[Fugo listens to this with wide, wondering eyes. With all their shuffling about, his sweater has settled unevenly around his shoulders and he's too distracted by Giorno's pretty hands to fix it-- which, of course, means that one of Giorno's pesky marks is peeking out along the edge of the garment's collar. He grows steadily rosy the longer Giorno goes on.
And... he's floored, really. Too pretty! That's the turn of phrase Giorno is using to describe him sitting on a bench. Eating a sandwich.]
Giogio, you... [Fugo doesn't laugh. No, not at Giorno. Never. Why would he ever laugh at his boyfriend, who's never been silly a day in his life? Fugo smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching up, and bites his lower lip. No, he shouldn't. And then he reaches out to hold Giorno's face, wondering if what he says next will make the cheeks under his thumbs puff up or go red.] You're silly. I love you.
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And... he's floored, really. Too pretty! That's the turn of phrase Giorno is using to describe him sitting on a bench. Eating a sandwich.]
Giogio, you... [Fugo doesn't laugh. No, not at Giorno. Never. Why would he ever laugh at his boyfriend, who's never been silly a day in his life? Fugo smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching up, and bites his lower lip. No, he shouldn't. And then he reaches out to hold Giorno's face, wondering if what he says next will make the cheeks under his thumbs puff up or go red.] You're silly. I love you.