[It's too small. With that one brief sentence, Giorno has perfectly sized up why he doesn't like that word. It doesn't fit. It barely scratches the surface of who Giorno is to him. Take things one step at a time, Kakyoin said. But what are they supposed to do when they've taken the steps all out of order? Before he even came here, long before he started looking for reasons to spend time with Giorno or hold his hand, he made a promise: everything, for Giorno's dream. And he'd meant it, too.
So he doesn't like it. The thought of trying to stuff his promise into a word that's far too small.]
[While he's still thinking about that, Giorno lifts his head; some instinctual knowledge, gathered from the other times they've spoken seriously like this, tells him it's because Giorno wants to at least try to look him in the eye while he shares something important. The angle's a bit odd in their current position, but Fugo twists to meet him anyway--even when it turns out that Giorno can't look at him directly yet. It's fine, though. Giorno can take his time. Fugo is content to wait for him as long as he needs to, because he loves to watch Giorno talk. Especially when Giorno's taken off his makeup and they're close enough that Fugo could count the dusty freckles speckles across the bridge of his nose.
He does want to. And maybe he will, when they're finished talking; maybe he'll kiss the bridge of Giorno's nose and underneath his eyes and tell him in no uncertain terms that he adores Giorno's freckles. Right now, though, he needs to pay less attention to Giorno's face and more to what he's saying. Giorno is taking their thing-- their kissing thing, their ti amo thing, their dating thing-- and explaining why he chose the shape of aishiteru.
This thought is an aside, but an important one: Haruno is amazing. Not just for having the courage to relearn Japanese--but for holding on for so long, even as his head was held down under the water so he could be remade as Giorno. Have to be Italian to get what I want, Haruno shared with him him, months and months ago. And I want... everything. But here he is, holding tightly to him, and adamantly sharing aishiteru with him.]
[Fugo loves him. More than any words, any oath can say.]
Aishiteru. [He wants to lean in, rest his forehead against Giorno's, kiss him, do away with language altogether. It's so much easier to show rather than say. But this is part of love too, he thinks: choosing to do something difficult for the sake of someone else.] I ... like that it's that big. It feels like it has room for everything.
[He smiles, twitchy and fond, and gently pats Giorno's shoulder.] It's much better than some social shorthand.
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So he doesn't like it. The thought of trying to stuff his promise into a word that's far too small.]
[While he's still thinking about that, Giorno lifts his head; some instinctual knowledge, gathered from the other times they've spoken seriously like this, tells him it's because Giorno wants to at least try to look him in the eye while he shares something important. The angle's a bit odd in their current position, but Fugo twists to meet him anyway--even when it turns out that Giorno can't look at him directly yet. It's fine, though. Giorno can take his time. Fugo is content to wait for him as long as he needs to, because he loves to watch Giorno talk. Especially when Giorno's taken off his makeup and they're close enough that Fugo could count the dusty freckles speckles across the bridge of his nose.
He does want to. And maybe he will, when they're finished talking; maybe he'll kiss the bridge of Giorno's nose and underneath his eyes and tell him in no uncertain terms that he adores Giorno's freckles. Right now, though, he needs to pay less attention to Giorno's face and more to what he's saying. Giorno is taking their thing-- their kissing thing, their ti amo thing, their dating thing-- and explaining why he chose the shape of aishiteru.
This thought is an aside, but an important one: Haruno is amazing. Not just for having the courage to relearn Japanese--but for holding on for so long, even as his head was held down under the water so he could be remade as Giorno. Have to be Italian to get what I want, Haruno shared with him him, months and months ago. And I want... everything. But here he is, holding tightly to him, and adamantly sharing aishiteru with him.]
[Fugo loves him. More than any words, any oath can say.]
Aishiteru. [He wants to lean in, rest his forehead against Giorno's, kiss him, do away with language altogether. It's so much easier to show rather than say. But this is part of love too, he thinks: choosing to do something difficult for the sake of someone else.] I ... like that it's that big. It feels like it has room for everything.
[He smiles, twitchy and fond, and gently pats Giorno's shoulder.] It's much better than some social shorthand.