That would be excellent, actually. I've been curious about the extent and scope of how monstrous the local wildlife is ever since I heard that there were monsters here.
That's why I'm glad they're fine. The lamp is an acceptable loss. But you should still be careful. With the fire.
Oh, that's convenient, I know all the best resources on the subject at the library. I was fascinated when I got here so I read everything I could find. Although it occurs to me I should have warned you about the ghosts, sorry.
Why don't I go outside briefly and do a little testing to see how this works? Maybe half an hour or so, just so I don't burn down your room. Then call it half an hour to find the books and grab lunch. With my beautiful unburned hands.
They're not so bad. Unless they're the ones who've left everything so disorganized. In which case, they're awful and terrible and should feel bad about themselves.
[Somehow. He feels a little trapped in whatever he says next, just by the way Giorno keeps bringing up how beautiful his hands are.]
A non-burnt down room would be preferable to a burnt one, yes. I'll see you then. Have fun setting things that aren't your hands on fire, it's very cathartic.
I think some of them do that, but it could also be Rohan. We just don't know.
I've really missed casual criminality. Thank god for you. An hour, then.
[And as it turns out, it is very cathartic, burning things that aren't his hands. He's able to burn quite a lot of things, a worrying amount of things, actually, and he still smells a little like char when he returns with a tray of food and a Very Large glass of water, Gold Experience trailing behind him carrying a huge stack of books on the local flora and fauna. He hipchecks the door to Fugo's room open easily. FUGO HOLY FUCK Giorno has never knocked in his life.]
I can't believe you've lasted this long living in a place without laws to break. Life's too short to live playing by the rules.
[Fugo's door gives way without any resistance, mostly because it was half-open to begin with. Fugo is sitting at his desk curled over a book, chin resting in one hand while the other takes neat notes, opened to math so complicated that it'd probably make Narancia cry. There's an empty mug that presumably used to be tea by his elbow.]
Buon-- [His voice is small, raspy, and barely audible. Fugo cuts himself short and reaches to massage his throat, looking both frustrated and confused. Why isn't it getting better? He's been drinking warm things all day, even though it's the middle of the summer and hot. With an irritated sigh, he reaches for his notes and flips to a fresh page to quickly write something. When the message is written, he holds it out for Giorno and Gold Experience to see.]
Buon Giorno! Not so much agony. Just sore. But my voice has been going out. Sorry, I thought it would be better by now.
[Oh no, he still can't talk. Giorno almost drops the tray in his haste to cross the room, sets it down on the side table and then darts out of the room again. Gold Experience is tugged along in his wake for approximately twenty seconds, and then they both return, the Stand still holding the books while Giorno carries a small box of flash cards. He shoves them into Fugo's hands and perches on the edge of the desk.]
They're Star's. They've got simple nouns and things like that. Maybe it'll help and you won't have to write so much.
[Here's the real bummer of not being able to talk: Fugo can't call out to Giorno to tell him that he's fine making do with a pencil and the watches. He's gone too quickly, tugging poor Gold Experience with him. Fugo sighs as he watches him go, before resting his elbow up on the desk so he can prop his chin up with his hands while he waits.
He abandons the pose when Giorno comes back and pushes the cards into his lap, curiously lifting out the first card out of the box while he explains.]
[Out of curiosity, he reaches out to retrieve the card Fugo put back. When he sees what's on it, he can't not laugh a little bit, a short delighted giggle before he manages to stifle himself. He's so happy about having created a monster.]
Mm, I'd try to fix it, but if it's anything like mine it won't work.
[Tapping his chin with the card, he reaches out absentmindedly and feels Fugo's forehead. Not the worst, but not great.]
[Fugo frowns, a little fussy, entirely because Giorno is making light of what he's sure is going to be a problem in the future. Someday, someone is going to explain to Star Platinum what pannacotta and then he is going to move out because that's an entirely reasonable fair course of action to take to ensure a life where he's not harassed by someone else's Stand about pudding. He waits patiently for Giorno to finish with his own fussing before he responds.]
