[He didn't quite expect Giorno to hug him back so readily--but if he were to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure what he expected besides a nebulous opposite of everything happening currently. Giorno is like Kevin in the way that everyone is like everyone else: a bit self-centered, a bit rude, a bit cruel, when it comes down to it. In this way, he is like Kevin, but he is also not like Kevin in the sense that Giorno tries harder than anyone Carlos has ever met. There's so much energy and strength that most adults don't have, but Giorno carries himself with grace and tenacity, like the world only ever should look at him and nothing else.
Maybe the world does.
But then he starts crying, and it's painful to hear and see and feel, because Giorno hasn't really ever been that vulnerable before, in his mind. It's like seeing a mountain crumble, if mountains existed, like the total falling apart that everyone experiences at some point, but it seems so strange on Giorno. Maybe the world shouldn't look at him too long--but not like a child shouldn't look at the sun; it's more like the way a child shouldn't look at violence. Giorno crying is violent, and Carlos is proud and worried all at once.
He doesn't know what to say other than repeated whispers of it's alright, so he just holds Giorno a little tighter, waiting for the storm to pass. He's crying himself, though it's not like he truly notices, because he never notices anything important like that. It's alright, he says, again and again, but he means it more than ever.]
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Maybe the world does.
But then he starts crying, and it's painful to hear and see and feel, because Giorno hasn't really ever been that vulnerable before, in his mind. It's like seeing a mountain crumble, if mountains existed, like the total falling apart that everyone experiences at some point, but it seems so strange on Giorno. Maybe the world shouldn't look at him too long--but not like a child shouldn't look at the sun; it's more like the way a child shouldn't look at violence. Giorno crying is violent, and Carlos is proud and worried all at once.
He doesn't know what to say other than repeated whispers of it's alright, so he just holds Giorno a little tighter, waiting for the storm to pass. He's crying himself, though it's not like he truly notices, because he never notices anything important like that. It's alright, he says, again and again, but he means it more than ever.]