[He puts his hand over his mouth, but not before Polnareff catches the way his mouth trembles. And the entire situation is absurd, really-- I'm sorry that I'm not what you hoped I would be, and he could say those exact same words to Giorno. He's not wise enough, clever enough, quick enough; he's not the man he'll become, someone who can advise Giorno, who understands in ways that Polnareff, now, is too stupid to.
He doesn't think; he just reaches, tugging Giorno forward, manhandling him into a hug.]
You don't have anything to be sorry for.
[Firm and rough, not something that can be argued against. An indisputable fact. He says it as firmly as he can to the top of Giorno's head-- and it's good they're like this, because he doesn't want to have to worry about how he looks for the next part of it.]
Sherry is dead. She's dead and she will not come back, no matter what I do or who I meet. I tried once to bring her back, and it taught me that-- and so there is nothing you could have done, and I wouldn't have wanted you to try. She's dead and gone and you can't fix that, and neither can I.
[He would sell the world to get her back. He'd happily trade his own life for hers, even now, in this moment, he would. But he can't. The price isn't too high; it simply doesn't exist, and that's all there is to it.]
Giorno-- you are exactly what I hoped you'd be, because you're you. I'm the one who doesn't know, the one who-- who isn't who he should be. And I'll get there, I promise I will, but-- you have to understand, Giorno, I don't know you. Not yet. Not all of it. I'm going to be stupid and make mistakes and not understand, because I'm not who I become.
[So bear with me, that's what his words convey, but what really lies beneath that is: don't be too disappointed in me. Polnareff always shoots his mouth off, says stupid things, makes errors and blunders his way through life-- and god, he doesn't want to do that here. He wants to get it all right, and he knows he can't and he won't.]
[Oh, oh no, he thinks, oh no, I messed up, oh no, he saw me, that's what he thinks as Polnareff pulls him into a crushing hug. He can't breathe and it dizzies him for a moment before he understands, remembers every touch he's ever had these last few months and how much each one means. How touch is good and safe and okay, and Polnareff will never hurt him, because he is not his father.]
[It makes him want to cry. He doesn't, though, because he thinks that if he starts so will Polnareff, and then neither of them will ever stop. So he bites his lip hard until it hurts and presses his face to Polnareff's shoulder and listens, he listens, he has to always listen, always always always — for Polnareff, his consigliere, who gave up everything for him, or will.]
[He shudders, one deep breath in and one out, and shakes his head. Not a no, but a modification.]
You're not stupid. You're perfect. I missed you so much, and — even if you don't remember, that's not what I missed about you, not the memories. I missed you.
[Fuck, don't, don't cry — he makes a quiet sound of grief and bites it back and wraps his arms around Polnareff's neck.]
I missed you because I love you and you make me feel safe. I like you how you are, however that is. Don't say should, when you're everything you should be.
[He bites his own lip, trying hard not to allow himself to cry-- not because he's ashamed, but because they need to still muddle through this, and tears won't help. But it's hard, because all of this is very nearly too much-- disappointment and assurance and I love you, so freely given that it's dizzying.]
We all fight. All of us, Kakyoin and Jotaro and Joseph and you and I-- and I forgot that.
[That they're all battle hardened, no matter how they might present themselves in their off moments. Jotaro is a deadly force of nature, even as he plays with his otter and gets flustered over Kakyoin. Giorno deliberately chose to doom a man to an eternity of agony, and yet he's crying against Polnareff's shoulder; and yet he'd leapt into Polnareff's arms the first day, chattering in Italian, so obvious in his delight to see him.
He doesn't know how to ask what he truly wants to know: is this version of me truly all right? Giorno says it is, that he's everything he ought to be, but he knows he's not-- not yet. He's not, because he saw the way Giorno's face closed, that slight nod, that acceptance that meant you messed up.
But he's something. Some rough version of himself, unpolished but getting there. And maybe that's enough, for now.
He sniffs, trying to steady himself, and smiles over at what he can see of Giorno.]
Mm, any other confessions we want to cover while we're here?
[Someday in the future, your body will die, and Chariot will die with it.]
[He doesn't say it. He can't. Sometimes he doesn't even like thinking about it, even though that's the Polnareff they're used to — and besides, they all promised, didn't they? Him and Jotaro and Kakyoin, the three of them, with their sostegno.]
[A circle has an infinite number of points. Polnareff is one of them now. Thank God.]
[He pulls back-- not to remove Giorno, necessarily, but so he can see him. All of him, and that's as much a metaphor as it is literal. Polnareff offers half a smile, and yeah, he's still a little teary, but so what, he's allowed a few tears here and there.
