Carlos can be found in his lab, staring across one of the tables at a very large--and very dead--flower. He looks absolutely destroyed--not a good look for anyone, but especially not him. He doesn't say anything, and neither does the flower.]
[Carlos is unusually still when Giorno opens the door. Usually . . . well, he's not always moving when he's Doing Science, but he usually gives the impression of movement. Now he's so still, and that makes Giorno pretty worried.]
[So he hangs in the doorway for a moment, thinking back on what Carlos said before. And then Gold Experience manifests beside him, and he hands his Stand the coffee and gestures for him to go forward. It takes a moment, but Gold Experience goes, looking back at Giorno once or twice for approval, and soon enough he's perched across the table from Carlos, holding out the cup of coffee.]
[When Gold Experience approaches him, he slowly puts on some measure of togetherness--straight posture, raised shoulders, 500-watt smile. The works.]
...Glad to see you made it.
[When he speaks, though, his voice lacks its usual energy, and his eyes are still looking past the Stand to the dead plant on the other end of the table. It isn't clear who he's addressing, though, to him, it probably doesn't matter.]
[The temptation is to say Don't lie to me. He knows how disingenuous this is, what it's like to feel awful but also feel obliged to pull yourself together and be flawless. But that's not who Carlos is to him, or who he is to Carlos, and he's trying to remember that, so . . .]
[He just stands back a few feet from the table, his hands folded behind his back and his eyes fixed on Gold Experience rather than Carlos. His Stand cocks its head in a quasi-human gesture of concern and pushes the coffee forward again, mumbling a quiet muda?]
[He sighs, staying still a few moments before reaching forward to take the cup. While doing so, he very deliberately makes eye contact with Gold Experience--or, at least, he stares at what he percieves are the eyes. There's a solemnity in all of this that seems oddly foreign to him.]
...Thank you for the coffee. It's very good.
[Of course, he hasn't tried it yet, but it's best to be polite about these things. He's not sure how emotionally receptive the Stand is, in any case, but he's still going to make the effort to be nice.]
[When he makes eye contact, Gold Experience shifts back a little bit; he can't actually avert his eyes, because he can't turn them in their sockets, so he just looks a little bit past Carlos's head and nods. Giorno, meanwhile, feels the flow of slight discomfort, the constantly-warring tides of fear and desire to please, and looks down at his own shoes.]
[After a moment, Gold Experience resets his gaze to the flower in the middle of the table and gestures to it, a sideways sweep of his hand that's a smaller echo of some of Giorno's own gestures.]
I...killed it, I'm sorry. It didn't get watered--no, I didn't water it enough. And it died. I'm really sorry; it was very special.
[Carlos takes a too-quick gulp of coffee, finally looking away and off to the side. His movements are still slow, and rare--it seems as if he's simply run out of energy, and the effects are catching up with him. His eyes wander back to the flower, and then back to Gold Experience.]
I do this a lot; I mess things up. Can you help me with some of my other plants?
[This is unmistakably not for Giorno, though after saying it, Carlos does steal a furtive look over at him, and adds an addendum to his request:]
[He sounds like me, Giorno thinks, and wonders if it's another one of those things where he projects too much and thinks too little. So he doesn't say anything. Not until he's prompted, at least, and when Carlos looks at him he nods, bright and smiling gently.]
Of course. [A beat, and then:] He's not angry. Well, I'm not either, but. He just wants to help.
[Gold Experience curls his hands into fists and then uncurls them, shifting his weight and nodding once, excited now that there's a purpose, something he can do.]
...It's still not good, even if you're not angry. Emotions aren't impartial judges of real-life situations.
[Abruptly, he stands, moving to the other side of the room. There, evidently, is where he keeps his plants: lined up in front of the windows to let the sun in, all held in individual clay pots. Pretty homemade, by the looks of them. The flowers themselves are of all different kinds--most found around the city, but some may be recognized as being from deeper into the forest.]
I'm not great at taking care of things that aren't cacti; I could really use some help.
[Gold Experience follows Carlos across the room, and Giorno follows his Stand. He still stays a ways back, though. Gold Experience, on the other hand, brightens perceptibly when he gets close to the flowers, and without much ado gets down on his knees to be on eye level with the windowsills. After a moment of running his eyes along the different flowers, he glances at Carlos, then at Giorno with a rapid-fire series of quiet mudas.]
[Giorno's eyebrows shoot up.]
. . . You have a pen and paper somewhere, probably?