Because I don't feel sick. My throat's just sore. Besides, I'm finally switched back to daylight hours. I don't want to start over again.
[He is momentarily stymied. How is he to fuss when there is nothing to fuss about, nothing to fix? It's that same old frustration. But at the very least it's Fugo, who appears to be willing to put up with a lot from him. For . . . reasons that he isn't thinking about right now.]
Then me bothering you is actually very helpful. I'm keeping you alert and awake and on a good sleep cycle.
[Giorno smiles brightly, right as Gold Experience slides the stack of books carefully onto the desk at Fugo's other side. The top volume is thick, with tiny text and gold trim, and is about kelpies.]
[Fugo's pretty sure he's good on his own at coming up with new and creative ways to not sleep when he's tired-- but he knows that in the face of something he can't fix, Giorno does better when he distracts himself with something that he can. So Fugo nods and solemnly makes a circle with his forefinger and thumb to signify that yes, okay, Giorno is being very helpful by coming and keeping him company during the day and he very much appreciates it.]
[Oh, books! Finally. Fugo's a much more contained person, but it's hard to miss the way he perks up at the thump when Gold Experience situates the stack of books at his other elbow. He reaches to close the math textbook he was studying from, pushing it aside in favor of tugging down that tome about kelpies off the top of the stack and laying it open in what little space is left on the face of his text. He idly flicks through the first few pages, not yet reading in depth-- just appreciating that someone took the time to write a very serious-minded book about the behavior of sticky river horses.
As tempting as it is to ignore lunch and just hunker down to read this instead, he knows better than to ignore Giorno. He closes the book and reaches again for the cards, trying to find one that would quickly communicate how helpful these books will be. None of them are perfect, but he finds one that he settles on as good enough for the moment: he pulls out and presents the BEST card to Giorno and Gold Experience.]
[Truthfully, he would have been all right with a little ignoring. He's pleased enough at the fact that Fugo's smiled, that Fugo's so chatty even without actually speaking; the silly little gesture charms him into a grin, and he tucks his heels up on the handle of the lowest desk drawer.]
[So, yes, he would have been fine to entertain himself for at least a minute or two. But after a few moments of perusing the first volume, Fugo turns to him with the card, and . . .]
[Oh.]
[No, it's . . . both of them. Him and Gold Experience. The card is for both of them. There's a tremor of uncertainty that shivers in the air between them, just for a second or two, and for that moment Giorno actually looks startled.]
[Then he smiles, slow and crooked and genuine, and plucks the card from Fugo's fingers, presents it to Gold Experience, who takes it with unblinking uncertainty.]
Look at this. Fugo likes you, just like you like him.
[Just like you like him. Common sense dictates that since Giorno likes him, it follows that so would Gold Experience. Still. Fugo's tickled to hear verbal confirmation that this theory is true. It occurs to him that for all they went through together back in April, everything that Gold Experience has done to help him heal, they have honestly never been properly introduced. So he smiles at Gold Experience, a little shy, and briefly lifts one hand in a belated wave. Hello, Gold Experience. It's nice to see you again.
[Sometimes . . . god. Sometimes Gold Experience makes his life exactly like an echo chamber. It's overwhelming, the way the waves of his Stand's feelings hit against the insides of his mind, rising up from nothing to suddenly appear, violent and bottomless and desperate. He's happy enough himself to see Fugo's smile, the simple sweet shyness of his gesture, but—]
[They rock Gold Experience's world. Giorno manages to contain his reaction to a quiet intake of breath, but it's difficult. His Stand is delighted in the way Gold Experience feels anything: every emotion, even the positive ones, sharp-edged as broken glass. It's not bad, though. Just jarring. A little cloying, maybe. But not bad, no.]
