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.
[It's funny. Giorno is quite used to touch now, even if he's still more comfortable when he's the one to initiate it. Carlos touching him is startling, though, simply because it's never happened before. He remembers months and months and months ago, when he reached out excitedly and grabbed Carlos's arm, and Carlos flinched, shied away. How every time he does something that upsets him, he makes a note never to do it again, never ever, because upsetting Carlos is the worst thing in the world.]
[But Carlos taps his hand, and then rests his own over top of it. Giorno looks up at him with wide eyes, uncertain and searching but not afraid. He's never afraid of Carlos, because Carlos is afraid of too many things, and he doesn't need one more person added to that.]
[For a few moments he's quiet, just thinking. Turning all these words and opinions over in his head, trying to make them make sense. Then, gradually, he nods. Although it must be qualified.]
I think . . . if it was me and someone was upset and they didn't tell me, I'd hate it. No, I know I would. So I don't think it's ridiculous. I just don't think I'm good at being honest.
Do you think it's okay if I—
[God, he hates this. But—]
Do you think it's okay if I try, and I mess up sometimes? I want to do it right. But if it's not right right away, is that bad?
Well, practice makes perfect. Just try and train yourself out of smaller things--for instance, if someone asks you how you're doing, very casually, try and come up with something other than "good". It's tricky, but it pays off in the long run.
[He deliberately keeps his voice low, as if there's someone else who might be listening in--and, to him, perhaps there is. He registers Gold Experience as a part of Giorno, but there's really no shaking his initial impression that there's another person in the room, despite there only being two people. Maybe it's just his Night Vale paranoia, but whatever the case, he intends this to be for Giorno and Giorno alone.
His frown deepens, and he grabs Giorno's hand a bit tighter.]
As long as you're trying, I think it's fine to mess up. Nothing comes instantly, and this isn't an exception, you know? Some things are just hard to learn, period, especially when it's something significant. But, um...
[Carlos trails off, looking away. This is too familiar a conversation to be having, about niceness and redemption and honesty, that it actually makes him physically nauseous. Giorno isn't Kevin, but the parallels remain solid in his mind, and his jaw clenches.]
[Something's wrong. He can't tell what it is, or why, but Carlos is upset. That much is easy. And it presents a problem, which is: Carlos wants him to be honest, but Carlos is upset and shouldn't be. Even if it's just that Carlos anticipated a much calmer conversation than this when he invited Giorno and Gold Experience over, his discomfort should be respected and accounted for in Giorno's actions. That's common sense, to him. But navigating the two together without contradicting himself, he isn't sure how to do that.]
[It takes him too long, probably. He spends the intervening time staring furiously at the floor between their feet, frowning until it looks like it might hurt his face. But finally he figures something out and looks up at Carlos with a stubbornly set jaw.]
I'm not trying to get out of doing what you're suggesting. I want to. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. So I think it might be a good idea to — to say this is enough trying for today, and start again tomorrow. So we can both have a break.
[Carlos doesn't say a word while Giorno stays quiet, ever-conscious of the need for thinking time in his own right. There's something too grave about him, his entire demeanor, but that effect is broken by the slight bouncing of his left leg, evidently some kind of nervous tic that he can't quite shake. It worsens as the silence grows on, his anxiety apparent.]
I think that's a good idea, yeah. Whatever you feel like you need to do.
[He doesn't try and deny the statement that he is uncomfortable, because it seems contradictory to do so in the wake of a conversation about honesty. He is uncomfortable, but that isn't Giorno's fault, and it makes everything so much more difficult to work through. He starts to say something, something like I'm sorry, but he's been told far too many times that apologies are simply excuses, and so he keeps his mouth shut, even as his thoughts continue to a rapid crescendo.
Before he really knows it--as synapses fire from a to b and his impulses act without his will--he's got Giorno in a very awkward hug, more of the product of a need for comfort as opposed to a need to comfort. It's all sharp edges (when was the last time he did this?), but there's a surprising force to it, regardless of whether or not he notices.]
[One moment he's standing alone, in the middle of a laboratory floor. The next moment he's caught up in a hug, in Carlos's arms, and his heart breaks. Not in a bad way — more in the way that sometimes you have to re-break a bone to set it properly, if it's healed over wrong. It hurts, god, it hurts so much, he can feel the pain lancing through every part of him, but it feels better, too. It feels—]
[It feels honest.]
[It's an awkward hug. It is, he won't lie, but it feels safe, which is the only thing that matters. Carlos is all sharp edges and brittle lines, but he smells like laundry detergent and something chemical, and he's holding on tight like he doesn't want to ever let go. Of him. Carlos, an important and worthy person, doesn't want to let go of him, Giorno, who is just somebody. Not his child, maybe not even his friend. Just some kid who makes him uncomfortable a lot of the time, who doesn't know how to be normal.]