[Wearing a similiar look of confused surprise, he crouches to jostle open a drawer to find the requested items. Notably, he's moving faster, now--there's more of that old excitement at a discovery, even if he's not sure what's going on.]
Somewhere...somewhere down here, why?
[After a moment more of searching, he stands back up with a small notebook in hand--unused--and a pencil in the other. Uncertainly, he holds them out to Giorno, before offering them to Gold Experience. There's a definite difference there, of course, but he really can't tell who Giorno needed the materials for.]
[Giorno gives a small wave of his hand; it was Gold Experience who wanted it. Sort of, anyway. He wanted to say something, this sudden and inexplicable urge to push an idea across the divide of communication. The idea for writing it down was Giorno's, but the rest . . .]
[Anyway: Gold Experience takes both pen and paper in hand and sits down on the floor all the way, cross-legged, putting the paper on the floor in front of him and leaning over to write. His penmanship is terrible, wide and blocky and childish, but extremely precise, the pen bearing down hard on the paper. When he's done, he hands the paper up to Carlos expectantly.]
[It takes Carlos a minute after he takes the paper to fully process what's transpired: he looks from Gold Experience to the paper to the plants and back to the paper, but after a short period of quiet thought, a thoroughly excited grin spreads across his face.]
You...he did it, Giorno!
[He crouches back down to be at eye (eye? he's still not sure if those are eyes) level with the Stand, delicately handing the paper back. Instead of, say, being an incredibly fragile object teetering on the edge of a shelf, he's now an incredibly fragile object vibrating at speeds too high to be detected by the human senses.
He's excited. Pretty excited.]
Does he do this--does he write often? Do you write often, Gold Experience?
[Giorno is . . . just sort of standing there. His hand has migrated into a loose fist propped under his chin as he gazes at Gold Experience with the look of a parent whose child has just sprouted extra limbs. His Stand glances back at him for approval and, once it's acquired, turns back to Carlos and shakes his head.]
He's never done it before, [he clarifies.] I didn't actually know he could. Maybe he knows because I do? And his hands are very dextrous, but . . .
[It's sort of disconcerting, to have that come out of nowhere. Is this how Jotaro feels all the time?]
[And then there's also:]
He . . . hm. He wants to know if all of the words are right. I think.
Well, I figured that he had the capacity to, but not the willingness or knowledge of exactly how to go about it! That's why, you know, I figured it would be kinda easy to show him how to text and all. But...
[He lapses back into a contemplative silence, glancing over at the paper. For a moment, his brow furrows, and he awkwardly stands to cast a worried look at Giorno.]
If you're...messing with me, you can stop now, okay? I'm not--that's not a judgement of you personally, I just...you know. I like to be in on things as opposed to not, when it comes down to it. But if you're not just doing this, there's an "e" in "prune" that he left off, can you tell him that?
[Briefly, there's a glimpse of a different Carlos, one that's not inclined to take people at their face value. While he's certainly out of the lethargic part of the mood shift, something still remains--something that's been fooled one too many times.]
[The instinct, again, is to become indignant. Offended. To say he would never and that's not fair. But the thing is that it sort of is, in its way, because that's the kind of thing he does. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not, but he does, because . . . he wants the best for the people who are his, whether or not it's truthful.]
[He can't fault Carlos for having good instincts.]
[So he swallows down the hurt and just shakes his head instead.]
I've always known he had some level of independent . . . thought, or perspective. But it was never so pronounced at home. Not until he saw Star Platinum, and I don't know if he's just imitating or not, but.
[But Star never wrote anything down. He drew and texted and had cards, but not this.]
[Giorno fiddles with the end of his braid, brow furrowed.]
I think I treat other people's Stands . . . differently than I do him . . . and maybe that's why, because he never had a reason to think anyone was interested in listening, so.
So maybe you should tell him yourself. Since he can understand.
[There's a moment more of wariness before he eases back into smiling gently at Gold Experience. Now that he knows there's someone in there listening, it makes his one-sided conversations a bit less aimless.]
Well, he's very smart. You're very smart. And only one spelling mistake, too! Very, very smart.
[Oh, you bet he's going to spoil the Stand rotten.]
Do you not talk to him often, Giorno? I guess it's like any being in your care: you have to listen to it. Like dogs, or children, or angels. That's what I've heard, anyways--and it does make sense. I bet he's rather lonely.
[He says this very matter-of-factly, before edging back towards a more sympathetic tone.]
[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.]