[And of course Gold Experience isn't nearly as subtle as Giorno'd like him to be. No, he startles visibly, back straightening as his gaze tracks the movements of Fugo's hand in the air. A breath, and he reaches forward, hand outstretched in a mirror of Fugo's wave, nearly close enough to touch before pulling back at the last minute. He turns to Giorno then, excited as a child, babbling under his breath, mudamudamuda.]
[Giorno winces, flapping his hand vaguely.]
All right, all right, already. I told you, he likes you.
[It's not clear who he's talking to, really. He does take the card back from Gold Experience, though, curls it slightly in both of his hands and ducks his head.]
He . . . likes that you're paying attention to him.
[That's significantly more transparent, at least.]
[Fugo's shoulders bunch up, though not painfully, in surprise over Gold Experience's animated response. He's never seen the Stand react like that before; Gold Experience is often quiet, almost stoic. But he's lively now, chattering muda muda muda--(Is it a nonsense sound, or a word? If it's the latter, what does it mean?)--and waving. When Gold Experience pulls away, Fugo's hand drops lightly to the desk. He drums his fingers a few times, before closing the book on kelpies. It's carefully returned to its place at the top of the stack to make room for his notebook and pen.]
Can he read? If he can't, that's fine. The message would be for both of you.
[That's strange, though, isn't it? The Pistols can, but they're special, more so than Gold Experience ever has been. It's not normal for a Stand to be able to read, or to be so . . . whatever Gold Experience is.]
[Giorno chews the inside of his cheek uncertainly, then tucks a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. His toes point just a little further towards the floor.]
I didn't know. Until recently. I didn't . . . teach him how, or anything like that. I suppose he just watched and learned. To write, too.
I honestly don't know why he does any of the things he does.
[Fugo watches Giorno's expression, tracking the little ways it changes--and, more significantly, the way he holds his face and the rest of himself still. It's not unfamiliar body language. In fact, it's reminiscent to the way Giorno carried himself when Buccellati first introduced him to the rest of the team. Small. Quiet. Unobtrusive.
(It's not like the Giorno he wanted to know better in Napoli, or the Giorno he's beginning to understand a little better in Ruby City. They're in turns bright and animated, sharp and dangerous. Giorno loves open and honestly and Giovanna protects what is his without flinching. Neither of them ever seem small.)
He thinks of the way Giorno pulled in a breath as Gold Experience became more animated. How he winced, the way he ducks his head. The almost dismissive way he gestured and spoke towards his Stand; how uncertainly he speaks now of Gold Experience's, quite honestly, amazing ability to read and understand independently of Giorno. Half a dozen little signs of too-familiar pain and sadness, all focused on Gold Experience.
Because it's Fugo, he has to take a moment to worry would this be all right, before he reaches up to catch Giorno's hand with his own as it drops back into his lap. But as he writes, his fingers loosely curl around Giorno's. This note takes a little more time. He writes slowly, choosing each word with care. When it's finished, he sets his pen aside and gestures for Gold Experience to come closer and so he can read what was written.]
I know you don't remember, because it hasn't happened for you yet. But when we first saw each other again after a long time apart, you knew that I was hurt. And before anything was said, before I even knew you were there, you healed me. It meant a great deal to me then and still does today. I'll never forget that morning.
[Fugo's hand is in his. That . . . that in itself isn't strange. It feels strange, startles him, not because of the action itself or because it's Fugo, but because when he's focused on Gold Experience like this he is now he feels like a different person. Younger and more afraid and worse. Worse all over.]
[Fugo's fingers curled around his remind him that he is himself, here and now. Fugo's fingers are warm, they feel warmer than his own even though that's got to be impossible. Maybe it's just that the presence and touch of them is so grounding, like half an instant of traveling home. For that moment he knows who he is without question, the Don Giovanna, Mista's and Trish's and Fugo's and everyone's, someone who belongs to himself but to the world, as well.]
[That knowledge doesn't preclude pain, though. It makes him feel less vulnerable, but he still feels everything else, too, the strange cocktail of affection and confusion and homesickness and protectiveness that Fugo stirs up in him, the aching possessiveness that makes him want to tighten his grip and never let go. Gold Experience leans over the desk and reads, and the shock waves are there, too.]
