![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
[Giorno misses his moment, the instant when he could catch Fugo in something terribly embarrassing and tease him about it. That's probably for the best, though, because while it's certainly possible that he'd tease relentlessly . . . with today being what it is, with how much he's learned in such a short span of time, and how confused he is and how much he's feeling, it's just as likely that he'd freeze, words caught in his throat and eyes locked on Fugo's red face.]
[Not that it matters. He takes the moment for all it's willing to give, stretches it out like someone unspeakable might, wraps it around his shoulders like the finest fur coat, and takes just seconds to rest. Fugo's hand smells like ink and graphite and faintly of blood from where he's chewed his nails too close to the quick. That smell belongs to Giorno now, like everything else about Fugo.]
[He wonders if Fugo is as worried about this as he is. It doesn't seem that way. Fugo is worried about everything else, but not this. Their fingers locked together doesn't faze him; he reaches out and touches the top of Giorno's head with some hesitation, but not much. That's startling, not just that it happens at all but that he likes it. He'd have expected it to feel patronizing if the idea was floated verbally, but it just feels familiar in a nice way, a soft and silly touch that he can't help but lean into.]
[Which is also embarrassing. So when he looks up he's a little red himself, but smiling, as he reaches out and ruffles Fugo's hair.]
I don't remember you being all right with this, you know. This much touching. Not from me.
[That isn't actually what he set out to say, but now that he's started — well, whatever. His grin is crooked now as he laces their fingers together again.]
It's good, though. If I've got your hand in mine, then I always know where you are in case you get in trouble. And I always have someone to talk to. Or—
[He wrinkles his nose.]
Gesture to. I hope your throat gets better soon, I miss your voice already.
[Not that it matters. He takes the moment for all it's willing to give, stretches it out like someone unspeakable might, wraps it around his shoulders like the finest fur coat, and takes just seconds to rest. Fugo's hand smells like ink and graphite and faintly of blood from where he's chewed his nails too close to the quick. That smell belongs to Giorno now, like everything else about Fugo.]
[He wonders if Fugo is as worried about this as he is. It doesn't seem that way. Fugo is worried about everything else, but not this. Their fingers locked together doesn't faze him; he reaches out and touches the top of Giorno's head with some hesitation, but not much. That's startling, not just that it happens at all but that he likes it. He'd have expected it to feel patronizing if the idea was floated verbally, but it just feels familiar in a nice way, a soft and silly touch that he can't help but lean into.]
[Which is also embarrassing. So when he looks up he's a little red himself, but smiling, as he reaches out and ruffles Fugo's hair.]
I don't remember you being all right with this, you know. This much touching. Not from me.
[That isn't actually what he set out to say, but now that he's started — well, whatever. His grin is crooked now as he laces their fingers together again.]
It's good, though. If I've got your hand in mine, then I always know where you are in case you get in trouble. And I always have someone to talk to. Or—
[He wrinkles his nose.]
Gesture to. I hope your throat gets better soon, I miss your voice already.
Giorno!
[He turns with a grin (and observant Giorno will be able to see how it's strained at the edges, but he's trying).]
C'mere. Wanna try some? It's pretty good so far!
[Obviously, he's been sampling his work. Batter's the best part, obviously.]
[He turns with a grin (and observant Giorno will be able to see how it's strained at the edges, but he's trying).]
C'mere. Wanna try some? It's pretty good so far!
[Obviously, he's been sampling his work. Batter's the best part, obviously.]
[He offers the bowl as he licks his teeth.]
'S a chocolate cake. I was gonna do something, and then I figured, well, it's Father's day, might as well have a cake to celebrate it.
'S a chocolate cake. I was gonna do something, and then I figured, well, it's Father's day, might as well have a cake to celebrate it.
Yeah.
[A beat, and then:]
What, you don't have that in Italy? It's-- I mean, it's what it sounds like, a day to celebrate fathers.
[Not your father, and he choses that wording deliberately.]
[A beat, and then:]
What, you don't have that in Italy? It's-- I mean, it's what it sounds like, a day to celebrate fathers.
[Not your father, and he choses that wording deliberately.]
And for mothers, too, in May. Or June, sometimes, it's like Easter that way.
[He swipes another bit of batter onto his finger and glances over at Giorno.]
Haven't celebrated it in years, but I guess you always remember certain dates.
[He swipes another bit of batter onto his finger and glances over at Giorno.]
Haven't celebrated it in years, but I guess you always remember certain dates.
Well . . .
[He scoops a particularly big bit of batter onto his finger.]
There's cards, and presents . . . but mostly it's just about appreciating what you've got. And telling them that you love them, while they're still there to appreciate it.
[A beat-- and then he smiles and reaches over, smearing batter on Giorno's nose.]
If you help me with the rest of this cake, though, I'll count this as a gift.
[He scoops a particularly big bit of batter onto his finger.]
There's cards, and presents . . . but mostly it's just about appreciating what you've got. And telling them that you love them, while they're still there to appreciate it.