[For a moment, he's still smiling, not truly processing the greater meaning of such a simple gesture. It's just another problem to be solved: Gold Experience is lonely, so Gold Experience needs company. Carlos's plants are dying, so Carlos needs help in the lab. A is having difficulties, so b should be executed to solve them. It's all very simple, really, until Giorno breaks his focus.]
[Oh.]
[Of course, the emotional transference is to be expected. He knows that Stands and their users weren't easily separated, in every meaning of the phrase, and that the Stand is the manifestation of the soul. These were scientific facts, and he knows them to be true. Processing this into a more practical setting, however, is something he's always struggled with--if a does something in theory, then b does something in the real world. Whatever. His grasp on real world mechanics is tenuous enough, but this is something important.]
[Carlos jerks his head up to look at Giorno, very slowly standing once more. He's just me. The implications there are both obvious and earth-shattering simultaneously, and it takes him a moment to consider his options.]
...Are you lonely, Giorno?
[He knows the answer, but it seems polite to confirm. Rational, even. Alarmingly quickly, his grasp on the situation is faltering, and he refuses to let another person wilt in his care. He's not going to have another Kevin, another Jackie Fierro, another goddamn Apache Tracker, if he can help it. But for now, it's just waiting for something to click, waiting for the prominent feeling of nausea to subside.]
[His posture is ramrod-straight as his hand falls to his side again, as he hooks his thumbs in his pockets. It's fine, this is fine. Everything's fine. He even managed to bite back don't be silly, since he doesn't want to patronize Carlos, who's about the farthest thing from silly in his life right now. He wants to treat Carlos well always, to shower love and appreciation upon him like he deserves.]
[Because no one ever did for him, not until Bruno. So it's important. It's vital. He has to make sure that doesn't ever happen again. No one should ever be sad and lonely again, and if they do, that means he's failed.]
[He gives a smile, quick and flickering, like a light switch being turned on and off in rapid succession.]
It would be silly to be lonely when there are people all around, don't you think?
[Carlos is not quite as good at restraining himself, so what comes out first is:]
Don't lie to me.
[Though, if his moderately horrified facial expression is anything to go by, there's a sense of immediate regret about saying it. He's already backpedaling, tripping over words that he isn't sure mean anything in even the most facetious of manners. He almost looks afraid--not of Giorno, necessarily, but of a proverbial punishment hanging over his head.]
--Sorry, that was...mm. That was uncalled for, I'm sorry.
[Eventually, he slows down enough to elaborate more beyond frantic apologies and takebacks, eyes still flickering from Gold Experience to Giorno.]
I'm...okay, I meant it, though? Please don't lie to me? I can tell you're lonely--it's...pardon me, but it's not really hard to tell, you know? Or...maybe you don't know, I guess. But you are lonely, and you can be lonely in a world of billions of people, and even lonelier in a world of less than fifty. Sometimes you like talking to people because you--
[He's biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, frustrated and uncertain. It doesn't seem, logically, like he's done anything wrong by lying. But it feels like he has. Lying to Carlos feels as wrong as killing someone, wronger — like hurting something helpless. Not that Carlos is helpless, but the way Carlos cares for him is so . . . strange and unhurtful, impossible to understand, that it ought to be protected.]
[So he shouldn't lie to Carlos. He shouldn't. The inside of his cheek hurts. He's really sad.]
No, you're right. I shouldn't lie to you. I just . . . do, usually. Lie. To everyone. Unless they ask, and even then . . .
[He gives a brittle smile.]
I don't want anyone to know? That I'm sad. I don't want anyone to know because if I'm lonely then people will try to take care of me and I don't, I can't, I don't know . . . how to let that happen. It doesn't feel good. It sc— I don't like it, Carlos, I don't.
That's...a reasonable thing, I think. To not want anyone to know. Even if it isn't, I know what you mean, so that counts for something?
[He's...well, when it comes down to it, he's unsure of how to deal with this kind of situation. There's a lot of moving parts that he doesn't quite understand--the concept of Stands, Gold Experience specifically, and, well, feelings in general. He's an empathetic person, and he wants so badly to understand why this situation has gone to hell so spectacularly, but his limits are many, especially in the interpersonal area.
He's far from cold, but it takes him a few moments of thought to begin to form an adequate response.]
It's normal to pretend that everything is fine, I think, but not good. I don't...want to patronize you, or whatever it is you're afraid of me doing, but I want to help you in any way I can, alright? You--you probably don't want to talk to me, I think, but that option is open. Just...I don't want you feeling this bad, alright?
