[Oh, jeez. Any other night and he'd be glad to have Giorno come visit-- but this was something he'd hoped to not have to do face to face. The watches have spoiled him; he's gotten too used to having emotional conversations without having to worry about how he looks.
Not that he's going to kick him out. Polnareff-- glorious undercut and all-- scoots over, making room on his bed.]
It's--
[--stupid, and he'd shrug it off, play it like he'd impulsively sent something he hadn't meant to. Instead:]
--not something I can just stop thinking about. I mean, any of it.
[--is he drunk? Polnareff frowns, because like . . . maybe he's drunk. He can get emotional and honest when he's drunk, but he's pretty sure he's not drunk. And yet here he is, being emotionally honest, like he's a girl.]
[And for a moment Giorno just stands there, like he's thinking, which he is not at all doing. No, instead he's trying to choke back the words that want to come out of his mouth, but. No good. He opens his mouth to excuse himself, actually, realizing he's made a grave mistake, and:]
I can't either. I keep thinking about it all the time. I don't hate it but I don't know what to do with it. It's not bothering me but it won't go away either. Like one of those itches in the middle of your back. I feel like I should be doing something about it, but I don't know what. And every time I look at you I just remember loving you so much, and I never loved anybody like that before, and then I just want to hug you but I think it's strange so I don't.
[. . . And then he slaps his hand over his mouth and goes bright red. Walking over to sit on the bed next to Polnareff is the longest walk of his life.]
If he's drunk, at least he's not the only one. And the thought that next comes out, fortunately, is not one that he minds sharing, which is:]
Oh, what the fuck is going on now.
[--but that's not the only thing on his mind, not by a long shot. Not after that kind of confession.]
It's not strange. I mean-- it's not strange if you want it, I like hugs, I like you, I like you a whole lot, but I don't-- I'm not--
[The impulse is there, to blurt it out, but the words don't come. They're a jumble in his head, insecurity and terror and the knowledge, quiet but insistent, that this will all end badly. That Giorno will put his trust in him just as Iggy and Avdol and Sherry all had, and will end up the same way as they did. That Giorno will trust and depend on and love the wrong person, the one who ought to be the savior but who always needs saving, the one that never thinks and always acts and gets it wrong.]
It was easy, being your father, because you're easy to love-- but I don't think I'm so good at being one.
[As he gets settled on the bed next to Polnareff, he looks up at him with those wide eyes, uncertain and worried. He loves Polnareff so much, he doesn't want to make him uncomfortable. But it's becoming clear very quickly that looking at each other during this conversation might be the worst thing ever. He's still all red anyway.]
[So, after brief consideration, he buries his face against Polnareff's arm and just lets words happen how they happen.]
You don't have to be. It's not like I'd know how to be a son anyway. I'm not a normal person, I know. I don't mind it, but I know fathers want things from their sons and I'm not really any of those things and I never will be. And besides, just because things were like that then doesn't mean they have to be now.
I want you to be happy. It's so important to me that you're happy. I missed you so much when you weren't here I thought I'd cry, and I never wanted to say because Jotaro and Kakyoin knew you better, but I feel so much safer now that you're here. So you don't have to be any one thing, you just have to not leave me. You can't leave me, I don't want to be alone again.
[That's a little easier. He doesn't mind that warm weight against his arm-- and it's probably better they're doing this in person. The last thing all this truth-telling needs is misunderstandings in tone. Polnareff shifts a little, just so they're both more comfortably situated, and listens.]
That's easy. I won't.
[Simple, because it is. He has no plans on ever leaving Giorno's side, no matter how strange things get, no matter how insecure he feels in his role. None of any of this-- feelings, insecurities, fear, none of it-- will ever result in Polnareff leaving.]
[The way he relaxes is both visible and tangible; his whole body sags, like strings have been cut. He sighs a little, then curls up smaller against Polnareff, like he's trying to disappear entirely.]
Okay.
I feel stupid saying that. I feel stupid saying any of this. I must seem like such a child to you. I want to help you and impress you and take care of you, but this always happens somehow.
You don't have to do that stuff with me. Take care of me-- what's there to take care of?
[Down two fingers, maybe, but that was nothing when you'd fought a vampire. Polnareff shrugs the shoulder Giorno isn't leaning on (because god forbid he disturb the figure settled against him).]
