[Ergo: this is not acceptable. But now that the initial shock is wearing off, Polnareff feels his humor returning, and so he adds:]
Don't huff at me. If you saw me in that kind of getup, you'd react just the same, I bet.
[His hands are gentle as they take Giorno's hair, though-- he's getting fairly good at this, if he says so himself. He starts on the left, just at the bottom, brushing out the minor tangles that have gathered.]
[He rolls his eyes at the opposite wall, but leans back into Polnareff's touch anyway. It's true, he's getting good at this, and the routine is nice. It's nice to have someone want to be close to him like this, to take care of him. He isn't really sure how to categorize it, as a friend thing or a family thing, and that bothers him a little, but, well.]
[He's adaptable. More than some people.]
No, I'd be impressed, actually. This is how I expected you to react. If I learned you didn't arbitrarily confine yourself by stupid rules, I'd be proud of you.
They're not stupid. It's-- you know-- social shit. Norms. Like the same reason you don't-- I don't know-- wear your underwear outside your pants. You could, but you don't.
[Apparently one-thirty in the morning is the time you start to learn about gender confines, who knew.]
[He twists around and pokes Polnareff in the shoulder.]
You're not worried about my comfort. That's just what people say when they're not comfortable. I do plenty of things that aren't normal. I could turn that hairbrush into a snake. I'm in a relationship with a subordinate. I treat my preteen father like a brother. You don't comment on those.
It's sexy. And that's weird, when it's you, because I don't like to think about you in that way, ever, even though I know you know about sex, and probably have done it, but it's weird for me to think about it.
[All that is true, and more that he would have normally said. But then:]
And it's for a girl, which you aren't, and it's weird to me. I don't know why, it just is, skirts and dresses and all that, they're for girls, and you're not a girl, and it's-- off. Jarring. I don't know why, it just is.
[--and then:]
And it does look uncomfortable. I always thought that, even with girls, I never understood how they could sleep in that junk. I mean, yeah, it's sexy, I really liked it when they put it on, but it always seemed like they'd be more comfortable in one of my t-shirts.
[He twists back around and rubs at his eyes again, then leans back against Polnareff, tucks his head under his chin. It's a minor sulk, for him, but still a sulk. Which doesn't mean he's going to stop talking, of course. God forbid.]
I'm not wearing it for you. I'm wearing it for me, because I like it. It makes me feel comfortable and good and pretty, and it's my clothing in my room, so why should I be dressing for someone else?
It's not for a girl, anyway. It's mine. It was made for me and I paid for it. You might as well look in my closet while you're here, I have as many dresses as I have suits, I just don't wear them as often.
And anyway, it's soft on the inside. I don't wear anything that isn't. Life's too short to be ugly or uncomfortable.
[He murmurs that quietly enough. He can understand the logic in Giorno's words, but applying it to his own emotions is another thing entirely. It still feels weird, weird weird weird-- but he loves Giorno, so he lets the concept settle in his mind, his mouth twitching as he tries to understand.
It's difficult. It's really difficult, which makes him think maybe he's missing something. Because-- okay, yeah, again, he can follow that logic easily enough. Giorno bought it, and Giorno is a guy, so by association anything he wears is, in fact, something a guy would wear, no matter if it's lacy or frilly or whatever. And clearly he likes it, which-- good for him, okay, the kid deserves whatever makes him happy. But--
There are things you do and things you don't do, as a man. Presumably it's the same for women. There's things you wear and say and buy and do, and you follow that invisible code all your life, because if you don't, you're an outsider. And to a certain extent, you can break that code-- you can be too noisy or too nosy or too overwhelming-- but not too much, because then you weren't normal. You weren't Normal, you were someone strange and maybe wrong.
But . . . it's Giorno. And while Polnareff honestly could have lived without ever seeing any of his friends in any kind of lingerie-- well, if this is what makes Giorno happy, Polnareff is going to come in and make him feel bad about it.]
I don't get it.
[But that's not an argument, just a statement. He doesn't get it, but that doesn't mean he necessarily disapproves anymore.]