[A beat-- and then he smiles and reaches over, smearing batter on Giorno's nose.]
If you help me with the rest of this cake, though, I'll count this as a gift.
[Hey, now. Isn't this a little unfair? With nothing really holding it back in place, once ruffled, the longer pieces of Fugo's hair that he combs back fall right back over his face. And he can't really do the same to Giorno, since dismantling Giorno's hairdo is pretty obviously a two-hand endeavor--and Giorno has pretty obviously taken possession of one of his hands. He may never get it back form this weirdo who puts a lot of effort into curling, pinning, and tying his hair into rolls every morning. There's not much he can do but continue to pat Giorno's head--(once, twice, and a third time for good measure)--before smoothing down what's not been pulled into the rolls or his braid. His smile gives way to a stubborn little frown; but when he turns to write again, his expression smooths out.]
It's very annoying. Having the space to think about what I want to "say" is nice, in its own way, but the rest of this is very inconvenient.
As for your other points:
1) If that's the case, wouldn't you just be getting in trouble with me?
2) That was because we had just met. It would have been weird to treat you like Mista or Narancia right away. And I suppose I got the impression that you weren't comfortable with that sort of roughhousing.
[He briefly pauses, lifting up the pen to think; hadn't it taken him some time to get used to Narancia as well? Looking back on it, he can recall feeling confused and aggravated by how such a small person was able to take up so much space.]
As for now, or just in general it's--strange for me, sort of. It's always felt better to keep my distance, because of Purple Haze.
But you're always reaching out to me. So, when I can, I want to try to reach for you.
I keep thinking that it's going to be strange. And it is, a little, but only because I'm not used to it.
So maybe it's strange that it isn't strange. I don't know.
It's hard to put into words. None of these seem right.
It's very annoying. Having the space to think about what I want to "say" is nice, in its own way, but the rest of this is very inconvenient.
As for your other points:
1) If that's the case, wouldn't you just be getting in trouble with me?
2) That was because we had just met. It would have been weird to treat you like Mista or Narancia right away. And I suppose I got the impression that you weren't comfortable with that sort of roughhousing.
[He briefly pauses, lifting up the pen to think; hadn't it taken him some time to get used to Narancia as well? Looking back on it, he can recall feeling confused and aggravated by how such a small person was able to take up so much space.]
As for now, or just in general it's--strange for me, sort of. It's always felt better to keep my distance, because of Purple Haze.
But you're always reaching out to me. So, when I can, I want to try to reach for you.
I keep thinking that it's going to be strange. And it is, a little, but only because I'm not used to it.
So maybe it's strange that it isn't strange. I don't know.
It's hard to put into words. None of these seem right.
That's...a reasonable thing, I think. To not want anyone to know. Even if it isn't, I know what you mean, so that counts for something?
[He's...well, when it comes down to it, he's unsure of how to deal with this kind of situation. There's a lot of moving parts that he doesn't quite understand--the concept of Stands, Gold Experience specifically, and, well, feelings in general. He's an empathetic person, and he wants so badly to understand why this situation has gone to hell so spectacularly, but his limits are many, especially in the interpersonal area.
He's far from cold, but it takes him a few moments of thought to begin to form an adequate response.]
It's normal to pretend that everything is fine, I think, but not good. I don't...want to patronize you, or whatever it is you're afraid of me doing, but I want to help you in any way I can, alright? You--you probably don't want to talk to me, I think, but that option is open. Just...I don't want you feeling this bad, alright?
[He's...well, when it comes down to it, he's unsure of how to deal with this kind of situation. There's a lot of moving parts that he doesn't quite understand--the concept of Stands, Gold Experience specifically, and, well, feelings in general. He's an empathetic person, and he wants so badly to understand why this situation has gone to hell so spectacularly, but his limits are many, especially in the interpersonal area.
He's far from cold, but it takes him a few moments of thought to begin to form an adequate response.]
It's normal to pretend that everything is fine, I think, but not good. I don't...want to patronize you, or whatever it is you're afraid of me doing, but I want to help you in any way I can, alright? You--you probably don't want to talk to me, I think, but that option is open. Just...I don't want you feeling this bad, alright?
[HAH, and he licks whatever's left off his finger.]
Oh, poor thing-- it's bullying with love, Giorno, that comes with being a papa! Anyway, you have to help me, I can't do frosting for anything.
Oh, poor thing-- it's bullying with love, Giorno, that comes with being a papa! Anyway, you have to help me, I can't do frosting for anything.
[He waits patiently for Fugo to finish writing. It's not like there's nothing to do in the meantime, anyway. He catches himself watching the movements of Fugo's hands, which are long and strangely delicate for belonging to someone who's killed so many people. His fingers hold the pen a little too tightly, spidering out from it in their grip in a strange and gangly way. Not bad, though, just . . . very Fugo.]
[When Fugo seems to be done writing, Giorno glances from the paper up his face and offers a quick smile.]
Isn't getting in trouble together better than getting in trouble alone?
