[The piece he's playing isn't quite finished. But Fugo lets it trail off anyway, shifting and turning so he can pay close attention to Giorno and his thought. He reaches out to loosely rest one of his hands over one of Giorno's, tracing slow circles with his fingers over the back of it.
His chest twists, more than a little painfully, when Giorno admits that there was a moment where he thought Fugo didn't like the way he looked. It's ... good, Fugo thinks, that Giorno maybe didn't need to come see him to know that thought wasn't true. But he hates it. Even though it's just a momentary stumble, a sting-- he hates that he said something that hurt Giorno.]
It does. [Before he says anything else, Fugo takes a moment to think about what it is about this misstep--(because even now, he can tell that it's little; it's not even a stumble, more the emotional equivalent of stubbing a toe)--that's so unsettling for both of them.] I think... when there's something about yourself that you had to teach yourself to believe, it's much easier to believe the opposite. Even if it's untrue. Because that's all you used to know.
[Fugo meets Giorno's eyes. Briefly, the fingers resting over Giorno's hand twitch and curl together.]
It's not your fault, you know. [He bites his lip, goes entirely pink and-- God. He wishes he were better at this. That he could say these sort of things without getting embarrassed, or needing to look somewhere else, because Giorno deserves to hear a chorus of it.] I ... love looking at you. When you're showing off and when you're just relaxing. I never get tired of it.
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His chest twists, more than a little painfully, when Giorno admits that there was a moment where he thought Fugo didn't like the way he looked. It's ... good, Fugo thinks, that Giorno maybe didn't need to come see him to know that thought wasn't true. But he hates it. Even though it's just a momentary stumble, a sting-- he hates that he said something that hurt Giorno.]
It does. [Before he says anything else, Fugo takes a moment to think about what it is about this misstep--(because even now, he can tell that it's little; it's not even a stumble, more the emotional equivalent of stubbing a toe)--that's so unsettling for both of them.] I think... when there's something about yourself that you had to teach yourself to believe, it's much easier to believe the opposite. Even if it's untrue. Because that's all you used to know.
[Fugo meets Giorno's eyes. Briefly, the fingers resting over Giorno's hand twitch and curl together.]
It's not your fault, you know. [He bites his lip, goes entirely pink and-- God. He wishes he were better at this. That he could say these sort of things without getting embarrassed, or needing to look somewhere else, because Giorno deserves to hear a chorus of it.] I ... love looking at you. When you're showing off and when you're just relaxing. I never get tired of it.