[The quiet, the pause, doesn't bother him. It gives him a few seconds to calm his breathing, which is getting close to hyperventilating now; he can calm down a bit and cover his mouth with his hand until the trembling slows. And the pause means something else, too: that Carlos is thinking before he speaks, which means that his words mean a lot and are important. That helps Giorno calm down enough to think about them, too.]
I'm not afraid of you doing anything. I just don't want anyone to know that I'm weak.
[He hesitates, bites his lip. Gold Experience settles back on the floor, watching him with a tight expression.]
I'm not afraid of . . . other people acting some way. I just hate the way I act, and I don't want to be like that, so I just don't want anyone to know . . . I don't know, maybe that doesn't make sense, I'm sorry.
You really think it's bad? To act like things are okay. Doesn't it make things easier for people, to not have to worry?
You're not weak for feeling like this. Nobody is; that'd just be ridiculous--it just means that you feel things in the capacity that most people do, maybe more. It's okay and normal to feel lonely, trust me. Everyone does.
[Quietly, he reaches over to tap Giorno's hand, looking more serious...well, than he ever really has.]
It's not bad, per se, but if you're in a bad situation and nobody knows, then it's hard to get out of that kind of hole. Pretending that everything is fine doesn't solve any problems, especially if you convince yourself that you're fine. There's not much to be gained from that. And, well--this sounds kind of ridiculous, but it is true: people don't appreciate being lied to, and they can and will find out, like I did.
[Carlos frowns, almost imperceptible and still very significant. He thinks of a desert. He thinks of a mountain. He thinks of a Smiling God, and he does not smile. Again, he touches Giorno's hand, letting his own hand stay there.]
Don't keep bad things from your loved ones, or they'll just worry more.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Carlos can be found in his lab, staring across one of the tables at a very large--and very dead--flower. He looks absolutely destroyed--not a good look for anyone, but especially not him. He doesn't say anything, and neither does the flower.]
no subject
[So he hangs in the doorway for a moment, thinking back on what Carlos said before. And then Gold Experience manifests beside him, and he hands his Stand the coffee and gestures for him to go forward. It takes a moment, but Gold Experience goes, looking back at Giorno once or twice for approval, and soon enough he's perched across the table from Carlos, holding out the cup of coffee.]
no subject
...Glad to see you made it.
[When he speaks, though, his voice lacks its usual energy, and his eyes are still looking past the Stand to the dead plant on the other end of the table. It isn't clear who he's addressing, though, to him, it probably doesn't matter.]
It's a mess in here. Sorry.
no subject
[He just stands back a few feet from the table, his hands folded behind his back and his eyes fixed on Gold Experience rather than Carlos. His Stand cocks its head in a quasi-human gesture of concern and pushes the coffee forward again, mumbling a quiet muda?]
no subject
...Thank you for the coffee. It's very good.
[Of course, he hasn't tried it yet, but it's best to be polite about these things. He's not sure how emotionally receptive the Stand is, in any case, but he's still going to make the effort to be nice.]
no subject
[After a moment, Gold Experience resets his gaze to the flower in the middle of the table and gestures to it, a sideways sweep of his hand that's a smaller echo of some of Giorno's own gestures.]
no subject
[Carlos takes a too-quick gulp of coffee, finally looking away and off to the side. His movements are still slow, and rare--it seems as if he's simply run out of energy, and the effects are catching up with him. His eyes wander back to the flower, and then back to Gold Experience.]
I do this a lot; I mess things up. Can you help me with some of my other plants?
[This is unmistakably not for Giorno, though after saying it, Carlos does steal a furtive look over at him, and adds an addendum to his request:]
Is it alright if he helps me?
no subject
Of course. [A beat, and then:] He's not angry. Well, I'm not either, but. He just wants to help.
[Gold Experience curls his hands into fists and then uncurls them, shifting his weight and nodding once, excited now that there's a purpose, something he can do.]
no subject
[Abruptly, he stands, moving to the other side of the room. There, evidently, is where he keeps his plants: lined up in front of the windows to let the sun in, all held in individual clay pots. Pretty homemade, by the looks of them. The flowers themselves are of all different kinds--most found around the city, but some may be recognized as being from deeper into the forest.]
I'm not great at taking care of things that aren't cacti; I could really use some help.
no subject
[Gold Experience follows Carlos across the room, and Giorno follows his Stand. He still stays a ways back, though. Gold Experience, on the other hand, brightens perceptibly when he gets close to the flowers, and without much ado gets down on his knees to be on eye level with the windowsills. After a moment of running his eyes along the different flowers, he glances at Carlos, then at Giorno with a rapid-fire series of quiet mudas.]
