[Fugo nods, allows himself to be turned towards the bed and lead across the room. He puts one foot in front of the other--(left, right, left, right, left)--until he makes it there, the fingers of one hand tangled in the folds of Giorno's nightgown in an unconscious desire to keep himself grounded. He pulls away only briefly, just long enough to climb up and fold himself up against the headboard; he feels awkward and pokey all over, and this is the easiest way to eliminate some of his angles. Once Giorno's up with him, he drifts back to his shoulder.]
Thank you. [For being awake, for telling him to come over, for recognizing his clawing need to be close without asking why. He's not sure how to put it into words, other than he feels awful and clung to the idea that Giorno's presence would soothe the worst of his rawness.]
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Thank you. [For being awake, for telling him to come over, for recognizing his clawing need to be close without asking why. He's not sure how to put it into words, other than he feels awful and clung to the idea that Giorno's presence would soothe the worst of his rawness.]