[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.]
Well, no. I'm not going to be a dick about it. Like-- I mean, what, if Kakyoin goes in skirts too and Jotaro doesn't know, I'm gonna bet Kakyoin's nervous about it. Right? So I'm not going to be an asshole and be the one to tell him.
[There's that warm safe feeling again. He curls up again, relaxing, his head tucked under Polnareff's chin; after a moment's consideration, he reaches for Polnareff's hand as well and laces their fingers together.]
Well, it's not like that exactly. It's more that . . . Kakyoin reminds me of myself sometimes. A lot of times. So I got him some shoes at Christmas, and he didn't yell at me, so I was thinking of making him a dress.
[I got him something and he didn't yell at me. That's their Kakyoin all right, expressing approval in the best of ways. Polnareff settles in-- they're getting quite comfortable sitting like this, he and Giorno; pretty soon he's going to always want his small son to be sitting against him, just so he can rest his chin somewhere.]
If anybody's gonna look good in them, it'll be him, the guy's like ninety percent leg.
[A beat, and then:]
What kind of shoes? I'm assuming green featured in them. Or cherries. Or green shoes with cherries on them, that seems like his ideal shoe.
[HE IS SO DEEPLY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT THE FACT THAT POLNAREFF AGREES WITH HIM. He wiggles his feet a little, toes curling.]
Umm, two pairs, with short heels. Both shades of green. One was just pretty simple and one was sort of . . . It had cutouts along the sides, almost like a sandal?
[For a moment he's quiet, and then he makes a wordless, thoughtful sound.]
Sometimes he's sad, I think, and feels . . . disconnected? Because of lots of things, and I know he has scars that he doesn't want anyone to see. And we're not the same person obviously, but if it might make him feel more confident then I'm not going to not offer. And besides, I like making things and giving people things, so.
[In answer to Giorno's assessment of Kakyion. Polnareff frowns at the wall for a moment.]
I want to help him a lot of the time, you know? I didn't know half that shit about his parents or his feeling like an outsider or even-- just, all that shit, I never knew it while we were going across the continent. And I want to help, and I don't know how, because him and me-- if you two are alike, we're just the opposite. I like the guy, but we're pretty much night and day. I don't mind telling him he's great, because he is or that he's not weird, because he's not, and I'm just about ready to--
Anyway. My point is, I hope that works. Even if it's a little, I hope it helps him.
[It wasn't a real question, but the answer comes anyway.]
And . . . I mean, mostly he just acts like it doesn't matter. Or he'll shrug it off, tell me that I'm missing the point, or-- whatever. And it's not like that's easily fixed, I can't just go in and do something for him and that's that.
Kakyoin, he has everything he needs inside himself already. It's just a matter of convincing him it's there. I tried for the longest time to get him to listen to me, to believe in how magnificent he is. What worked in the end was—
[He cocks his head up at Polnareff, a glint of mischief in his eyes.]
Back when people first started disappearing, months before you got here, when Mista left and Abbacchio and Narancia and Fugo. Kakyoin was trying to make me feel better, you know, and I didn't want him to, and we . . . didn't argue really, just it was more combative than usual, I suppose. And we ended up falling into this competition, who can compliment the other best. If it's a competition, he always puts in his all.
That's what I've found that works. But you didn't hear it from me.
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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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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!
no subject
[SQUINTS]
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[agonized pouting . . . don't make him Tell]
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I won't if you tell me not to! If I know it's a secret, I'll be sure not to tell anyone!
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[Seems fake.]
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[There's that warm safe feeling again. He curls up again, relaxing, his head tucked under Polnareff's chin; after a moment's consideration, he reaches for Polnareff's hand as well and laces their fingers together.]
Well, it's not like that exactly. It's more that . . . Kakyoin reminds me of myself sometimes. A lot of times. So I got him some shoes at Christmas, and he didn't yell at me, so I was thinking of making him a dress.
no subject
If anybody's gonna look good in them, it'll be him, the guy's like ninety percent leg.
[A beat, and then:]
What kind of shoes? I'm assuming green featured in them. Or cherries. Or green shoes with cherries on them, that seems like his ideal shoe.
no subject
[HE IS SO DEEPLY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT THE FACT THAT POLNAREFF AGREES WITH HIM. He wiggles his feet a little, toes curling.]
Umm, two pairs, with short heels. Both shades of green. One was just pretty simple and one was sort of . . . It had cutouts along the sides, almost like a sandal?
[For a moment he's quiet, and then he makes a wordless, thoughtful sound.]
Sometimes he's sad, I think, and feels . . . disconnected? Because of lots of things, and I know he has scars that he doesn't want anyone to see. And we're not the same person obviously, but if it might make him feel more confident then I'm not going to not offer. And besides, I like making things and giving people things, so.
no subject
[In answer to Giorno's assessment of Kakyion. Polnareff frowns at the wall for a moment.]
I want to help him a lot of the time, you know? I didn't know half that shit about his parents or his feeling like an outsider or even-- just, all that shit, I never knew it while we were going across the continent. And I want to help, and I don't know how, because him and me-- if you two are alike, we're just the opposite. I like the guy, but we're pretty much night and day. I don't mind telling him he's great, because he is or that he's not weird, because he's not, and I'm just about ready to--
Anyway. My point is, I hope that works. Even if it's a little, I hope it helps him.
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[It's quite rhetorical. He knows the answer.]
Mm, does he do that thing with you, where you say something nice and he makes up some reason why it can't be true or doesn't matter?
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[It wasn't a real question, but the answer comes anyway.]
And . . . I mean, mostly he just acts like it doesn't matter. Or he'll shrug it off, tell me that I'm missing the point, or-- whatever. And it's not like that's easily fixed, I can't just go in and do something for him and that's that.
no subject
Kakyoin, he has everything he needs inside himself already. It's just a matter of convincing him it's there. I tried for the longest time to get him to listen to me, to believe in how magnificent he is. What worked in the end was—
[He cocks his head up at Polnareff, a glint of mischief in his eyes.]
Back when people first started disappearing, months before you got here, when Mista left and Abbacchio and Narancia and Fugo. Kakyoin was trying to make me feel better, you know, and I didn't want him to, and we . . . didn't argue really, just it was more combative than usual, I suppose. And we ended up falling into this competition, who can compliment the other best. If it's a competition, he always puts in his all.
That's what I've found that works. But you didn't hear it from me.
1/2
[He has never been more proud of his small son.]
Shit, that's perfect! Now I just have to figure out a way to get him into that kind of competition-- ahh, but that'll be--
no subject
--probably hard, actually, I can't just go up to him and start aggressively telling him he's great. I mean, I could, but he'd get suspicious.