And maybe you can explain it to me more. It's still . . . I don't understand. But I mean--
[He wrinkles his nose. You can keep wearing it makes it sound like Giorno was waiting for Polnareff's permission, which is both incorrect and incredibly arrogant, and that's not what he means.]
I'm not going to make a big deal out of it, if you-- you know-- wear shit like that in front of me. It just took me by surprise.
[Summer is coming, after all. There were likely be skirts.]
[That he doesn't mind so much. And it occurs to him, extremely belatedly, that maybe he should apologize to Jotaro. But that's something for another day. As it is, he lets his head roll back a little as he looks up at Polnareff thoughtfully.]
[He's obviously trying. He cares, so he's trying to understand. But it's obviously harder for him than it was for Kakyoin, who, even if he didn't completely understand, acknowledged that and let it slide off and resolved to pay attention until it made sense. That's just what Kakyoin does, who Kakyoin is. It's not who Polnareff is.]
[So Giorno thinks for a moment about what he knows about his home, and what he knows about France, the ways they're similar and different, and he thinks . . .]
[Well. He sighs.]
I get annoyed. There's a reason I only do a little bit at a time, you know, for every day. I don't want to have this fucking conversation all the time, because I get annoyed, and I don't want to get annoyed with my friends. And I use it sometimes, on purpose, to throw people off their guard — people I want to underestimate me or be confused by me. It's already there, so why not?
But you're not one of those people, so I don't want to be annoyed with you. I want you to understand. But you're all hung up, aren't you . . .
You don't have to, if you don't want to-- if it annoys you that much.
[Which might have sounded passive-aggressive at any other time, but Polnareff truly means it-- and it's not as if he can say anything but what he means right now.]
I'll just bug Kakyion until he explains it, he's used to that shit with me.
No, no. Look, it's stupid to get information secondhand if a firsthand source is available. And besides.
[This time, when he looks back and up and Polnareff, it's with a small but wry smile.]
Kakyoin's not exactly an expert. Yet. [Whoops. Damn truth shit.] He's hung up, Jotaro's hung up, you're hung up. But if it makes you feel any better, you were a little hung up when I first met you. Future-you.
[He reaches up and pets Polnareff's hair a little, on top and then the fuzzy parts on the side.]
[Ohhhhh buddy, they're definitely going back to that little fact about Kakyoin, don't think they aren't. But more immediate problems are at hand-- and so Polnareff tips his head into Giorno's hands, a little apprehensive. Don't mess up.]
Of course you are.
[But-- okay. He takes a mental deep breath, getting himself ready. Just-- be open. That's all he has to do. Be open to whatever Giorno's about to explain. Yeah.]
[Oh. He's nervous. That softens Giorno up a little more, enough that he snuggles up closer and pats Polnareff on the cheek. It means nothing bad is going to happen and I'm not mad and I love you, because all of those things are true.]
Mm . . .
[He hums thoughtfully, pressing his lips together.]
It's complicated. There are a few different parts to it. But I'll do the best I can to explain them all.
Part of it is, it's just comfortable. It feels good and . . . freeing? Skirts are less constrictive than pants, that's, well, half of what I mean. It also just feels better to not cut myself off from all these things just because I'm not supposed to. It feels better, safer, to try all kinds of things and take the things I like best for myself because they feel good for me, not because it's what I'm supposed to do.
That's where it started. I decided I was going to start trying to do things for myself, to make me happy, and it was . . . hard at first, but I made myself stick to it. And this was one of the first things I tried, and it just felt right.
That's the thing, it's not about appeal so much as sometimes it's just what I want to do, it feels like who I want to be on this day or in this moment. Some days I want to wear a suit, some days I want to wear something else. I like feeling more . . . I don't know. Not delicate, that's not the right word, but something like that . . .
I want to look the way I feel on the inside whenever I can, to always be true to myself, and some days I feel powerful and graceful and beautiful in one way and some days I feel it in the other way, and some days somewhere in between.
