[It's difficult to know how to react. Here's Fugo, rosy; here's Fugo, with the fading marks of Giorno's teeth peeking out from under the collar of his sweater; here's Fugo, laughing at him, or close to it. Calling him silly. Here's Fugo, comfortable enough with him now, with this now, to do that.]

[Giorno's head is spinning a little. He thinks he should be irritated, but he just can't make himself do it. Being in love is so complicated.]

Well--! I love you too.

[A beat. He puffs up his cheeks, glances sideways.]

I know it's silly. I just--honestly! I wasn't ever going to say anything. I thought it would be--inappropriate. Or forward, or something. It's not my fault you're so pretty. You've always been so pretty, and you just get prettier.