One of these nights, they'll talk about like I thought I brought Bruno back. Not now, though. Things are still fragile and a little uncertain-- so they'll save it. They've all the time in the world to talk.]
Come on. There's still some of your birthday cake left. We're owed a treat at the end of tonight.
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no subject
He doesn't think; he just reaches, tugging Giorno forward, manhandling him into a hug.]
You don't have anything to be sorry for.
[Firm and rough, not something that can be argued against. An indisputable fact. He says it as firmly as he can to the top of Giorno's head-- and it's good they're like this, because he doesn't want to have to worry about how he looks for the next part of it.]
Sherry is dead. She's dead and she will not come back, no matter what I do or who I meet. I tried once to bring her back, and it taught me that-- and so there is nothing you could have done, and I wouldn't have wanted you to try. She's dead and gone and you can't fix that, and neither can I.
[He would sell the world to get her back. He'd happily trade his own life for hers, even now, in this moment, he would. But he can't. The price isn't too high; it simply doesn't exist, and that's all there is to it.]
Giorno-- you are exactly what I hoped you'd be, because you're you. I'm the one who doesn't know, the one who-- who isn't who he should be. And I'll get there, I promise I will, but-- you have to understand, Giorno, I don't know you. Not yet. Not all of it. I'm going to be stupid and make mistakes and not understand, because I'm not who I become.
[So bear with me, that's what his words convey, but what really lies beneath that is: don't be too disappointed in me. Polnareff always shoots his mouth off, says stupid things, makes errors and blunders his way through life-- and god, he doesn't want to do that here. He wants to get it all right, and he knows he can't and he won't.]
no subject
[Oh, oh no, he thinks, oh no, I messed up, oh no, he saw me, that's what he thinks as Polnareff pulls him into a crushing hug. He can't breathe and it dizzies him for a moment before he understands, remembers every touch he's ever had these last few months and how much each one means. How touch is good and safe and okay, and Polnareff will never hurt him, because he is not his father.]
[It makes him want to cry. He doesn't, though, because he thinks that if he starts so will Polnareff, and then neither of them will ever stop. So he bites his lip hard until it hurts and presses his face to Polnareff's shoulder and listens, he listens, he has to always listen, always always always — for Polnareff, his consigliere, who gave up everything for him, or will.]
[He shudders, one deep breath in and one out, and shakes his head. Not a no, but a modification.]
You're not stupid. You're perfect. I missed you so much, and — even if you don't remember, that's not what I missed about you, not the memories. I missed you.
[Fuck, don't, don't cry — he makes a quiet sound of grief and bites it back and wraps his arms around Polnareff's neck.]
I missed you because I love you and you make me feel safe. I like you how you are, however that is. Don't say should, when you're everything you should be.
no subject
We all fight. All of us, Kakyoin and Jotaro and Joseph and you and I-- and I forgot that.
[That they're all battle hardened, no matter how they might present themselves in their off moments. Jotaro is a deadly force of nature, even as he plays with his otter and gets flustered over Kakyoin. Giorno deliberately chose to doom a man to an eternity of agony, and yet he's crying against Polnareff's shoulder; and yet he'd leapt into Polnareff's arms the first day, chattering in Italian, so obvious in his delight to see him.
He doesn't know how to ask what he truly wants to know: is this version of me truly all right? Giorno says it is, that he's everything he ought to be, but he knows he's not-- not yet. He's not, because he saw the way Giorno's face closed, that slight nod, that acceptance that meant you messed up.
But he's something. Some rough version of himself, unpolished but getting there. And maybe that's enough, for now.
He sniffs, trying to steady himself, and smiles over at what he can see of Giorno.]
Mm, any other confessions we want to cover while we're here?
no subject
[He doesn't say it. He can't. Sometimes he doesn't even like thinking about it, even though that's the Polnareff they're used to — and besides, they all promised, didn't they? Him and Jotaro and Kakyoin, the three of them, with their sostegno.]
[A circle has an infinite number of points. Polnareff is one of them now. Thank God.]
[He sighs, and shakes his head.]
No. I think that's dramatic enough, don't you?
no subject
[He pulls back-- not to remove Giorno, necessarily, but so he can see him. All of him, and that's as much a metaphor as it is literal. Polnareff offers half a smile, and yeah, he's still a little teary, but so what, he's allowed a few tears here and there.
One of these nights, they'll talk about like I thought I brought Bruno back. Not now, though. Things are still fragile and a little uncertain-- so they'll save it. They've all the time in the world to talk.]
Come on. There's still some of your birthday cake left. We're owed a treat at the end of tonight.