[Giorno's fingers clench in the back of that perfect lab coat. He doesn't mean them to, but they do. And once he's held on tight, he finds he can't let go, either. Can't stop himself from crying, not once his heart has been well and truly broken, even though it will ruin the pristine white front of Carlos's coat to get tears on it. He cries anyway. It's good to be honest, and so he cries honestly, his body racked with shuddering sobs as he holds on (awkwardly, with sharp edges, and forcefully, because he needs to not be alone right now and so does Carlos).]
[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.]
[Somewhere in the back of his chaotic and tired mind, Giorno is trying to figure out how it is that he came to deserve someone like Carlos in his life. Someone like Carlos who, as unpredictable and uncertain as he can be at times, nevertheless reaches out to someone like Giorno. Just some boy. Just someone. Just--himself, who isn't good enough at all.]
[It's all right, Carlos says, and Giorno doesn't think it is. But he can suspend his disbelief, at least here and for the moment. It's different than if Polnareff said it. Polnareff comforts mindlessly, because he's made of comfort. For Carlos, comfort is an effort, which means he wouldn't do it if he didn't mean it. If he didn't really believe it.]
[It's not all right. But Giorno believes that Carlos believes it is, and that's how he manages to slow his tears: by believing that. They slow to a trickle as he presses his face to Carlos's shoulder, a wave of shame washing over him as he realizes how weak he's been. Recognizing his own weakness makes him feel weaker; he sags and does his best to take up as little space as possible at the same time as he really doesn't want to move at all.]
I'm sorry.
[It's quiet, his voice a little shaky. Maybe a lot shaky. He hates this. But he doesn't want to be alone right now.]
Scientifically speaking--I'm, I'm messing up your coat.
[And there really isn't: at his core, Carlos is not a liar; it's unnatural to him to even consider lying about anything as important as whatever this is. Maybe it's not alright, exactly, but he percieves himself as telling the truth, and therefore can't be held accountable for any possible lies inherent in the repeated statement. It's all very simple to him, and all simple problems have simple answers.
...Then again, though, what does he know about simplicity? He may not be a liar, but he knows very personally that nothing is quite as black-and-white as that. There are forces at work in Giorno's life that are far more complicated and insidious than any Smiling God, and Carlos understands his lack of understanding about any of them. No, this is not a simple problem, and he does not have a simple role in solving it, by any means. Maybe it's not even his place to solve it: perhaps he's meddling again.
Quietly, he tightens his grip, barely even processing what's being said to him, lost in thought and memory as he so often finds himself. Lost in general, really: he cannot be a scientist in this situation. This is not a simple scientific problem, and treating it like it is will only lead to more things breaking, for better or for worse, and that's not something that he wants. Carlos doesn't have experience with whatever he's doing, but it feels natural, like he's seen it before.
You will not change, or fix, or do anything at all to my little girl.
He exhales sharply, offering the slightest laugh--more of a suggestion of registered humor than anything, but it is sincere. He is not a liar.]
These are made to get dirty. I can scientifically guarantee I've had worse things on it than Italian teenager snot.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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
[But Carlos taps his hand, and then rests his own over top of it. Giorno looks up at him with wide eyes, uncertain and searching but not afraid. He's never afraid of Carlos, because Carlos is afraid of too many things, and he doesn't need one more person added to that.]
[For a few moments he's quiet, just thinking. Turning all these words and opinions over in his head, trying to make them make sense. Then, gradually, he nods. Although it must be qualified.]
I think . . . if it was me and someone was upset and they didn't tell me, I'd hate it. No, I know I would. So I don't think it's ridiculous. I just don't think I'm good at being honest.
Do you think it's okay if I—
[God, he hates this. But—]
Do you think it's okay if I try, and I mess up sometimes? I want to do it right. But if it's not right right away, is that bad?
no subject
[He deliberately keeps his voice low, as if there's someone else who might be listening in--and, to him, perhaps there is. He registers Gold Experience as a part of Giorno, but there's really no shaking his initial impression that there's another person in the room, despite there only being two people. Maybe it's just his Night Vale paranoia, but whatever the case, he intends this to be for Giorno and Giorno alone.
His frown deepens, and he grabs Giorno's hand a bit tighter.]
As long as you're trying, I think it's fine to mess up. Nothing comes instantly, and this isn't an exception, you know? Some things are just hard to learn, period, especially when it's something significant. But, um...
