlos feels as wrong as killing someone, wronger — like hurting something helpless. Not that Carlos is helpless, but the way Carlos cares for him is so . . . strange and unhurtful, impossible to understand, that it ought to be protected.]
[So he shouldn't lie to Carlos. He shouldn't. The inside of his cheek hurts. He's really sad.]
No, you're right. I shouldn't lie to you. I just . . . do, usually. Lie. To everyone. Unless they ask, and even then . . .
[He gives a brittle smile.]
I don't want anyone to know? That I'm sad. I don't want anyone to know because if I'm lonely then people will try to take care of me and I don't, I can't, I don't know . . . how to let that happen. It doesn't feel good. It sc— I don't like it, Carlos, I don't.
[He smells the cake before he sees it. The smell of pastry is not terribly unusual in this house, but first thing in the morning is sort of strange, considering. Then again, it's been more common since Suzie moved in, so he decides not to be surprised.]
[He's reading after lunch when he decides one lunch was Not Enough and comes downstairs for a snack. And then . . . there's Polnareff. With cocoa powder on his nose.]
[Um.]
Papa . . . ? What are you . . .
[He's reading after lunch when he decides one lunch was Not Enough and comes downstairs for a snack. And then . . . there's Polnareff. With cocoa powder on his nose.]
[Um.]
Papa . . . ? What are you . . .
It's just because I have practice. I don't like to do anything unless I'm good at it, so I practiced until I thought my hand was steady enough before going out with it.
[He blinks rapidly a few times until the mascara dries, then grins at Polnareff and wiggles his fingers. The nails are dark blue.]
Sometimes. But nail polish lasts a lot longer than lipstick or eyeliner, so it doesn't always match. Usually I just sort of stick to a similar palette, but — it's not that serious.
[He blinks rapidly a few times until the mascara dries, then grins at Polnareff and wiggles his fingers. The nails are dark blue.]
Sometimes. But nail polish lasts a lot longer than lipstick or eyeliner, so it doesn't always match. Usually I just sort of stick to a similar palette, but — it's not that serious.
i think it would be frightening not to react constantly. what if you miss something? it would be horrible. but i don't think i'm very normal, so maybe i shouldn't compare myself to anyone. i'm just me, whatever kind of strange thing that is. i always react to you like you're nice. you're one of the nicest people i know. or have ever known.
but if there was would you tell me? i'm a little scared that you wouldn't.
but if there was would you tell me? i'm a little scared that you wouldn't.
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