[Ahh, and he knows those words. Polnareff pushes his fingers lightly through Giorno's hair, smiling down at him. Good. Good good good, this all worked out, Giorno is happy and overwhelmed and that's all he wanted out of this day. Good.]
Ti voglio bene, Giorno.
[And he means it, too. Not as fervently as Giorno, but-- he's so terribly fond of him. Giogio, who regards him so fondly, who looks at him as though he's his brother, who has never had a birthday of his own, who deserves nothing but adoration for all the kindness he's shown Polnareff-- god, how could he not love him?
A few more moments of hugging, and then he pulls back just far enough to smile down at him.]
[Oh . . . good. Good. That's — it feels nice, even if he did know it. Of course Polnareff loves him or he wouldn't have done any of this, but confirmation, hearing the words, he knows better than anyone what sweet words can mean. He missed them for so long, he uses them so often for his own gain, or to make people smile.]
[Polnareff is like him in that way. He loves, freely and openly and honestly, because he loves to love people. He loves what love is, how it makes people feel.]
[He blinks up when Polnareff speaks again, loosening his hold obediently just because Polnareff does, not because he particularly wants to. Then he nods, smiles a little.]
I saw. You took a picture.
You're good to me. So you should have cake for breakfast.
[It takes him a minute, and then he remembers — right, of course, the candles. That much had actually happened last year, he remembers that, too, how surprised he'd been, how apologetic Mista had been that that was all, how strange and uncomfortable it was for a moment that he had to be reminded.]
[He can remind himself now. He's been to a ridiculous number of birthday parties since he got here.]
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Ti voglio bene, Giorno.
[And he means it, too. Not as fervently as Giorno, but-- he's so terribly fond of him. Giogio, who regards him so fondly, who looks at him as though he's his brother, who has never had a birthday of his own, who deserves nothing but adoration for all the kindness he's shown Polnareff-- god, how could he not love him?
A few more moments of hugging, and then he pulls back just far enough to smile down at him.]
There's cake, too. Chocolate.
[Important things to know, obviously.]
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[Polnareff is like him in that way. He loves, freely and openly and honestly, because he loves to love people. He loves what love is, how it makes people feel.]
[He blinks up when Polnareff speaks again, loosening his hold obediently just because Polnareff does, not because he particularly wants to. Then he nods, smiles a little.]
I saw. You took a picture.
You're good to me. So you should have cake for breakfast.
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[Because he's not about to pass up chocolate cake, thanks, not entirely.]
I've got matches, too, if you want to blow them out.
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[It takes him a minute, and then he remembers — right, of course, the candles. That much had actually happened last year, he remembers that, too, how surprised he'd been, how apologetic Mista had been that that was all, how strange and uncomfortable it was for a moment that he had to be reminded.]
[He can remind himself now. He's been to a ridiculous number of birthday parties since he got here.]
If you don't mind.
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[Seventeen matches is a lot, but he'll just bum off Jotaro if he runs out.]
Come on. Are you going to name the bear?
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[This solemnity . . . it cannot be a good sign. And sure enough:]
I'm going to name it Jeantaro.
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Perfect! The perfect name-- ah, but he'll need to be far more muscular if he's to be named after us.
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[He wriggles a little in the hug, clearly disgruntled.]
He's fine how he is, Polnareff!
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[He keeps him close, though, laughing as he does.]
He needs to be bigger to impress the lady bears!