[He bites his own lip, trying hard not to allow himself to cry-- not because he's ashamed, but because they need to still muddle through this, and tears won't help. But it's hard, because all of this is very nearly too much-- disappointment and assurance and I love you, so freely given that it's dizzying.]

We all fight. All of us, Kakyoin and Jotaro and Joseph and you and I-- and I forgot that.

[That they're all battle hardened, no matter how they might present themselves in their off moments. Jotaro is a deadly force of nature, even as he plays with his otter and gets flustered over Kakyoin. Giorno deliberately chose to doom a man to an eternity of agony, and yet he's crying against Polnareff's shoulder; and yet he'd leapt into Polnareff's arms the first day, chattering in Italian, so obvious in his delight to see him.

He doesn't know how to ask what he truly wants to know: is this version of me truly all right? Giorno says it is, that he's everything he ought to be, but he knows he's not-- not yet. He's not, because he saw the way Giorno's face closed, that slight nod, that acceptance that meant you messed up.

But he's something. Some rough version of himself, unpolished but getting there. And maybe that's enough, for now.

He sniffs, trying to steady himself, and smiles over at what he can see of Giorno.]

Mm, any other confessions we want to cover while we're here?