And I decided, too, that when I sleep I should feel safe and soft and lovely and dangerous, and so that's what I do.
[He still doesn't quite understand. He's aware of that, in a vague kind of way; there's definitely still something he's missing. But he's getting closer. Trying new things for the sake of trying them, and keeping what you like-- he can understand that. And he can hazily understanding wanting to dress how you felt inside-- that was what personal preference was, wasn't it? So just extend that from I like wearing tank tops to and sometimes skirts as well. But that's where it all starts getting shaky, because--
The goal for men is to look masculine, isn't it? In whatever way you did, and yeah, you could deviate from that a little, earrings and hair gel and junk like that, but in the end: masculine. The same way girls wanted to be feminine; you could do it a hundred different ways, but in the end, everybody wanted to be good looking, wanted to aspire to that gender ideal.
Except. Except Giorno liked it both ways. He liked to be masculine and feminine; he liked to feel-- what was it? Powerful and graceful and beautiful, and god only knew he came across that way even now.
(He's aware that he's coming across as stupid, maybe, that this is a concept Giorno himself has no trouble with-- but whatever, okay, he's got to get through this one step at a time).]
Is there anything that makes one day different from another? I mean-- a girl day over a guy day, or whatever you wanna call it. Skirt day over suit day. Or's it just-- I don't know, waking up and you just know?
[It's not exactly that he seems stupid. There's always that kneejerk expectation; it's not that Giorno gets defensive, it's just that . . . he's never, before here, had the opportunity to explain this to someone who actually wanted to understand. Either people understood, or they didn't care either way, or they didn't understand but weren't worth wasting breath on. So he gets irritated and doesn't want to explain, holds himself back and pushes away and lets them be uncomfortable if they want to.]
[But Polnareff's not like that. He has to remind himself: Polnareff wants to understand. He wants to know, because Polnareff loves him, wants to treat him right, to take care of him. He wants to know, not because he wants to make himself feel more comfortable but because he knows it's important. That's not a waste of breath. And he can't explain forever, but he can try. Maybe in bits and pieces, but he is a good teacher.]
[So he hums thoughtfully and takes a moment to consider the question, which is a good one, really, better than it could be.]
It's really just a feeling. Obviously in some settings I'm expected to dress in a certain way, and for the most part I make . . . at least some concessions to those expectations. But overall, it's . . .
Hm, there's not really a pattern. Sometimes I feel different every day, sometimes I go weeks feeling the same. Maybe you could say . . . it's a bit like deciding what kind of music you want to listen to on a given day. It's just a feeling that you have to match.
[And with understanding comes relief-- Giorno will likely feel the way Polnareff's body suddenly relaxes behind him. There are still gaps in his knowledge, but at least he's getting closer.]
What kinds of stuff do you wear? I've seen you in makeup, but never in a dress or anything.
[He notices, all right, and leans back against Polnareff happily, feeling relieved himself. He wasn't worried on his own behalf, but it's like he's said before: he doesn't like seeing any of his people upset.]
See, it's all right. You don't have to worry.
I don't know, lots of things . . . I can show you some? There's different kinds.
I know you don't. I think I . . . understand a little better now, how to explain. And how much you love me.
[Which is a little embarrassing to have to say, and he ducks his head under Polnareff's chin again, but then he wiggles away and stands up, walking on the balls of his feet to the closet, which he opens and stares thoughtfully into for a moment or two, shifting his weight. Probably . . . start simple, right . . .]
[Shortly he pulls out a skirt, turns and displays it to Polnareff with a questioning noise, a little uncertain.]
[He cocks his head. Objectively, it's a cute skirt. Polnareff isn't the type to look at any kind of clothing, male or female, and think gosh, that's cute, but if prompted-- yeah, it's nice. And he can actually kind of see how it would work on Giorno-- even if he shimmied it on right now, it would look good.]
I like it. I mean, I really-- it's good. I like it a lot.
[And at the very least, Giorno would know that was his honest opinion.
It kind of sounds plain, but-- he really doesn't know much about skirts, he can't say something like, wow, that's a hell of a pleat on those edges or whatever the hell is good about skirts.]