You're you. You're clever and you're seventeen and you're the don of a mafia, which is pretty damn impressive, by the way. You're a child to me because you're my sister's age, because you are younger, but that doesn't mean I think that you're a baby. Just-- younger.
[Because he makes it. He has that guarantee for the next ten years, at least: he survives. No matter what he does, he makes it for at least another decade. And even past then, clearly he survives to the point where he's capable of giving out advice, so it's not like one of those twist situations, where like maybe he survives but he's in a coma or some stupid shit like that.
But ah, that's a good question-- and one he doesn't necessarily have the answer to.]
I . . . think so. It sounds selfish when I say it-- like-- I'm the older one, so I'm the one who should do all the worrying. But that's not fair to you.
So I think-- I think that's right. Both of us taking care of each other.
[He risks a glance down at the swath of blond hair curled up against him.]
[It's what Kakyoin is terrified of, Polnareff knows. That one day he'll fall asleep and that will be that; he'll simply disappear, whisked away to god only knows where.
It's not an unreasonable fear, and it isn't anything Polnareff can stop.]
I could leave.
[It's the truth.]
But if I do-- and if I get any kind of choice, if I can find a way, I won't, but if I do-- I'll be waiting for you at home. You know I will.
[He throws his arms around Polnareff without lifting his face again to look at him, because if he does he might cry and he really would hate that so much right now.]
That's why I missed you. You make me feel so safe all the time. No matter what, even when we disagree, you make me feel like even if bad things happen, we'll find a way to fix them. Nothing will ever be so bad that I'll feel like I used to. So flat.
You make me feel like a real person, like what I am is okay and good and all that I need to be, even when I haven't been good enough. When I was so broken, after I watched them die, you were there and you made it just okay enough that I didn't feel like I had to just give up. You gave me life again.
[Maybe this is what they'd meant. Jotaro and Kakyoin-- they'd kept saying shit like all he wants is you, just be yourself, and he hadn't understood it, but maybe this right here is what they'd meant. What he had to be was what he was: not someone who was right all the time, who knew what to say and how to say it and was always clever-- but someone sturdy. An emotional rock. Someone who could absorb all those fears and worries and tears and, if not make it entirely better, at least keep everyone going.
Well, shit, he could do that. That's easy. That's not always being three steps ahead like Jotaro, or analytically and tactically clever like Kakyoin. That's just being him. Call it whatever title you wanted-- although consigliere, for the record, was a pretty damn misleading title. Emotional rock was far more accurate. He could appreciate why thirty-six year old Polnareff wanted the former and not the latter, but twenty-two year old Polnareff could have used the clarification, thanks-- but it was just doing shit he already did.
Carefully, he cards his fingers through Giorno's hair, gazing at the wall.]
'M glad I got to meet you early. Even if it's been weird and kind of mixed up and this city is really getting on my nerves with all this weird shit, I'm really happy.
[He risks a glance upward, pushes his head against Polnareff's hand like a cat craving touch.]
That's all I want. For you to be happy. I don't want to lose anyone else, and I don't want anyone else I love to be sad ever again. So if you're happy, then I'm happy.
. . . I know. I'm trying not to be awful about it when people are sad. I think I'm doing better.
[He wrinkles his nose a little.]
But it still . . . makes me sad when they are. Nobody should have to be, if I love them. If I take care of them, that should be enough that nothing bad can get past me to them.
[He turns, tugging Giorno into a full-bodied hug, draping over him. That means they still don't have to face one another, but he can offer all the physical comfort they both need.]
You can't stop everything bad from ever happening from to anyone. Especially with the kinds of lives we lead-- but even normal junk. Junk like-- like two people getting into a fight, or having a crappy day, or whatever. And that doesn't mean you failed them, or didn't love them enough.
[These are things Giorno might know-- logically, at least. But maybe not emotionally, and it would do them both good to hear it.]
[Polnareff pulls him close, and that's right. That's exactly what he needs right now. To be close, to know that even if he's hearing bad, frightening things, he's still safe. Nothing will get him. Nothing will hurt him. He's cared for. Loved, maybe.]
[He closes his eyes and nods.]
I know. I know, I do know, I just forget sometimes. I try hard to remember.
