[This is the part in the movie, Giorno knows, when the music swells. When two people lean in towards each other, and there's a tender piano crescendo, and everything comes to a point of understanding. After a fight, two people kiss and make up, and the camera's focus is a little blurred, and maybe it's dark and there are candles or stars, or it's on a beach, or . . .]
[Except this is life, and he likes it better this way. There aren't stars or candles, there's no sound of waves in the background; they're in a slightly dusty, echoey theater. There's no music, now that Fugo's stopped playing and focused all of his attention on Giorno. There's no crescendo. There wasn't even a fight.]
[The feeling is the same, though. The tenderness. The love, which he feels at home in now and far less afraid of, like it's just a second skin. Just part of him.]
[A little while ago, he made the conscious choice to think and proceed from his conclusions. Now, it's less of a conscious choice; he just feels that the right step is not the dramatic one, but a simple affirmation given to this boy who's meeting his eyes despite all his shyness, despite his nerves, despite his own fear of getting everything wrong all the time, and again, and always.]
[Giorno takes Fugo's face in his hand, the hand that isn't warm in Fugo's. And he smiles.]
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[Except this is life, and he likes it better this way. There aren't stars or candles, there's no sound of waves in the background; they're in a slightly dusty, echoey theater. There's no music, now that Fugo's stopped playing and focused all of his attention on Giorno. There's no crescendo. There wasn't even a fight.]
[The feeling is the same, though. The tenderness. The love, which he feels at home in now and far less afraid of, like it's just a second skin. Just part of him.]
[A little while ago, he made the conscious choice to think and proceed from his conclusions. Now, it's less of a conscious choice; he just feels that the right step is not the dramatic one, but a simple affirmation given to this boy who's meeting his eyes despite all his shyness, despite his nerves, despite his own fear of getting everything wrong all the time, and again, and always.]
[Giorno takes Fugo's face in his hand, the hand that isn't warm in Fugo's. And he smiles.]
Fugo. You're a very good boyfriend.