[Giorno's eyebrows shoot up.]
. . . You have a pen and paper somewhere, probably?
no subject
Somewhere...somewhere down here, why?
[After a moment more of searching, he stands back up with a small notebook in hand--unused--and a pencil in the other. Uncertainly, he holds them out to Giorno, before offering them to Gold Experience. There's a definite difference there, of course, but he really can't tell who Giorno needed the materials for.]
no subject
[Anyway: Gold Experience takes both pen and paper in hand and sits down on the floor all the way, cross-legged, putting the paper on the floor in front of him and leaning over to write. His penmanship is terrible, wide and blocky and childish, but extremely precise, the pen bearing down hard on the paper. When he's done, he hands the paper up to Carlos expectantly.]
SUN
TEMP
SOIL
PRUN
no subject
You...he did it, Giorno!
[He crouches back down to be at eye (eye? he's still not sure if those are eyes) level with the Stand, delicately handing the paper back. Instead of, say, being an incredibly fragile object teetering on the edge of a shelf, he's now an incredibly fragile object vibrating at speeds too high to be detected by the human senses.
He's excited. Pretty excited.]
Does he do this--does he write often? Do you write often, Gold Experience?
no subject
[Giorno is . . . just sort of standing there. His hand has migrated into a loose fist propped under his chin as he gazes at Gold Experience with the look of a parent whose child has just sprouted extra limbs. His Stand glances back at him for approval and, once it's acquired, turns back to Carlos and shakes his head.]
He's never done it before, [he clarifies.] I didn't actually know he could. Maybe he knows because I do? And his hands are very dextrous, but . . .
[It's sort of disconcerting, to have that come out of nowhere. Is this how Jotaro feels all the time?]
[And then there's also:]
He . . . hm. He wants to know if all of the words are right. I think.
no subject
[He lapses back into a contemplative silence, glancing over at the paper. For a moment, his brow furrows, and he awkwardly stands to cast a worried look at Giorno.]
If you're...messing with me, you can stop now, okay? I'm not--that's not a judgement of you personally, I just...you know. I like to be in on things as opposed to not, when it comes down to it. But if you're not just doing this, there's an "e" in "prune" that he left off, can you tell him that?
[Briefly, there's a glimpse of a different Carlos, one that's not inclined to take people at their face value. While he's certainly out of the lethargic part of the mood shift, something still remains--something that's been fooled one too many times.]
no subject
[He can't fault Carlos for having good instincts.]
[So he swallows down the hurt and just shakes his head instead.]
I've always known he had some level of independent . . . thought, or perspective. But it was never so pronounced at home. Not until he saw Star Platinum, and I don't know if he's just imitating or not, but.
[But Star never wrote anything down. He drew and texted and had cards, but not this.]
[Giorno fiddles with the end of his braid, brow furrowed.]
I think I treat other people's Stands . . . differently than I do him . . . and maybe that's why, because he never had a reason to think anyone was interested in listening, so.
So maybe you should tell him yourself. Since he can understand.
no subject
Well, he's very smart. You're very smart. And only one spelling mistake, too! Very, very smart.
[Oh, you bet he's going to spoil the Stand rotten.]
Do you not talk to him often, Giorno? I guess it's like any being in your care: you have to listen to it. Like dogs, or children, or angels. That's what I've heard, anyways--and it does make sense. I bet he's rather lonely.
[He says this very matter-of-factly, before edging back towards a more sympathetic tone.]
Are you lonely, Gold Experience?
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.
no subject
[Oh.]
[Of course, the emotional transference is to be expected. He knows that Stands and their users weren't easily separated, in every meaning of the phrase, and that the Stand is the manifestation of the soul. These were scientific facts, and he knows them to be true. Processing this into a more practical setting, however, is something he's always struggled with--if a does something in theory, then b does something in the real world. Whatever. His grasp on real world mechanics is tenuous enough, but this is something important.]
[Carlos jerks his head up to look at Giorno, very slowly standing once more. He's just me. The implications there are both obvious and earth-shattering simultaneously, and it takes him a moment to consider his options.]
...Are you lonely, Giorno?
