[It's difficult to make out what Giorno is saying. Part of Fugo's troubles are because Giorno refuses to leave the refuge of Fugo's shoulder; he rambles on and on in the hollow of Fugo's neck, which means Fugo has to focus intently to figure out exactly what words he's using. Except that's really impossible when faced with the distraction's of Giorno's warm breath on his skin and his hands. Oh, God, his hands. Fugo jolts in place and sucks in a sharp breath, desperate not to interrupt so he can listen to what Giorno has to say.

In the end, it takes him a few moments longer than usual to understand Giorno's dilemma. But when he eventually does, he zeroes in on two immediate solutions. Neither of them are easy for someone like him. But he can do it. He can meet Giorno halfway like this, because--]

It's okay. I love you. I-- know you. [There isn't much of Giorno he can reach to kiss right now. But Fugo does his best anyway, leaning down to press an affectionate one to the top of his head. God, he loves this boy.] If you can't say it, you'll-- you already showed me, right?

[When Fugo shifts his hand on Giorno's shoulder, this time it's with purpose; he curls his fingers so his nails, still short but so much less ragged after he started painting them, are angled against Giorno's skin. And then he very deliberately pulls it down, dragging his nails down Giorno's back.]

I want-- you, Giogio, all of you. Keep going, don't stop. This is good. What you're doing is-- it's very good, I like it. Be greedy. I love you.