[Carlos trails off, looking away. This is too familiar a conversation to be having, about niceness and redemption and honesty, that it actually makes him physically nauseous. Giorno isn't Kevin, but the parallels remain solid in his mind, and his jaw clenches.]
Just try.
no subject
[It takes him too long, probably. He spends the intervening time staring furiously at the floor between their feet, frowning until it looks like it might hurt his face. But finally he figures something out and looks up at Carlos with a stubbornly set jaw.]
I'm not trying to get out of doing what you're suggesting. I want to. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. So I think it might be a good idea to — to say this is enough trying for today, and start again tomorrow. So we can both have a break.
no subject
I think that's a good idea, yeah. Whatever you feel like you need to do.
[He doesn't try and deny the statement that he is uncomfortable, because it seems contradictory to do so in the wake of a conversation about honesty. He is uncomfortable, but that isn't Giorno's fault, and it makes everything so much more difficult to work through. He starts to say something, something like I'm sorry, but he's been told far too many times that apologies are simply excuses, and so he keeps his mouth shut, even as his thoughts continue to a rapid crescendo.
Before he really knows it--as synapses fire from a to b and his impulses act without his will--he's got Giorno in a very awkward hug, more of the product of a need for comfort as opposed to a need to comfort. It's all sharp edges (when was the last time he did this?), but there's a surprising force to it, regardless of whether or not he notices.]
no subject
[It feels honest.]
[It's an awkward hug. It is, he won't lie, but it feels safe, which is the only thing that matters. Carlos is all sharp edges and brittle lines, but he smells like laundry detergent and something chemical, and he's holding on tight like he doesn't want to ever let go. Of him. Carlos, an important and worthy person, doesn't want to let go of him, Giorno, who is just somebody. Not his child, maybe not even his friend. Just some kid who makes him uncomfortable a lot of the time, who doesn't know how to be normal.]
[Giorno's fingers clench in the back of that perfect lab coat. He doesn't mean them to, but they do. And once he's held on tight, he finds he can't let go, either. Can't stop himself from crying, not once his heart has been well and truly broken, even though it will ruin the pristine white front of Carlos's coat to get tears on it. He cries anyway. It's good to be honest, and so he cries honestly, his body racked with shuddering sobs as he holds on (awkwardly, with sharp edges, and forcefully, because he needs to not be alone right now and so does Carlos).]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[It's all right, Carlos says, and Giorno doesn't think it is. But he can suspend his disbelief, at least here and for the moment. It's different than if Polnareff said it. Polnareff comforts mindlessly, because he's made of comfort. For Carlos, comfort is an effort, which means he wouldn't do it if he didn't mean it. If he didn't really believe it.]
[It's not all right. But Giorno believes that Carlos believes it is, and that's how he manages to slow his tears: by believing that. They slow to a trickle as he presses his face to Carlos's shoulder, a wave of shame washing over him as he realizes how weak he's been. Recognizing his own weakness makes him feel weaker; he sags and does his best to take up as little space as possible at the same time as he really doesn't want to move at all.]
I'm sorry.
[It's quiet, his voice a little shaky. Maybe a lot shaky. He hates this. But he doesn't want to be alone right now.]
Scientifically speaking--I'm, I'm messing up your coat.
no subject
[And there really isn't: at his core, Carlos is not a liar; it's unnatural to him to even consider lying about anything as important as whatever this is. Maybe it's not alright, exactly, but he percieves himself as telling the truth, and therefore can't be held accountable for any possible lies inherent in the repeated statement. It's all very simple to him, and all simple problems have simple answers.
...Then again, though, what does he know about simplicity? He may not be a liar, but he knows very personally that nothing is quite as black-and-white as that. There are forces at work in Giorno's life that are far more complicated and insidious than any Smiling God, and Carlos understands his lack of understanding about any of them. No, this is not a simple problem, and he does not have a simple role in solving it, by any means. Maybe it's not even his place to solve it: perhaps he's meddling again.
Quietly, he tightens his grip, barely even processing what's being said to him, lost in thought and memory as he so often finds himself. Lost in general, really: he cannot be a scientist in this situation. This is not a simple scientific problem, and treating it like it is will only lead to more things breaking, for better or for worse, and that's not something that he wants. Carlos doesn't have experience with whatever he's doing, but it feels natural, like he's seen it before.
You will not change, or fix, or do anything at all to my little girl.
He exhales sharply, offering the slightest laugh--more of a suggestion of registered humor than anything, but it is sincere. He is not a liar.]
These are made to get dirty. I can scientifically guarantee I've had worse things on it than Italian teenager snot.
[There's more of an actual laugh, now.]