[He knows the answer, but it seems polite to confirm. Rational, even. Alarmingly quickly, his grasp on the situation is faltering, and he refuses to let another person wilt in his care. He's not going to have another Kevin, another Jackie Fierro, another goddamn Apache Tracker, if he can help it. But for now, it's just waiting for something to click, waiting for the prominent feeling of nausea to subside.]
no subject
[His posture is ramrod-straight as his hand falls to his side again, as he hooks his thumbs in his pockets. It's fine, this is fine. Everything's fine. He even managed to bite back don't be silly, since he doesn't want to patronize Carlos, who's about the farthest thing from silly in his life right now. He wants to treat Carlos well always, to shower love and appreciation upon him like he deserves.]
[Because no one ever did for him, not until Bruno. So it's important. It's vital. He has to make sure that doesn't ever happen again. No one should ever be sad and lonely again, and if they do, that means he's failed.]
[He gives a smile, quick and flickering, like a light switch being turned on and off in rapid succession.]
It would be silly to be lonely when there are people all around, don't you think?
no subject
Don't lie to me.
[Though, if his moderately horrified facial expression is anything to go by, there's a sense of immediate regret about saying it. He's already backpedaling, tripping over words that he isn't sure mean anything in even the most facetious of manners. He almost looks afraid--not of Giorno, necessarily, but of a proverbial punishment hanging over his head.]
--Sorry, that was...mm. That was uncalled for, I'm sorry.
[Eventually, he slows down enough to elaborate more beyond frantic apologies and takebacks, eyes still flickering from Gold Experience to Giorno.]
I'm...okay, I meant it, though? Please don't lie to me? I can tell you're lonely--it's...pardon me, but it's not really hard to tell, you know? Or...maybe you don't know, I guess. But you are lonely, and you can be lonely in a world of billions of people, and even lonelier in a world of less than fifty. Sometimes you like talking to people because you--
[He pauses to avoid an inevitable voice crack.]
Because you feel lonely. It's just science.
no subject
[He's biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, frustrated and uncertain. It doesn't seem, logically, like he's done anything wrong by lying. But it feels like he has. Lying to Carlos feels as wrong as killing someone, wronger — like hurting something helpless. Not that Carlos is helpless, but the way Carlos cares for him is so . . . strange and unhurtful, impossible to understand, that it ought to be protected.]
[So he shouldn't lie to Carlos. He shouldn't. The inside of his cheek hurts. He's really sad.]
No, you're right. I shouldn't lie to you. I just . . . do, usually. Lie. To everyone. Unless they ask, and even then . . .
[He gives a brittle smile.]
I don't want anyone to know? That I'm sad. I don't want anyone to know because if I'm lonely then people will try to take care of me and I don't, I can't, I don't know . . . how to let that happen. It doesn't feel good. It sc— I don't like it, Carlos, I don't.
no subject
[He's...well, when it comes down to it, he's unsure of how to deal with this kind of situation. There's a lot of moving parts that he doesn't quite understand--the concept of Stands, Gold Experience specifically, and, well, feelings in general. He's an empathetic person, and he wants so badly to understand why this situation has gone to hell so spectacularly, but his limits are many, especially in the interpersonal area.
He's far from cold, but it takes him a few moments of thought to begin to form an adequate response.]
It's normal to pretend that everything is fine, I think, but not good. I don't...want to patronize you, or whatever it is you're afraid of me doing, but I want to help you in any way I can, alright? You--you probably don't want to talk to me, I think, but that option is open. Just...I don't want you feeling this bad, alright?
no subject
I'm not afraid of you doing anything. I just don't want anyone to know that I'm weak.
[He hesitates, bites his lip. Gold Experience settles back on the floor, watching him with a tight expression.]
I'm not afraid of . . . other people acting some way. I just hate the way I act, and I don't want to be like that, so I just don't want anyone to know . . . I don't know, maybe that doesn't make sense, I'm sorry.
You really think it's bad? To act like things are okay. Doesn't it make things easier for people, to not have to worry?
no subject
[Quietly, he reaches over to tap Giorno's hand, looking more serious...well, than he ever really has.]
It's not bad, per se, but if you're in a bad situation and nobody knows, then it's hard to get out of that kind of hole. Pretending that everything is fine doesn't solve any problems, especially if you convince yourself that you're fine. There's not much to be gained from that. And, well--this sounds kind of ridiculous, but it is true: people don't appreciate being lied to, and they can and will find out, like I did.
[Carlos frowns, almost imperceptible and still very significant. He thinks of a desert. He thinks of a mountain. He thinks of a Smiling God, and he does not smile. Again, he touches Giorno's hand, letting his own hand stay there.]
Don't keep bad things from your loved ones, or they'll just worry more.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)