[It meant a great deal to me then and still does today.]
[I'll never forget that morning.]
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
[Take half a step towards me. Just half a step. That's all.]
[That first day, there was a moment when Giorno relaxed, from his head to his toes. It happens again now at the tail end of a shudder; he has to close his eyes to keep the sudden inexplicable tears in (the tears he could explain if he wanted to, but he doesn't, so he won't). Mascara faintly dots under his lower lid when he opens them again, the only clue besides the shakiness of his smile, but he laces his fingers through Fugo's to keep him from leaving. Not that he thinks he will. Not really. But he always worries, somewhere in the back of his mind, what if?]
[He glances at his Stand, who glances back at him, checking for . . . something. Approval, maybe. Whatever it is, he sees it, or feels it, and so he very, very carefully tears the piece of paper off and folds it into a small square. He considers the square for a moment, turns it around to consider all of its edges, and folds it in half again so that it's a triangle: three sides, not four.]
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Giorno laughs under his breath, bows his head, and presses his forehead to the back of Fugo's hand.]
He's going to keep that forever, you know.
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
I'm going to keep you forever, too, though. So that's all right.
[Fugo watches the two of them, Giorno and his Gold Experience, with a quiet, solemn fondness. Before Giorno laces their fingers together his thumb slowly brushes, back and forth, over the top of Giorno's knuckles. He doesn't shift away when Gold Experience leans over the note; when Giorno laces their fingers together, his lock together around Giorno's.
It's a little strange, he thinks, how familiar this gesture has become; how naturally their fingers seem to criss-cross and fold together. His concern from before seems almost silly now in the face of how easily their palms fit up against each other. He's quickly distracted by Gold Experience, who tears out the note with the kind of reverence and care that it's like he's preserving a piece of artwork. And he laughs too, his shoulders briefly shaking with a voiceless chuckle, when he sees Gold Experience eliminate that pesky fourth edge--because that's a Mista habit, something he's seen dozens of times over in in letters and toast and sandwiches.
Before he has a chance to recover he's surprised again, this time when Giorno brings his forehead down onto their hands and-- God, Giogio, he thinks, you're so much sometimes. The back of his neck heats up and he briefly raises his other hand, pen still loosely held between his fingers, to cover his face. Even though Giorno's head is bowed, he is not allowed to see how red his face is all of a sudden, because he's just going to say something else embarrassing and it's just never going to stop. When he recovers, he smiles bashfully up again at Gold Experience and gingerly reaches out to pat the top of Giorno's weird, overdramatic head.]
[It's fine. All of that's fine. Gold Experience can keep what he wrote. Giorno can keep him. Because he isn't going anywhere. Wherever Giorno is--that's where he wants to be.]
[Giorno misses his moment, the instant when he could catch Fugo in something terribly embarrassing and tease him about it. That's probably for the best, though, because while it's certainly possible that he'd tease relentlessly . . . with today being what it is, with how much he's learned in such a short span of time, and how confused he is and how much he's feeling, it's just as likely that he'd freeze, words caught in his throat and eyes locked on Fugo's red face.]
[Not that it matters. He takes the moment for all it's willing to give, stretches it out like someone unspeakable might, wraps it around his shoulders like the finest fur coat, and takes just seconds to rest. Fugo's hand smells like ink and graphite and faintly of blood from where he's chewed his nails too close to the quick. That smell belongs to Giorno now, like everything else about Fugo.]
[He wonders if Fugo is as worried about this as he is. It doesn't seem that way. Fugo is worried about everything else, but not this. Their fingers locked together doesn't faze him; he reaches out and touches the top of Giorno's head with some hesitation, but not much. That's startling, not just that it happens at all but that he likes it. He'd have expected it to feel patronizing if the idea was floated verbally, but it just feels familiar in a nice way, a soft and silly touch that he can't help but lean into.]
