[What happens next is very silly. At first, Fugo doesn't seem to find his own words. He's surprised and pleased and, oh, it's all over his face. A crooked smile tugs at a corner of the mouth as he considers the idea that yes-- really!-- his weird sideways style of flirting actually... works. On someone as charming and clever and lovely as Giorno. It's one of those things that seems a little too good to be true, except he has evidence of that sitting here with him. On him. Smoothing out the wrinkles of his sweater, less because he'd like to see it sitting nicely and ... probably because Giorno will take any excuse to touch him.

Wow. That's all he can think, for a while. Who would have thought?]

[But eventually, Fugo gathers himself back up again. His expression settles into something very more like his usual self, very stern and serious. This is a grave matter that needs to be addressed immediately.]

Giorno. [He pulls his hands away from Giorno's waist and places them on his shoulders, and-- well, to be honest, briefly dazed by the feeling of warm skin under his palms. He blinks. What was he-- oh, right. He returns to seriousness, soldiering on despite his pink ears.] Giogio. That makes me very happy. But you know, if you're a pushover and I have a one hundred percent success rate, how am I supposed to improve? I take being my very best for you very seriously.