[Fugo's so mad. It's funny. And Giorno knows, sort of, that this is just another way of him being a little much, but he doesn't mind. Because for one thing, he doesn't think he can just switch it off. For another thing, they should at least switch tone sometimes, he's pretty sure. And for a third thing . . .]
[Fugo said it wasn't bad. Which means at worst, he's all right with it, and at best, he likes it. Which makes Giorno happy. Which makes him smile. So all he's really doing is letting himself express exactly what he feels, and hasn't it been long enough that he's lived without that?]
[He laughs at Fugo's indignation, squeezes his hand playfully.]
Well, I'm never going to, so there!
[So there. And as to Fugo's other question, which he really shouldn't have asked . . . Giorno's smile goes devilish.]
Your hair's cute, that's why. It's cute and I like to mess with it. Plus, if I mess with it I get to do this—
[He reaches out his free hand and rakes his fingers through Fugo's bangs, a little more careful and precise than Fugo was himself. Sorting out a few minor tangles, he finger-combs it correct again, so that it conforms to Fugo's face properly, like it usually does. It's not perfect, but it's better, and anyway he got to touch Fugo's hair again, so who really wins? It's him.]
[Fugo shoots him a look, fond and exasperated, that he hopes will communicate his opinion (which can be summed up mostly as oh, whatever) that Giorno will have to let go of his hand eventually. But for all of his nonverbal sass, he returns Giorno's squeeze.]
[What. What. Temporarily flummoxed by Giorno's choice of words--(why the hell would he pick cute not just once but twice, that's absurd)--Fugo's not fast enough in reacting to catch Giorno's other hand before the finger-combing starts. His hand drops back onto the desk; he makes a valiant effort not to fidget, but in the end opts to drum his fingers on pages of his notebook instead of squirming in place. This is entirely unfair. He can't just tell Giorno that it's fine for now and he can't look down to write a note until Giorno's finished.
Except when he's finally free to write something he's ... not sure ... what to object to? He holds the pen over the paper, mostly annoyed but also a little red in the face, before finally settling on a somewhat lackluster:]
Just ask first, [He catches himself and abruptly pulls the pen back. And then, very deliberately, turns his comma into a period. Because it's probably not good form to call your boss a weirdo, especially on paper where it can be preserved forever.]
[This is not at all having the desired effect. The more flustered Fugo gets, the more fond Giorno feels, until eventually he's forced to kick his feet a little to wear off his excess excited energy. He's so cute, and the fact that he reacts so strongly to being called cute is even cuter. What the hell is Giorno supposed to do with this other than love it?]
[All the same, he can respect Fugo's wishes. That's only fair, he knows; Fugo respects all of his. Even though he catches Fugo nearly continuing that sentence, and wonders so, so much what he was going to say, he manages to bite his question back and replace it with another, much more important one. For now.]
[From the way Fugo's shoulders draw together and the flustered look on his face, that was not the response he was expecting from Giorno. Oh, no. Giorno's ... calling him on it. Giorno is doing exactly what he asked, except immediately and with the prior knowledge that Fugo doesn't have anywhere he needs to be. His afternoon is completely free for whatever nonsense Giorno would like to get up to, as long as it doesn't involve going outside. Fugo's eyes dart restlessly around the room again, from Giorno to Gold Experience to--
Oh, thank God. There's a distraction that not even Giorno will be able to turn down. His shoulders lose most of their tension as he pens a very important reminder.]
[Oh. Huh. That's . . . actually entirely true. Giorno blinks down at the paper with totally genuine surprise. He'd forgotten in the face of teasing Fugo, which is the most fun he's had in a while. But now he remembers how hungry he is. He really can't argue with Fugo's logic, either.]
[So: compromise. He nods, but then he leans forward and kisses Fugo's forehead. A little lunch, but a little teasing for the road. Lunch road. Yes.]
You know, I really forgot. Thank you for reminding me, Fugo.
[His logic is perfect. Undefeatable in the face of Giorno's fussing about making sure he's eating and sleeping enough. There's no way Giorno will be able to continue to embarrass him. Or so Fugo thinks, until Giorno leans in and kisses his forehead. Then he doesn't think much of anything, first too surprised and then too flustered to think beyond why is Giogio like this and this is so unfair. Where does all this spontaneous affection come from. Why does he never see it coming. All of his information about Giorno's behavior is so completely and totally out of date.]