[Which is also embarrassing. So when he looks up he's a little red himself, but smiling, as he reaches out and ruffles Fugo's hair.]
I don't remember you being all right with this, you know. This much touching. Not from me.
[That isn't actually what he set out to say, but now that he's started — well, whatever. His grin is crooked now as he laces their fingers together again.]
It's good, though. If I've got your hand in mine, then I always know where you are in case you get in trouble. And I always have someone to talk to. Or—
[He wrinkles his nose.]
Gesture to. I hope your throat gets better soon, I miss your voice already.
[Hey, now. Isn't this a little unfair? With nothing really holding it back in place, once ruffled, the longer pieces of Fugo's hair that he combs back fall right back over his face. And he can't really do the same to Giorno, since dismantling Giorno's hairdo is pretty obviously a two-hand endeavor--and Giorno has pretty obviously taken possession of one of his hands. He may never get it back form this weirdo who puts a lot of effort into curling, pinning, and tying his hair into rolls every morning. There's not much he can do but continue to pat Giorno's head--(once, twice, and a third time for good measure)--before smoothing down what's not been pulled into the rolls or his braid. His smile gives way to a stubborn little frown; but when he turns to write again, his expression smooths out.]
It's very annoying. Having the space to think about what I want to "say" is nice, in its own way, but the rest of this is very inconvenient.
As for your other points:
1) If that's the case, wouldn't you just be getting in trouble with me?
2) That was because we had just met. It would have been weird to treat you like Mista or Narancia right away. And I suppose I got the impression that you weren't comfortable with that sort of roughhousing.
[He briefly pauses, lifting up the pen to think; hadn't it taken him some time to get used to Narancia as well? Looking back on it, he can recall feeling confused and aggravated by how such a small person was able to take up so much space.]
As for now, or just in general it's--strange for me, sort of. It's always felt better to keep my distance, because of Purple Haze. But you're always reaching out to me. So, when I can, I want to try to reach for you. I keep thinking that it's going to be strange. And it is, a little, but only because I'm not used to it. So maybe it's strange that it isn't strange. I don't know. It's hard to put into words. None of these seem right.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Except now he isn't going out. And his stomach is still kind of in knots from trying to go out.]
If you have any books I could borrow, I would appreciate it. I have plenty, but I wouldn't say no to more reading material.
I'm glad your hands are fine. Too bad about the lamp.
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It was my least beautiful lamp so it's not the greatest loss in the world. My hands are much more important and beautiful.
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That's why I'm glad they're fine. The lamp is an acceptable loss. But you should still be careful. With the fire.
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Why don't I go outside briefly and do a little testing to see how this works? Maybe half an hour or so, just so I don't burn down your room. Then call it half an hour to find the books and grab lunch. With my beautiful unburned hands.
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[Somehow. He feels a little trapped in whatever he says next, just by the way Giorno keeps bringing up how beautiful his hands are.]
A non-burnt down room would be preferable to a burnt one, yes. I'll see you then. Have fun setting things that aren't your hands on fire, it's very cathartic.
[Arson: it's fun for the whole family!]
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I've really missed casual criminality. Thank god for you. An hour, then.
[And as it turns out, it is very cathartic, burning things that aren't his hands. He's able to burn quite a lot of things, a worrying amount of things, actually, and he still smells a little like char when he returns with a tray of food and a Very Large glass of water, Gold Experience trailing behind him carrying a huge stack of books on the local flora and fauna. He hipchecks the door to Fugo's room open easily. FUGO HOLY FUCK Giorno has never knocked in his life.]
Buon giorno! Are you still in agony?
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[Fugo's door gives way without any resistance, mostly because it was half-open to begin with. Fugo is sitting at his desk curled over a book, chin resting in one hand while the other takes neat notes, opened to math so complicated that it'd probably make Narancia cry. There's an empty mug that presumably used to be tea by his elbow.]