[All the time. Even now-- Polnareff huffs a laugh, shaking his head. This is too personal, maybe, too private, and he feels bad for saying it, but the words bubble out anyway:]
Kakyoin told me the other day about his parents, about how they'd made him feel odd when he was a kid-- cuz he had a stand and they couldn't see it, right? So his whole life, he felt like maybe he was weird, like something was wrong with him, and his parents only made it worse. And then he mentioned someone here telling him-- not that he was strange, just that it was odd, meeting someone who had a stand from birth, because where he was from not many people had them like that. And that also made him feel weird, and I know Kakyoin is an adult, all right, he's grown and he nearly broke my fucking nose once, so clearly he can take care of himself, but--
I still get pissed, you know? Even though it's stupid, and he doesn't need me to get mad at people for him. Because I don't want any of my friends to ever feel bad, ever.
[A beat. He settles his chin atop Giorno's head and adds quietly:]
I get the same way when I think about your parents. Your mother and your step-father.
[Simply said. He is, and will always be. Not the kind of anger that surfaces day to day, no, and not the kind that eats him up-- but it's there, quiet, in the back of his mind. A grudging anger, and one he'll likely never really get rid of.]
I mean, not-- I'm not gonna go out and punch a wall or something, but. Yeah.
[There are tears pricking at the corner of his eyes again, but he doesn't let them fall. Just curls himself up tight and tries to remember that he's safe, he is, always he's safe here with Polnareff, no matter what.]
I never had someone who took care of me like this before. Before . . . Passione. No one who got mad because they wanted me to be safe and I wasn't.
[Blurted out, irrelevant, and he scowls at himself, because it wasn't necessary. Buries his face against the top of Giorno's head, his cheeks reddening.]
I like calling you that. Even if it's embarrassing sometimes? I still don't know how to be a son right. But I'd rather be your son than . . .
[He sighs a little, wiggling himself around so he can kiss Polnareff on the cheek.]
Sometimes it makes me miss Jonathan. But I think it's better to miss Jonathan than pretend I don't miss him at all. And then it feels like . . . there are people who love me on all sides, sort of. Which is even more safe. You and Jonathan and Bruno and . . . lots of people.
[From what he's heard, it would impossible not to.]
And there's-- I know I told you, but there's no right way to be a son. Not really. Or if there is, it doesn't matter, because when have our lives ever been normal? You can be you, and that's the son I want.
[It's a nervewracking thing to say, honestly. He means it, he does-- he can't lie about anything, not right now-- and yet the word itself is terrifying. Son, which comes with implied responsibility, which still comes with fears, even now (even if they're far less than they were a few minutes ago). But he doesn't take the word back.
Polnareff smiles a little, catching Giorno's eye.]
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Not that he's going to kick him out. Polnareff-- glorious undercut and all-- scoots over, making room on his bed.]
It's--
[--stupid, and he'd shrug it off, play it like he'd impulsively sent something he hadn't meant to. Instead:]
--not something I can just stop thinking about. I mean, any of it.
[--is he drunk? Polnareff frowns, because like . . . maybe he's drunk. He can get emotional and honest when he's drunk, but he's pretty sure he's not drunk. And yet here he is, being emotionally honest, like he's a girl.]
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[And for a moment Giorno just stands there, like he's thinking, which he is not at all doing. No, instead he's trying to choke back the words that want to come out of his mouth, but. No good. He opens his mouth to excuse himself, actually, realizing he's made a grave mistake, and:]
I can't either. I keep thinking about it all the time. I don't hate it but I don't know what to do with it. It's not bothering me but it won't go away either. Like one of those itches in the middle of your back. I feel like I should be doing something about it, but I don't know what. And every time I look at you I just remember loving you so much, and I never loved anybody like that before, and then I just want to hug you but I think it's strange so I don't.
[. . . And then he slaps his hand over his mouth and goes bright red. Walking over to sit on the bed next to Polnareff is the longest walk of his life.]
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If he's drunk, at least he's not the only one. And the thought that next comes out, fortunately, is not one that he minds sharing, which is:]
Oh, what the fuck is going on now.
[--but that's not the only thing on his mind, not by a long shot. Not after that kind of confession.]
It's not strange. I mean-- it's not strange if you want it, I like hugs, I like you, I like you a whole lot, but I don't-- I'm not--
[The impulse is there, to blurt it out, but the words don't come. They're a jumble in his head, insecurity and terror and the knowledge, quiet but insistent, that this will all end badly. That Giorno will put his trust in him just as Iggy and Avdol and Sherry all had, and will end up the same way as they did. That Giorno will trust and depend on and love the wrong person, the one who ought to be the savior but who always needs saving, the one that never thinks and always acts and gets it wrong.]
