[Giorno is the most eloquent person Fugo knows. He paints vibrant pictures with his words and weaves patterns, some visible and others not, that guide whoever is listening to him as surely as if Giorno was gently tugging them forward by the hand. In the past six months, those same words have failed him again and again; he's sat flustered, tongue tied, overwhelmed by his own enormous emotions.
And so, the two of them together, have come up with a language that doesn't need words. It's expressed with kisses and little touches; warm smiles, tearful ones, smiles stretched wide with laughter; furtive glances and unbreakable eye contact. Fugo learns a little more of it every day. Of all the languages he knows, this is his favorite to practice.]
[Giorno's kiss means I love you. But at the same time, it's greedy--don't keep me waiting. Fugo's response, relayed through the twitch of his fingers and the way he bites his lip when they part, boils down to soon, soon, soon and there's no one I would rather be with than you.]
[It's with some reluctance that he stands, a heartbeat behind Giorno--he means to link their arms together without hesitation, but the way Giorno tucks the flower in his hair gives him pause. It's ... cute. Wait, more than that--
Giorno is leaving his pudding behind. Which is about as strange, Fugo thinks, as the fact that it honestly doesn't matter much in this moment to leave his sheet music and notes behind. Normally it wouldn't matter that there's no one to see or take note of his mess: leaving a bunch of paper strewn about would make him anxious. But Fugo knows that as soon as they walk out the door, he'll forget them in favor of the feeling of Giorno's hand in his and the promise of a kiss just a few moments in the future.]
Let's hurry. But carefully.
[So they don't trip, or something. That would be unbelievably stupid.]
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And so, the two of them together, have come up with a language that doesn't need words. It's expressed with kisses and little touches; warm smiles, tearful ones, smiles stretched wide with laughter; furtive glances and unbreakable eye contact. Fugo learns a little more of it every day. Of all the languages he knows, this is his favorite to practice.]
[Giorno's kiss means I love you. But at the same time, it's greedy--don't keep me waiting. Fugo's response, relayed through the twitch of his fingers and the way he bites his lip when they part, boils down to soon, soon, soon and there's no one I would rather be with than you.]
[It's with some reluctance that he stands, a heartbeat behind Giorno--he means to link their arms together without hesitation, but the way Giorno tucks the flower in his hair gives him pause. It's ... cute. Wait, more than that--
Giorno is leaving his pudding behind. Which is about as strange, Fugo thinks, as the fact that it honestly doesn't matter much in this moment to leave his sheet music and notes behind. Normally it wouldn't matter that there's no one to see or take note of his mess: leaving a bunch of paper strewn about would make him anxious. But Fugo knows that as soon as they walk out the door, he'll forget them in favor of the feeling of Giorno's hand in his and the promise of a kiss just a few moments in the future.]
Let's hurry. But carefully.
[So they don't trip, or something. That would be unbelievably stupid.]