Buon-- [His voice is small, raspy, and barely audible. Fugo cuts himself short and reaches to massage his throat, looking both frustrated and confused. Why isn't it getting better? He's been drinking warm things all day, even though it's the middle of the summer and hot. With an irritated sigh, he reaches for his notes and flips to a fresh page to quickly write something. When the message is written, he holds it out for Giorno and Gold Experience to see.]
Not so much agony. Just sore. But my voice has been going out.
Sorry, I thought it would be better by now.
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[Oh no, he still can't talk. Giorno almost drops the tray in his haste to cross the room, sets it down on the side table and then darts out of the room again. Gold Experience is tugged along in his wake for approximately twenty seconds, and then they both return, the Stand still holding the books while Giorno carries a small box of flash cards. He shoves them into Fugo's hands and perches on the edge of the desk.]
They're Star's. They've got simple nouns and things like that. Maybe it'll help and you won't have to write so much.
1/3
He abandons the pose when Giorno comes back and pushes the cards into his lap, curiously lifting out the first card out of the box while he explains.]
2/3
Right. Star Platinum likes pudding, doesn't he. Fugo replaces the card, this time at very back of the box.]
3/3
He then reaches for his pen, to write a little note:]
I can write out or use the watches for anything more complicated.
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Mm, I'd try to fix it, but if it's anything like mine it won't work.
[Tapping his chin with the card, he reaches out absentmindedly and feels Fugo's forehead. Not the worst, but not great.]
Why aren't you lying down?
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Because I don't feel sick. My throat's just sore.
Besides, I'm finally switched back to daylight hours. I don't want to start over again.
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[He is momentarily stymied. How is he to fuss when there is nothing to fuss about, nothing to fix? It's that same old frustration. But at the very least it's Fugo, who appears to be willing to put up with a lot from him. For . . . reasons that he isn't thinking about right now.]
Then me bothering you is actually very helpful. I'm keeping you alert and awake and on a good sleep cycle.
[Giorno smiles brightly, right as Gold Experience slides the stack of books carefully onto the desk at Fugo's other side. The top volume is thick, with tiny text and gold trim, and is about kelpies.]
You are very welcome, Fugo, I don't mind at all.
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[Oh, books! Finally. Fugo's a much more contained person, but it's hard to miss the way he perks up at the thump when Gold Experience situates the stack of books at his other elbow. He reaches to close the math textbook he was studying from, pushing it aside in favor of tugging down that tome about kelpies off the top of the stack and laying it open in what little space is left on the face of his text. He idly flicks through the first few pages, not yet reading in depth-- just appreciating that someone took the time to write a very serious-minded book about the behavior of sticky river horses.
As tempting as it is to ignore lunch and just hunker down to read this instead, he knows better than to ignore Giorno. He closes the book and reaches again for the cards, trying to find one that would quickly communicate how helpful these books will be. None of them are perfect, but he finds one that he settles on as good enough for the moment: he pulls out and presents the BEST card to Giorno and Gold Experience.]
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[So, yes, he would have been fine to entertain himself for at least a minute or two. But after a few moments of perusing the first volume, Fugo turns to him with the card, and . . .]
[Oh.]
[No, it's . . . both of them. Him and Gold Experience. The card is for both of them. There's a tremor of uncertainty that shivers in the air between them, just for a second or two, and for that moment Giorno actually looks startled.]
[Then he smiles, slow and crooked and genuine, and plucks the card from Fugo's fingers, presents it to Gold Experience, who takes it with unblinking uncertainty.]
Look at this. Fugo likes you, just like you like him.
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[They rock Gold Experience's world. Giorno manages to contain his reaction to a quiet intake of breath, but it's difficult. His Stand is delighted in the way Gold Experience feels anything: every emotion, even the positive ones, sharp-edged as broken glass. It's not bad, though. Just jarring. A little cloying, maybe. But not bad, no.]