[Fugo nods, completely red in the face from the tips of his ears and down the back of his neck, and just sort of gives up on continuing their conversation in the notebook. He abandons his pen, rises to his feet, and tugs Giorno's arm in the direction of the table where their completely cold lunch. Giorno needs to quit teasing him and come over and eat.]
[Okay. Yes, okay, he's going to be good. He's going to be good, he's going to quit being rude and he's going to let Fugo tug him across the floor and he's going to eat lunch without making Fugo blush any more than he already is--]
[Except they get halfway to the table, and . . . Giorno giggles. He clamps his hand over his mouth in alarm, shocked at his own rudeness, honestly, but he can't take it back. Fugo's just being really unfairly adorable in his fussiness.]
[At the sound of Giorno not just laughing but giggling-- giggling!-- at him, Fugo's set in a stubborn line and he turns to glance over Giorno a sharp, squinty, and incredibly unimpressed look. He's doing his best to look annoyed (which Fugo would very much argue that he is) but the look is somewhat spoiled by the fact that his ears and cheeks are still very red. He tugs at Giorno's hand, enough of this nonsense, be serious, and walks the two of them over to lunch.]
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[Fugo said it wasn't bad. Which means at worst, he's all right with it, and at best, he likes it. Which makes Giorno happy. Which makes him smile. So all he's really doing is letting himself express exactly what he feels, and hasn't it been long enough that he's lived without that?]
[He laughs at Fugo's indignation, squeezes his hand playfully.]
Well, I'm never going to, so there!
[So there. And as to Fugo's other question, which he really shouldn't have asked . . . Giorno's smile goes devilish.]
Your hair's cute, that's why. It's cute and I like to mess with it. Plus, if I mess with it I get to do this—
[He reaches out his free hand and rakes his fingers through Fugo's bangs, a little more careful and precise than Fugo was himself. Sorting out a few minor tangles, he finger-combs it correct again, so that it conforms to Fugo's face properly, like it usually does. It's not perfect, but it's better, and anyway he got to touch Fugo's hair again, so who really wins? It's him.]
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[What. What. Temporarily flummoxed by Giorno's choice of words--(why the hell would he pick cute not just once but twice, that's absurd)--Fugo's not fast enough in reacting to catch Giorno's other hand before the finger-combing starts. His hand drops back onto the desk; he makes a valiant effort not to fidget, but in the end opts to drum his fingers on pages of his notebook instead of squirming in place. This is entirely unfair. He can't just tell Giorno that it's fine for now and he can't look down to write a note until Giorno's finished.
Except when he's finally free to write something he's ... not sure ... what to object to? He holds the pen over the paper, mostly annoyed but also a little red in the face, before finally settling on a somewhat lackluster:]
Just ask first, [He catches himself and abruptly pulls the pen back. And then, very deliberately, turns his comma into a period. Because it's probably not good form to call your boss a weirdo, especially on paper where it can be preserved forever.]
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[All the same, he can respect Fugo's wishes. That's only fair, he knows; Fugo respects all of his. Even though he catches Fugo nearly continuing that sentence, and wonders so, so much what he was going to say, he manages to bite his question back and replace it with another, much more important one. For now.]
Can I play with your hair? Please?
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Oh, thank God. There's a distraction that not even Giorno will be able to turn down. His shoulders lose most of their tension as he pens a very important reminder.]
Weren't we supposed to eat lunch together?
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[So: compromise. He nods, but then he leans forward and kisses Fugo's forehead. A little lunch, but a little teasing for the road. Lunch road. Yes.]
You know, I really forgot. Thank you for reminding me, Fugo.
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[Fugo nods, completely red in the face from the tips of his ears and down the back of his neck, and just sort of gives up on continuing their conversation in the notebook. He abandons his pen, rises to his feet, and tugs Giorno's arm in the direction of the table where their completely cold lunch. Giorno needs to quit teasing him and come over and eat.]
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[Okay. Yes, okay, he's going to be good. He's going to be good, he's going to quit being rude and he's going to let Fugo tug him across the floor and he's going to eat lunch without making Fugo blush any more than he already is--]
[Except they get halfway to the table, and . . . Giorno giggles. He clamps his hand over his mouth in alarm, shocked at his own rudeness, honestly, but he can't take it back. Fugo's just being really unfairly adorable in his fussiness.]
Sorry! Sorry . . .
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