[He . . . doesn't understand right away. Or rather: he understands the words, but the entire meaning of them doesn't make it through all the way. I can't always tell what's a dream and what's not. What is that? How could you not--]

[And then: of course it could happen. For Fugo, it could happen. The line between waking and sleeping has always been so thin for him, and after Angelica . . . of course.]

[Giorno feels really stupid for not seeing it. Because Fugo was hiding it, yes, but isn't it his job to see this sort of thing?]

[Reflexively, he tugs Fugo closer against his side. He's not looking at Fugo, and Fugo isn't looking at him, but if anyone walked in the door right now they'd be startled, frightened at the fierce and dangerous look on his face. This is mine, is what that look says; you won't hurt him anymore. It's not directed at anyone, but then again, maybe it's directed at everyone.]

. . . I'm sorry. I didn't understand. I think that I do, now.

[He makes himself relax, turn a little so that they're closer to facing each other, although still not quite. Kisses Fugo on the top of his head and runs his fingers through his hair. You're mine, and no one will hurt you anymore.]

Thank you for telling me. I want to know. I want to help. I'm real, and me wanting to help, that's real too.