[And of course Gold Experience isn't nearly as subtle as Giorno'd like him to be. No, he startles visibly, back straightening as his gaze tracks the movements of Fugo's hand in the air. A breath, and he reaches forward, hand outstretched in a mirror of Fugo's wave, nearly close enough to touch before pulling back at the last minute. He turns to Giorno then, excited as a child, babbling under his breath, mudamudamuda.]
[Giorno winces, flapping his hand vaguely.]
All right, all right, already. I told you, he likes you.
[It's not clear who he's talking to, really. He does take the card back from Gold Experience, though, curls it slightly in both of his hands and ducks his head.]
He . . . likes that you're paying attention to him.
[That's significantly more transparent, at least.]
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Can he read? If he can't, that's fine.
The message would be for both of you.
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[That's strange, though, isn't it? The Pistols can, but they're special, more so than Gold Experience ever has been. It's not normal for a Stand to be able to read, or to be so . . . whatever Gold Experience is.]
[Giorno chews the inside of his cheek uncertainly, then tucks a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. His toes point just a little further towards the floor.]
I didn't know. Until recently. I didn't . . . teach him how, or anything like that. I suppose he just watched and learned. To write, too.
I honestly don't know why he does any of the things he does.
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
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(It's not like the Giorno he wanted to know better in Napoli, or the Giorno he's beginning to understand a little better in Ruby City. They're in turns bright and animated, sharp and dangerous. Giorno loves open and honestly and Giovanna protects what is his without flinching. Neither of them ever seem small.)
He thinks of the way Giorno pulled in a breath as Gold Experience became more animated. How he winced, the way he ducks his head. The almost dismissive way he gestured and spoke towards his Stand; how uncertainly he speaks now of Gold Experience's, quite honestly, amazing ability to read and understand independently of Giorno. Half a dozen little signs of too-familiar pain and sadness, all focused on Gold Experience.
Because it's Fugo, he has to take a moment to worry would this be all right, before he reaches up to catch Giorno's hand with his own as it drops back into his lap. But as he writes, his fingers loosely curl around Giorno's. This note takes a little more time. He writes slowly, choosing each word with care. When it's finished, he sets his pen aside and gestures for Gold Experience to come closer and so he can read what was written.]
I know you don't remember, because it hasn't happened for you yet.
But when we first saw each other again after a long time apart, you knew that I was hurt.
And before anything was said, before I even knew you were there, you healed me.
It meant a great deal to me then and still does today.
I'll never forget that morning.
Thank you.
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[Fugo's fingers curled around his remind him that he is himself, here and now. Fugo's fingers are warm, they feel warmer than his own even though that's got to be impossible. Maybe it's just that the presence and touch of them is so grounding, like half an instant of traveling home. For that moment he knows who he is without question, the Don Giovanna, Mista's and Trish's and Fugo's and everyone's, someone who belongs to himself but to the world, as well.]
[That knowledge doesn't preclude pain, though. It makes him feel less vulnerable, but he still feels everything else, too, the strange cocktail of affection and confusion and homesickness and protectiveness that Fugo stirs up in him, the aching possessiveness that makes him want to tighten his grip and never let go. Gold Experience leans over the desk and reads, and the shock waves are there, too.]
[It meant a great deal to me then and still does today.]
[I'll never forget that morning.]
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
[Take half a step towards me. Just half a step. That's all.]
[That first day, there was a moment when Giorno relaxed, from his head to his toes. It happens again now at the tail end of a shudder; he has to close his eyes to keep the sudden inexplicable tears in (the tears he could explain if he wanted to, but he doesn't, so he won't). Mascara faintly dots under his lower lid when he opens them again, the only clue besides the shakiness of his smile, but he laces his fingers through Fugo's to keep him from leaving. Not that he thinks he will. Not really. But he always worries, somewhere in the back of his mind, what if?]