[Which . . . he didn't actually have to answer that, he knows, but he can't be too serious and not at all teasing or something, probably. He doesn't know what, but something. He plucks the pen from Fugo's fingers then, underlines hard to put into words, and hands the pen back.]
You don't have to. Or at least they don't have to be perfect words. I understand the words you've said, even if they don't feel right, you know?
[He bites his lip a little, trying to decide if he really wants to do what he feels like he wants to do, and then — yes, all right. He might as well.]
I wasn't. Comfortable, back then. Which . . . I appreciated that you and Bruno didn't . . . you weren't like the others, you weren't all over me. I'm more comfortable now, because when things have scared me here, I—
[Mmph. He squeezes Fugo's hand a little helplessly.]
I don't really understand how it happened. I just like reaching out better now. Even if it's strange in that nebulous undefinable way. I just hope that if it bothers you, that you tell me, because I want you to be happy and part of that is being comfortable.
[When Fugo seems to be done writing, Giorno glances from the paper up his face and offers a quick smile.]
Isn't getting in trouble together better than getting in trouble alone?
[Which . . . he didn't actually have to answer that, he knows, but he can't be too serious and not at all teasing or something, probably. He doesn't know what, but something. He plucks the pen from Fugo's fingers then, underlines hard to put into words, and hands the pen back.]
You don't have to. Or at least they don't have to be perfect words. I understand the words you've said, even if they don't feel right, you know?
[He bites his lip a little, trying to decide if he really wants to do what he feels like he wants to do, and then — yes, all right. He might as well.]
I wasn't. Comfortable, back then. Which . . . I appreciated that you and Bruno didn't . . . you weren't like the others, you weren't all over me. I'm more comfortable now, because when things have scared me here, I—
[Mmph. He squeezes Fugo's hand a little helplessly.]
I don't really understand how it happened. I just like reaching out better now. Even if it's strange in that nebulous undefinable way. I just hope that if it bothers you, that you tell me, because I want you to be happy and part of that is being comfortable.
Because I wouldn't make up a holiday, I'd just ask you.
[What a good son. In the meantime, whatever's left of the batter is ready to be put into the oven. Polnareff's got a pretty steady hand in pouring from bowl to pan, but of course, he's been doing this for a fair bit.]
Did you know how to make icing from before, or did Holly teach you?
[What a good son. In the meantime, whatever's left of the batter is ready to be put into the oven. Polnareff's got a pretty steady hand in pouring from bowl to pan, but of course, he's been doing this for a fair bit.]
Did you know how to make icing from before, or did Holly teach you?
Oh, that's true.
[He hums and starts filtering the powdered sugar into a bowl, glancing over his shoulder at Polnareff with a grin.]
Holly taught me! I didn't know how to make complicated desserts before. Just cookies mostly. But Holly knows everything.
[He hums and starts filtering the powdered sugar into a bowl, glancing over his shoulder at Polnareff with a grin.]
Holly taught me! I didn't know how to make complicated desserts before. Just cookies mostly. But Holly knows everything.
Yeah.
[Cheerfully agreed. Isn't she great?]
She's the only reason I can bake anything. She taught me for-- actually, for your birthday. And then I asked her to teach me more, so here we are.
[Cheerfully agreed. Isn't she great?]
She's the only reason I can bake anything. She taught me for-- actually, for your birthday. And then I asked her to teach me more, so here we are.
[A shrug.]
I dunno if it's a Mom thing or a Holly thing, but either way, she deserves more credit then she gets.
I dunno if it's a Mom thing or a Holly thing, but either way, she deserves more credit then she gets.
Yeah. May. Although I bet we could do something anyway, it's not like she's gonna be upset about it. Most people don't get upset when they get presents outta nowhere.
[The quiet, the pause, doesn't bother him. It gives him a few seconds to calm his breathing, which is getting close to hyperventilating now; he can calm down a bit and cover his mouth with his hand until the trembling slows. And the pause means something else, too: that Carlos is thinking before he speaks, which means that his words mean a lot and are important. That helps Giorno calm down enough to think about them, too.]
I'm not afraid of you doing anything. I just don't want anyone to know that I'm weak.
[He hesitates, bites his lip. Gold Experience settles back on the floor, watching him with a tight expression.]
I'm not afraid of . . . other people acting some way. I just hate the way I act, and I don't want to be like that, so I just don't want anyone to know . . . I don't know, maybe that doesn't make sense, I'm sorry.
You really think it's bad? To act like things are okay. Doesn't it make things easier for people, to not have to worry?
I'm not afraid of you doing anything. I just don't want anyone to know that I'm weak.
[He hesitates, bites his lip. Gold Experience settles back on the floor, watching him with a tight expression.]
I'm not afraid of . . . other people acting some way. I just hate the way I act, and I don't want to be like that, so I just don't want anyone to know . . . I don't know, maybe that doesn't make sense, I'm sorry.
You really think it's bad? To act like things are okay. Doesn't it make things easier for people, to not have to worry?
Page 44 of 54