[Giorno is reaching for him, desperately, frantically, as if he's the last solid thing in an ocean of sadness. He's hurting so much-- he's been hurting, trying to carry his grief and loneliness to a place where only he has to be hurt by it. It's only by chance that Fugo has opened that door to let it all out in the open air.
Fugo doesn't hesitate. Not in taking Giorno's hand, making it so there isn't even a millimeter of air between their palms and locking their fingers together, or in moving forward to catch him before he even starts to fall. He briefly stands, holding up Giorno's weight on his narrow shoulder while he hooks his stool with his foot to draw it as close he can-- a little too close, even, because he ends up resting his feet on one of the bottom rungs of Giorno's stool when he sits down again. But it's fine, really. This way he can use his whole body to create a circle of space around Giorno; the space is small, but safe. Safe to be in and safe to cry in.]
I know. [In a perfect world, maybe, he would be able to keep his voice entirely steady. But Ruby City is far from perfect. For all the good things about it, there are certain facts that make it completely awful. And one of those facts is that Mista is not be here when he should be. Even though things aren't the same, probably won't ever be the same again, his absence is painful for Fugo too. He can't bring Mista here. He can't find a way to bring Giorno home, where they belong-- let alone scooping out all the good parts of Ruby City to bring back with them.
But in this imperfect world, where Fugo's voice wavers with an echo of Girono's grief and unhappiness, at least neither of them have to bear up under it alone. I know doesn't just mean that he knows that Giorno hurts: I know means I understand and if you cannot stand, let me hold you up.]
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Fugo doesn't hesitate. Not in taking Giorno's hand, making it so there isn't even a millimeter of air between their palms and locking their fingers together, or in moving forward to catch him before he even starts to fall. He briefly stands, holding up Giorno's weight on his narrow shoulder while he hooks his stool with his foot to draw it as close he can-- a little too close, even, because he ends up resting his feet on one of the bottom rungs of Giorno's stool when he sits down again. But it's fine, really. This way he can use his whole body to create a circle of space around Giorno; the space is small, but safe. Safe to be in and safe to cry in.]
I know. [In a perfect world, maybe, he would be able to keep his voice entirely steady. But Ruby City is far from perfect. For all the good things about it, there are certain facts that make it completely awful. And one of those facts is that Mista is not be here when he should be. Even though things aren't the same, probably won't ever be the same again, his absence is painful for Fugo too. He can't bring Mista here. He can't find a way to bring Giorno home, where they belong-- let alone scooping out all the good parts of Ruby City to bring back with them.
But in this imperfect world, where Fugo's voice wavers with an echo of Girono's grief and unhappiness, at least neither of them have to bear up under it alone. I know doesn't just mean that he knows that Giorno hurts: I know means I understand and if you cannot stand, let me hold you up.]