It was easy, being your father, because you're easy to love-- but I don't think I'm so good at being one.
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[So, after brief consideration, he buries his face against Polnareff's arm and just lets words happen how they happen.]
You don't have to be. It's not like I'd know how to be a son anyway. I'm not a normal person, I know. I don't mind it, but I know fathers want things from their sons and I'm not really any of those things and I never will be. And besides, just because things were like that then doesn't mean they have to be now.
I want you to be happy. It's so important to me that you're happy. I missed you so much when you weren't here I thought I'd cry, and I never wanted to say because Jotaro and Kakyoin knew you better, but I feel so much safer now that you're here. So you don't have to be any one thing, you just have to not leave me. You can't leave me, I don't want to be alone again.
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That's easy. I won't.
[Simple, because it is. He has no plans on ever leaving Giorno's side, no matter how strange things get, no matter how insecure he feels in his role. None of any of this-- feelings, insecurities, fear, none of it-- will ever result in Polnareff leaving.]
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Okay.
I feel stupid saying that. I feel stupid saying any of this. I must seem like such a child to you. I want to help you and impress you and take care of you, but this always happens somehow.
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[Down two fingers, maybe, but that was nothing when you'd fought a vampire. Polnareff shrugs the shoulder Giorno isn't leaning on (because god forbid he disturb the figure settled against him).]
You're you. You're clever and you're seventeen and you're the don of a mafia, which is pretty damn impressive, by the way. You're a child to me because you're my sister's age, because you are younger, but that doesn't mean I think that you're a baby. Just-- younger.
[A moment of silence, and then:]
Aren't I the one supposed to take care of you?
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[And his face is all hot again, but it's not as though he can do anything about it.]
I don't know, are you? I mean. Yes, but also the other way. Isn't that right? Both of us taking care of each other?
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[Because he makes it. He has that guarantee for the next ten years, at least: he survives. No matter what he does, he makes it for at least another decade. And even past then, clearly he survives to the point where he's capable of giving out advice, so it's not like one of those twist situations, where like maybe he survives but he's in a coma or some stupid shit like that.
But ah, that's a good question-- and one he doesn't necessarily have the answer to.]
I . . . think so. It sounds selfish when I say it-- like-- I'm the older one, so I'm the one who should do all the worrying. But that's not fair to you.
So I think-- I think that's right. Both of us taking care of each other.
[He risks a glance down at the swath of blond hair curled up against him.]
I'm not leaving, you know. No matter what.
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[Mostly okay. He glances up at Polnareff, then hides his face again.]
Abbacchio and Narancia were here and they left. You could leave, too. I'm afraid of you leaving.
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It's not an unreasonable fear, and it isn't anything Polnareff can stop.]
I could leave.
[It's the truth.]
But if I do-- and if I get any kind of choice, if I can find a way, I won't, but if I do-- I'll be waiting for you at home. You know I will.
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[He throws his arms around Polnareff without lifting his face again to look at him, because if he does he might cry and he really would hate that so much right now.]
That's why I missed you. You make me feel so safe all the time. No matter what, even when we disagree, you make me feel like even if bad things happen, we'll find a way to fix them. Nothing will ever be so bad that I'll feel like I used to. So flat.
You make me feel like a real person, like what I am is okay and good and all that I need to be, even when I haven't been good enough. When I was so broken, after I watched them die, you were there and you made it just okay enough that I didn't feel like I had to just give up. You gave me life again.
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[Maybe this is what they'd meant. Jotaro and Kakyoin-- they'd kept saying shit like all he wants is you, just be yourself, and he hadn't understood it, but maybe this right here is what they'd meant. What he had to be was what he was: not someone who was right all the time, who knew what to say and how to say it and was always clever-- but someone sturdy. An emotional rock. Someone who could absorb all those fears and worries and tears and, if not make it entirely better, at least keep everyone going.
Well, shit, he could do that. That's easy. That's not always being three steps ahead like Jotaro, or analytically and tactically clever like Kakyoin. That's just being him. Call it whatever title you wanted-- although consigliere, for the record, was a pretty damn misleading title. Emotional rock was far more accurate. He could appreciate why thirty-six year old Polnareff wanted the former and not the latter, but twenty-two year old Polnareff could have used the clarification, thanks-- but it was just doing shit he already did.
Carefully, he cards his fingers through Giorno's hair, gazing at the wall.]
