[Giorno's tears don't last for long. He cries, but only for a little while. Only until he can choke and swallow down his misery without gagging on it. Fugo wishes he'd let himself cry a little longer; let himself grieve for the person whose loss he feels so painfully. But he does cry, enough that Fugo's shirtfront is damp with tears. And that's important, he thinks. That Giorno can let go and express a little bit of his pain.
While Giorno was crying, Fugo only held him. He made a space between his arms, crafted a shelter with his whole body. But he didn't try to comfort or soothe Giorno; nothing that might help him with smothering his own sadness. The comfort comes now after he's cried, in soothing circles on his back and Fugo resting his cheek on the top of Giorno's head. A stray hairpin from Giorno's victory rolls pokes him in the throat, but he doesn't pay it any attention. He holds him, breathing in slow and steadily out, as close as he can to his own heartbeat.]
Grief isn't fair. It just is. [It's just heavy. Heavy, cold, and exhausting. A burden whose weight is impossible to judge until it slips from his fingers and cracks the earth underneath his feet and he has to bend down, back cracking, to pick it up again.] I'd rather miss him together with you than any of the alternatives.
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While Giorno was crying, Fugo only held him. He made a space between his arms, crafted a shelter with his whole body. But he didn't try to comfort or soothe Giorno; nothing that might help him with smothering his own sadness. The comfort comes now after he's cried, in soothing circles on his back and Fugo resting his cheek on the top of Giorno's head. A stray hairpin from Giorno's victory rolls pokes him in the throat, but he doesn't pay it any attention. He holds him, breathing in slow and steadily out, as close as he can to his own heartbeat.]
Grief isn't fair. It just is. [It's just heavy. Heavy, cold, and exhausting. A burden whose weight is impossible to judge until it slips from his fingers and cracks the earth underneath his feet and he has to bend down, back cracking, to pick it up again.] I'd rather miss him together with you than any of the alternatives.