[He isn't expecting that to feel so . . . good. He isn't expecting anything, really, although he was vaguely apprehensive about being told it's weird again. A positive reaction would be pushing the bounds of Polnareff's adaptability, he would have thought. He would have.]
[But.]
[Polnareff says he likes it a lot, and that makes him go still and blink a little bit because . . . he likes it a lot. And that's the truth, right now, the complete and objective truth.]
[It makes him feel warm. It makes him feel safe. It makes him want to carefully hang the skirt back up in his closet and cross the floor to kneel in front of Polnareff and take his face in his hands and kiss his forehead.]
[So that's what he does. His smile is soft and a little shy, but full of affection.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Everyone is the worst. Except Kakyoin who is the best.]
[He sighs, LOUDLY, and digs his hairbrush out of the drawer, tossing it to Polnareff before crossing over to sit.]
So what?
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[Ergo: this is not acceptable. But now that the initial shock is wearing off, Polnareff feels his humor returning, and so he adds:]
Don't huff at me. If you saw me in that kind of getup, you'd react just the same, I bet.
[His hands are gentle as they take Giorno's hair, though-- he's getting fairly good at this, if he says so himself. He starts on the left, just at the bottom, brushing out the minor tangles that have gathered.]
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[He rolls his eyes at the opposite wall, but leans back into Polnareff's touch anyway. It's true, he's getting good at this, and the routine is nice. It's nice to have someone want to be close to him like this, to take care of him. He isn't really sure how to categorize it, as a friend thing or a family thing, and that bothers him a little, but, well.]
[He's adaptable. More than some people.]
No, I'd be impressed, actually. This is how I expected you to react. If I learned you didn't arbitrarily confine yourself by stupid rules, I'd be proud of you.
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[Apparently one-thirty in the morning is the time you start to learn about gender confines, who knew.]
And that can't be comfortable to sleep in.
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[He twists around and pokes Polnareff in the shoulder.]
You're not worried about my comfort. That's just what people say when they're not comfortable. I do plenty of things that aren't normal. I could turn that hairbrush into a snake. I'm in a relationship with a subordinate. I treat my preteen father like a brother. You don't comment on those.
What actually bothers you about it?
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[All that is true, and more that he would have normally said. But then:]
And it's for a girl, which you aren't, and it's weird to me. I don't know why, it just is, skirts and dresses and all that, they're for girls, and you're not a girl, and it's-- off. Jarring. I don't know why, it just is.
[--and then:]
And it does look uncomfortable. I always thought that, even with girls, I never understood how they could sleep in that junk. I mean, yeah, it's sexy, I really liked it when they put it on, but it always seemed like they'd be more comfortable in one of my t-shirts.
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[He twists back around and rubs at his eyes again, then leans back against Polnareff, tucks his head under his chin. It's a minor sulk, for him, but still a sulk. Which doesn't mean he's going to stop talking, of course. God forbid.]
I'm not wearing it for you. I'm wearing it for me, because I like it. It makes me feel comfortable and good and pretty, and it's my clothing in my room, so why should I be dressing for someone else?
It's not for a girl, anyway. It's mine. It was made for me and I paid for it. You might as well look in my closet while you're here, I have as many dresses as I have suits, I just don't wear them as often.
And anyway, it's soft on the inside. I don't wear anything that isn't. Life's too short to be ugly or uncomfortable.
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[He murmurs that quietly enough. He can understand the logic in Giorno's words, but applying it to his own emotions is another thing entirely. It still feels weird, weird weird weird-- but he loves Giorno, so he lets the concept settle in his mind, his mouth twitching as he tries to understand.