'M glad I got to meet you early. Even if it's been weird and kind of mixed up and this city is really getting on my nerves with all this weird shit, I'm really happy.
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[He risks a glance upward, pushes his head against Polnareff's hand like a cat craving touch.]
That's all I want. For you to be happy. I don't want to lose anyone else, and I don't want anyone else I love to be sad ever again. So if you're happy, then I'm happy.
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[A beat. There's a chance Giorno was being figurative, but just in case--]
Sometimes-- I mean-- you can't stop everyone from ever being sad. Even if you want to. Even if it sucks when they're sad.
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[He wrinkles his nose a little.]
But it still . . . makes me sad when they are. Nobody should have to be, if I love them. If I take care of them, that should be enough that nothing bad can get past me to them.
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[He turns, tugging Giorno into a full-bodied hug, draping over him. That means they still don't have to face one another, but he can offer all the physical comfort they both need.]
You can't stop everything bad from ever happening from to anyone. Especially with the kinds of lives we lead-- but even normal junk. Junk like-- like two people getting into a fight, or having a crappy day, or whatever. And that doesn't mean you failed them, or didn't love them enough.
[These are things Giorno might know-- logically, at least. But maybe not emotionally, and it would do them both good to hear it.]
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[He closes his eyes and nods.]
I know. I know, I do know, I just forget sometimes. I try hard to remember.
Do you forget, too?
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[All the time. Even now-- Polnareff huffs a laugh, shaking his head. This is too personal, maybe, too private, and he feels bad for saying it, but the words bubble out anyway:]
Kakyoin told me the other day about his parents, about how they'd made him feel odd when he was a kid-- cuz he had a stand and they couldn't see it, right? So his whole life, he felt like maybe he was weird, like something was wrong with him, and his parents only made it worse. And then he mentioned someone here telling him-- not that he was strange, just that it was odd, meeting someone who had a stand from birth, because where he was from not many people had them like that. And that also made him feel weird, and I know Kakyoin is an adult, all right, he's grown and he nearly broke my fucking nose once, so clearly he can take care of himself, but--
I still get pissed, you know? Even though it's stupid, and he doesn't need me to get mad at people for him. Because I don't want any of my friends to ever feel bad, ever.
[A beat. He settles his chin atop Giorno's head and adds quietly:]
I get the same way when I think about your parents. Your mother and your step-father.
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[He tries to hold it back, but it tumbles out anyway.]
F-family. Protect your family. I get angry for Kakyoin all the time . . . for Jotaro, for you. For my famiglia.
[Polnareff's chin on his head is a welcome weight. He snuggles in, stays as close as he can when he answers.]
I wouldn't mind if you got mad at them for me.
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[Simply said. He is, and will always be. Not the kind of anger that surfaces day to day, no, and not the kind that eats him up-- but it's there, quiet, in the back of his mind. A grudging anger, and one he'll likely never really get rid of.]
I mean, not-- I'm not gonna go out and punch a wall or something, but. Yeah.
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[There are tears pricking at the corner of his eyes again, but he doesn't let them fall. Just curls himself up tight and tries to remember that he's safe, he is, always he's safe here with Polnareff, no matter what.]
I never had someone who took care of me like this before. Before . . . Passione. No one who got mad because they wanted me to be safe and I wasn't.
You're a good person, to do that.
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[Blurted out, irrelevant, and he scowls at himself, because it wasn't necessary. Buries his face against the top of Giorno's head, his cheeks reddening.]
You're safe now. Always. No matter what.
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[He sighs a little, wiggling himself around so he can kiss Polnareff on the cheek.]
Sometimes it makes me miss Jonathan. But I think it's better to miss Jonathan than pretend I don't miss him at all. And then it feels like . . . there are people who love me on all sides, sort of. Which is even more safe. You and Jonathan and Bruno and . . . lots of people.
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[From what he's heard, it would impossible not to.]
And there's-- I know I told you, but there's no right way to be a son. Not really. Or if there is, it doesn't matter, because when have our lives ever been normal? You can be you, and that's the son I want.
[It's a nervewracking thing to say, honestly. He means it, he does-- he can't lie about anything, not right now-- and yet the word itself is terrifying. Son, which comes with implied responsibility, which still comes with fears, even now (even if they're far less than they were a few minutes ago). But he doesn't take the word back.
Polnareff smiles a little, catching Giorno's eye.]
You're easy to love, you know.
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