[It's important to keep the conversation on track. Fugo knows that he should but, at the same time... honestly, he's very worn already. He's content just to sit curled close with Giorno, listening to him breathe and absently picking at and fiddling with the knit sleeve of Giorno's nightgown. He likes the texture of it underneath his fingertips; still, he listens and feels for any sign from Giorno that he should stop. Just in case.]

Dating, [he murmurs. The word feels odd in his mouth, especially in relation to the two of them. So he says it again and, this time, it's a little easier.] We're dating, now. [Fugo purses his lips and thinks Giorno's question over.] I honestly have no idea. We... started this in October, but only talked about it today. Do you care about sharing the week with Christmas?