[Fugo listens. But before he listens, he waits. He knows none of these words are easy for Giorno to say; understands that they take time and courage to find. Rather than saying anything, he murmurs wordless encouragement and continues lightly tracing circles on the back of Giorno's hand. (It doesn't even occur to him that it might be a distraction. He can be awfully blind, sometimes, about what even a little touch of his is to Giorno.) He has faith in Giorno's ability to give shape to his feeling. And, if he's not ready--
Well, that's fine too. They have time. That's what the promises they've made to each other mean.]
[But Giorno does find the words. And when he does, Fugo quietly listens to him speak; his soft expression complex in its understanding and sadness, mixed in with an almost helpless fondness. He knows the prickly, crawling feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. And he knows what it's like to carry fear. After a while, it doesn't feel so heavy; after a while, the weight becomes normal. It never passes. It never really goes away, even when there's nothing to be afraid of anymore.]
Old fear... lingers. [Hangs around, mostly invisible until one is suddenly caught frozen in its shadow again. Fugo's hand shifts and twists, so he can lace their fingers together.] I'm not sure if it ever goes away.
[He leans forward, to touch their foreheads together.]
I'm glad you came to tell me. Because-- [He swallows and briefly closes his eyes.] Even though. I hate that I reminded you of that fear, I'm glad it didn't hold you back. [He opens his eyes again and, although it's hard to look directly at Giorno's face, he's determined not to look anywhere else.] I... know you know. But I want to be better about saying it. Even if you can see it, you deserve to hear it too.
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Well, that's fine too. They have time. That's what the promises they've made to each other mean.]
[But Giorno does find the words. And when he does, Fugo quietly listens to him speak; his soft expression complex in its understanding and sadness, mixed in with an almost helpless fondness. He knows the prickly, crawling feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. And he knows what it's like to carry fear. After a while, it doesn't feel so heavy; after a while, the weight becomes normal. It never passes. It never really goes away, even when there's nothing to be afraid of anymore.]
Old fear... lingers. [Hangs around, mostly invisible until one is suddenly caught frozen in its shadow again. Fugo's hand shifts and twists, so he can lace their fingers together.] I'm not sure if it ever goes away.
[He leans forward, to touch their foreheads together.]
I'm glad you came to tell me. Because-- [He swallows and briefly closes his eyes.] Even though. I hate that I reminded you of that fear, I'm glad it didn't hold you back. [He opens his eyes again and, although it's hard to look directly at Giorno's face, he's determined not to look anywhere else.] I... know you know. But I want to be better about saying it. Even if you can see it, you deserve to hear it too.