It's difficult. It's really difficult, which makes him think maybe he's missing something. Because-- okay, yeah, again, he can follow that logic easily enough. Giorno bought it, and Giorno is a guy, so by association anything he wears is, in fact, something a guy would wear, no matter if it's lacy or frilly or whatever. And clearly he likes it, which-- good for him, okay, the kid deserves whatever makes him happy. But--
There are things you do and things you don't do, as a man. Presumably it's the same for women. There's things you wear and say and buy and do, and you follow that invisible code all your life, because if you don't, you're an outsider. And to a certain extent, you can break that code-- you can be too noisy or too nosy or too overwhelming-- but not too much, because then you weren't normal. You weren't Normal, you were someone strange and maybe wrong.
But . . . it's Giorno. And while Polnareff honestly could have lived without ever seeing any of his friends in any kind of lingerie-- well, if this is what makes Giorno happy, Polnareff is going to come in and make him feel bad about it.]
I don't get it.
[But that's not an argument, just a statement. He doesn't get it, but that doesn't mean he necessarily disapproves anymore.]
And maybe you can explain it to me more. It's still . . . I don't understand. But I mean--
[He wrinkles his nose. You can keep wearing it makes it sound like Giorno was waiting for Polnareff's permission, which is both incorrect and incredibly arrogant, and that's not what he means.]
I'm not going to make a big deal out of it, if you-- you know-- wear shit like that in front of me. It just took me by surprise.
[Summer is coming, after all. There were likely be skirts.]
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[He's obviously trying. He cares, so he's trying to understand. But it's obviously harder for him than it was for Kakyoin, who, even if he didn't completely understand, acknowledged that and let it slide off and resolved to pay attention until it made sense. That's just what Kakyoin does, who Kakyoin is. It's not who Polnareff is.]
[So Giorno thinks for a moment about what he knows about his home, and what he knows about France, the ways they're similar and different, and he thinks . . .]
[Well. He sighs.]
I get annoyed. There's a reason I only do a little bit at a time, you know, for every day. I don't want to have this fucking conversation all the time, because I get annoyed, and I don't want to get annoyed with my friends. And I use it sometimes, on purpose, to throw people off their guard — people I want to underestimate me or be confused by me. It's already there, so why not?
But you're not one of those people, so I don't want to be annoyed with you. I want you to understand. But you're all hung up, aren't you . . .
one more tag b/c i love this thread so
[Which might have sounded passive-aggressive at any other time, but Polnareff truly means it-- and it's not as if he can say anything but what he means right now.]
I'll just bug Kakyion until he explains it, he's used to that shit with me.
GO 2 SLEEP
[This time, when he looks back and up and Polnareff, it's with a small but wry smile.]
Kakyoin's not exactly an expert. Yet. [Whoops. Damn truth shit.] He's hung up, Jotaro's hung up, you're hung up. But if it makes you feel any better, you were a little hung up when I first met you. Future-you.
[He reaches up and pets Polnareff's hair a little, on top and then the fuzzy parts on the side.]
Besides, I'm a good teacher. Right?
DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO YOU'RE NOT MY MOM
Of course you are.
[But-- okay. He takes a mental deep breath, getting himself ready. Just-- be open. That's all he has to do. Be open to whatever Giorno's about to explain. Yeah.]
So-- I mean, what-- what's the appeal?
TELLS YOU AND YOUR MOM WHAT TO DO
Mm . . .
[He hums thoughtfully, pressing his lips together.]
It's complicated. There are a few different parts to it. But I'll do the best I can to explain them all.
Part of it is, it's just comfortable. It feels good and . . . freeing? Skirts are less constrictive than pants, that's, well, half of what I mean. It also just feels better to not cut myself off from all these things just because I'm not supposed to. It feels better, safer, to try all kinds of things and take the things I like best for myself because they feel good for me, not because it's what I'm supposed to do.
That's where it started. I decided I was going to start trying to do things for myself, to make me happy, and it was . . . hard at first, but I made myself stick to it. And this was one of the first things I tried, and it just felt right.
That's the thing, it's not about appeal so much as sometimes it's just what I want to do, it feels like who I want to be on this day or in this moment. Some days I want to wear a suit, some days I want to wear something else. I like feeling more . . . I don't know. Not delicate, that's not the right word, but something like that . . .
