[Good. Good, he's relaxing a little. Giorno squeezes his shoulder, then his hand in turn, thumb brushing against Fugo's where their fingers intertwine. The hand on his shoulder slides down a little, rubs circles against the small of his back; he's careful to keep his breathing steady and even.]

You can close your eyes if you want. I won't let anything happen, hm?

[He doesn't say I won't let anything hurt you, because he knows it goes both ways. Fugo is as afraid of hurting others as he is of being hurt himself. Maybe more so. Giorno isn't afraid of him, but he's afraid of himself.]

[He presses his nose to the top of Fugo's head, breathes in the smell of his hair, leaves a kiss on the crown of his head. He's glad he's better at this now. He's learned a lot. Fugo should have someone who's good at this.]

Do you want to talk? It doesn't have to be about what's bothering you.