[He glances at his Stand, who glances back at him, checking for . . . something. Approval, maybe. Whatever it is, he sees it, or feels it, and so he very, very carefully tears the piece of paper off and folds it into a small square. He considers the square for a moment, turns it around to consider all of its edges, and folds it in half again so that it's a triangle: three sides, not four.]
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Giorno laughs under his breath, bows his head, and presses his forehead to the back of Fugo's hand.]
He's going to keep that forever, you know.
[I love you so much, we love you so much.]
I'm going to keep you forever, too, though. So that's all right.
[Are you lonely, Gold Experience?]
[Not anymore.]
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It's a little strange, he thinks, how familiar this gesture has become; how naturally their fingers seem to criss-cross and fold together. His concern from before seems almost silly now in the face of how easily their palms fit up against each other. He's quickly distracted by Gold Experience, who tears out the note with the kind of reverence and care that it's like he's preserving a piece of artwork. And he laughs too, his shoulders briefly shaking with a voiceless chuckle, when he sees Gold Experience eliminate that pesky fourth edge--because that's a Mista habit, something he's seen dozens of times over in in letters and toast and sandwiches.
Before he has a chance to recover he's surprised again, this time when Giorno brings his forehead down onto their hands and-- God, Giogio, he thinks, you're so much sometimes. The back of his neck heats up and he briefly raises his other hand, pen still loosely held between his fingers, to cover his face. Even though Giorno's head is bowed, he is not allowed to see how red his face is all of a sudden, because he's just going to say something else embarrassing and it's just never going to stop. When he recovers, he smiles bashfully up again at Gold Experience and gingerly reaches out to pat the top of Giorno's weird, overdramatic head.]
[It's fine. All of that's fine. Gold Experience can keep what he wrote. Giorno can keep him. Because he isn't going anywhere. Wherever Giorno is--that's where he wants to be.]
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[Not that it matters. He takes the moment for all it's willing to give, stretches it out like someone unspeakable might, wraps it around his shoulders like the finest fur coat, and takes just seconds to rest. Fugo's hand smells like ink and graphite and faintly of blood from where he's chewed his nails too close to the quick. That smell belongs to Giorno now, like everything else about Fugo.]
[He wonders if Fugo is as worried about this as he is. It doesn't seem that way. Fugo is worried about everything else, but not this. Their fingers locked together doesn't faze him; he reaches out and touches the top of Giorno's head with some hesitation, but not much. That's startling, not just that it happens at all but that he likes it. He'd have expected it to feel patronizing if the idea was floated verbally, but it just feels familiar in a nice way, a soft and silly touch that he can't help but lean into.]
[Which is also embarrassing. So when he looks up he's a little red himself, but smiling, as he reaches out and ruffles Fugo's hair.]
I don't remember you being all right with this, you know. This much touching. Not from me.
[That isn't actually what he set out to say, but now that he's started — well, whatever. His grin is crooked now as he laces their fingers together again.]
It's good, though. If I've got your hand in mine, then I always know where you are in case you get in trouble. And I always have someone to talk to. Or—
[He wrinkles his nose.]
Gesture to. I hope your throat gets better soon, I miss your voice already.
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It's very annoying. Having the space to think about what I want to "say" is nice, in its own way, but the rest of this is very inconvenient.
As for your other points:
1) If that's the case, wouldn't you just be getting in trouble with me?
2) That was because we had just met. It would have been weird to treat you like Mista or Narancia right away. And I suppose I got the impression that you weren't comfortable with that sort of roughhousing.
[He briefly pauses, lifting up the pen to think; hadn't it taken him some time to get used to Narancia as well? Looking back on it, he can recall feeling confused and aggravated by how such a small person was able to take up so much space.]
As for now, or just in general it's--strange for me, sort of. It's always felt better to keep my distance, because of Purple Haze.
But you're always reaching out to me. So, when I can, I want to try to reach for you.
I keep thinking that it's going to be strange. And it is, a little, but only because I'm not used to it.
So maybe it's strange that it isn't strange. I don't know.
It's hard to put into words. None of these seem right.
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