[Well.

If he's drunk, at least he's not the only one. And the thought that next comes out, fortunately, is not one that he minds sharing, which is:]

Oh, what the fuck is going on now.

[--but that's not the only thing on his mind, not by a long shot. Not after that kind of confession.]

It's not strange. I mean-- it's not strange if you want it, I like hugs, I like you, I like you a whole lot, but I don't-- I'm not--

[The impulse is there, to blurt it out, but the words don't come. They're a jumble in his head, insecurity and terror and the knowledge, quiet but insistent, that this will all end badly. That Giorno will put his trust in him just as Iggy and Avdol and Sherry all had, and will end up the same way as they did. That Giorno will trust and depend on and love the wrong person, the one who ought to be the savior but who always needs saving, the one that never thinks and always acts and gets it wrong.]

It was easy, being your father, because you're easy to love-- but I don't think I'm so good at being one.