[It's odd. Well — to start with it's odd. There's a rush of emotion, and he's not sure . . . he thinks it might be because before Gold Experience didn't think anyone was listening, and now he knows someone is. Maybe that's it. But either way it's as though some block has been removed, some clog in the pipes, and—]
[It hurts. It's surprising at first, and just that, the strength with which Gold Experience pinballs from one thing to the next, uncertain and unregulated: disbelief that praise is being directed his way; delight in the next moment so bright it burns under Giorno's skin; a guilty metaphysical flex at in your care because Gold Experience knows, of course he does, he knows what he is and he knows what Giorno would rather he was, he's very, very smart.]
[And then: Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Which hurts the worst. Not because it surprises him, but because it's so familiar. It settles into the grooves of pain in the back of his mind and the depths of his bones, because yes, oh yes, Gold Experience is lonely. And Giorno is lonely, with scars of loneliness on the inside of every nerve, but Gold Experience is a walking wound, open and oozing.]
[His Stand, shining, unblinking, shy and lonely, stares up at Carlos and nods, transfixed. And Giorno closes his eyes and shudders in the waves of pain, the thick isolation like treacle in the back of his throat, and covers his mouth with a shaking hand.]
[It takes him a moment, and even when words come through his fingers, they're uncharacteristically rough and bitter and flat.]
no subject
[It hurts. It's surprising at first, and just that, the strength with which Gold Experience pinballs from one thing to the next, uncertain and unregulated: disbelief that praise is being directed his way; delight in the next moment so bright it burns under Giorno's skin; a guilty metaphysical flex at in your care because Gold Experience knows, of course he does, he knows what he is and he knows what Giorno would rather he was, he's very, very smart.]
[And then: Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Which hurts the worst. Not because it surprises him, but because it's so familiar. It settles into the grooves of pain in the back of his mind and the depths of his bones, because yes, oh yes, Gold Experience is lonely. And Giorno is lonely, with scars of loneliness on the inside of every nerve, but Gold Experience is a walking wound, open and oozing.]
[His Stand, shining, unblinking, shy and lonely, stares up at Carlos and nods, transfixed. And Giorno closes his eyes and shudders in the waves of pain, the thick isolation like treacle in the back of his throat, and covers his mouth with a shaking hand.]
[It takes him a moment, and even when words come through his fingers, they're uncharacteristically rough and bitter and flat.]
He's not in my care. He's just me.