I want to look the way I feel on the inside whenever I can, to always be true to myself, and some days I feel powerful and graceful and beautiful in one way and some days I feel it in the other way, and some days somewhere in between.
And I decided, too, that when I sleep I should feel safe and soft and lovely and dangerous, and so that's what I do.
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The goal for men is to look masculine, isn't it? In whatever way you did, and yeah, you could deviate from that a little, earrings and hair gel and junk like that, but in the end: masculine. The same way girls wanted to be feminine; you could do it a hundred different ways, but in the end, everybody wanted to be good looking, wanted to aspire to that gender ideal.
Except. Except Giorno liked it both ways. He liked to be masculine and feminine; he liked to feel-- what was it? Powerful and graceful and beautiful, and god only knew he came across that way even now.
(He's aware that he's coming across as stupid, maybe, that this is a concept Giorno himself has no trouble with-- but whatever, okay, he's got to get through this one step at a time).]
Is there anything that makes one day different from another? I mean-- a girl day over a guy day, or whatever you wanna call it. Skirt day over suit day. Or's it just-- I don't know, waking up and you just know?
[He's trying, he really is.]
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[But Polnareff's not like that. He has to remind himself: Polnareff wants to understand. He wants to know, because Polnareff loves him, wants to treat him right, to take care of him. He wants to know, not because he wants to make himself feel more comfortable but because he knows it's important. That's not a waste of breath. And he can't explain forever, but he can try. Maybe in bits and pieces, but he is a good teacher.]
[So he hums thoughtfully and takes a moment to consider the question, which is a good one, really, better than it could be.]
It's really just a feeling. Obviously in some settings I'm expected to dress in a certain way, and for the most part I make . . . at least some concessions to those expectations. But overall, it's . . .
Hm, there's not really a pattern. Sometimes I feel different every day, sometimes I go weeks feeling the same. Maybe you could say . . . it's a bit like deciding what kind of music you want to listen to on a given day. It's just a feeling that you have to match.
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[And with understanding comes relief-- Giorno will likely feel the way Polnareff's body suddenly relaxes behind him. There are still gaps in his knowledge, but at least he's getting closer.]
What kinds of stuff do you wear? I've seen you in makeup, but never in a dress or anything.
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See, it's all right. You don't have to worry.
I don't know, lots of things . . . I can show you some? There's different kinds.
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[That, instead of I wasn't worried.]
Show me your favorites. Or what you look best in.
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[Which is a little embarrassing to have to say, and he ducks his head under Polnareff's chin again, but then he wiggles away and stands up, walking on the balls of his feet to the closet, which he opens and stares thoughtfully into for a moment or two, shifting his weight. Probably . . . start simple, right . . .]
[Shortly he pulls out a skirt, turns and displays it to Polnareff with a questioning noise, a little uncertain.]
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I like it. I mean, I really-- it's good. I like it a lot.
[And at the very least, Giorno would know that was his honest opinion.
It kind of sounds plain, but-- he really doesn't know much about skirts, he can't say something like, wow, that's a hell of a pleat on those edges or whatever the hell is good about skirts.]
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[He isn't expecting that to feel so . . . good. He isn't expecting anything, really, although he was vaguely apprehensive about being told it's weird again. A positive reaction would be pushing the bounds of Polnareff's adaptability, he would have thought. He would have.]
[But.]
[Polnareff says he likes it a lot, and that makes him go still and blink a little bit because . . . he likes it a lot. And that's the truth, right now, the complete and objective truth.]
[It makes him feel warm. It makes him feel safe. It makes him want to carefully hang the skirt back up in his closet and cross the floor to kneel in front of Polnareff and take his face in his hands and kiss his forehead.]
[So that's what he does. His smile is soft and a little shy, but full of affection.]
I love you a lot. So there.
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[He grins back at him-- love is far easier to navigate, after all, and Giorno is so easy to love. And he loves this, he really does, but--]
So.
Kakyoin.
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No no no! No, Papa, no, you can't keep a secret, so I can't tell you!
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[SQUINTS]
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[agonized pouting . . . don't make him Tell]
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1/2
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