digiorno | ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅲ

[It doesn't take long for Fugo to realize first that something is up and second that what's up is that Giorno is sulking. Probably because he feels his cuteness has not been properly acknowledged.

Hm. What to do, what to do.]

[Eventually, Giorno will receive a video message. The image wobbles, unfocused, before Fugo sets his watch down. The feed eventually focuses on a cup of chocolate pudding; there's a spoon resting next to it, and a sprig of pink gillyflower on top of it. There are a few rustling sounds, presumably Fugo sitting down at the bench, before the familiar notes of Fugo's favorite warm-up piece start to play from the piano.]

[Giorno does something pretty wild upon receiving this video. He doesn't trip over himself rushing to go see Fugo. He doesn't deliberately ignore the message and continue sulking, either. Instead he just thinks for a while.]

[He isn't mad or anything, but his feelings are sort of hurt, which he didn't realize when he started sulking. It was more a sulk on principle. And even now it's not that big of a deal, just . . . sort of a sticky feeling.]

[After some thought, he washes his face, throws his hair up in a ponytail, and wanders over to the theater. He follows the music until he sees Fugo, then climbs up on stage and sits quietly on the bench with him, watching the movement of his hands with interest.]

[It takes a while for Giorno to come see him. Long enough that he can tell that Giorno's sulking is more than just for show. And he can't help himself: knowing that he said something wrong makes his stomach twist with anxiety.

Because he made a mistake. And it would be so easy to think this is it, I've ruined a perfectly good thing. But he doesn't let himself slip into that insidious train of thought. Half a step is what he thinks about instead.]

[By the time Giorno arrives, Fugo has worked through his warm-up piece and has moved on to practicing something soft and slow. A thoughtful, calm piece to help keep his thoughts from twisting out of control. His shoulders ... ah, well. They're not entirely as loose and relaxed as they usually are by this point in his routine. But neither are they taut with worry. And when Giorno takes a seat next to him, they relax a little further.]

Hello.

[He's... very glad to see Giorno. He doesn't want to be overbearing, so he tries not to let it show too much. But to anyone who knows him, it's plainly obvious: in the way his eyes flick to glance at Giorno through his eyelashes before he looks back down at the keys, the subtle change in the way his fingers curl to ease music out of the piano, how a little furrow between his eyebrows smooths out.

Giorno is here. Whatever wrong thing he said, they'll work it out. The two of them, they're okay. They will meet halfway, just like they always do.]

Have any requests?

[Fugo's been worrying. Love hits Giorno between his ribs, like it does so often when they're close to each other, when Fugo does some little thing that makes his heart twist in such a beautiful way.]

Not really. This is good.

[He hums softly, a tentative harmony, and then leans in to kiss Fugo's cheek. It's okay, is what that kiss says, you didn't break anything.]

. . . I had a thought. It was--pretty silly, now I've thought about it.

[Fugo goes pink. He's a little flustered by the kiss, but mostly just ... relieved. So he can't help but smile, twitchy and fond, because of the gesture of affection. And Giorno's go at harmony. That's sweet too.]

Mm. Okay. [He chews on the inside of his cheek, before tentatively asking:] Can I hear it? Your thought.

Okay.

[It's hard to make the right sounds with his mouth when he's smiling so much. So irrepressibly. Fugo's happy, he's pink in the cheeks, he's . . .]

[Mm. Giorno kisses him again. Just because.]

I thought maybe you were serious. That you really didn't--

[His brow furrows. He doesn't really want to say this out loud, but he forces himself to push it out.]

That you don't think I'm--that you don't like the way I look very much. And I thought about it, and I know it's not true, I just . . . I had that thought.

. . . I was going to show off so you'd look at me, but I came like this instead, and I think that's good because I--you're still happy to see me. So I really know how wrong I was. Does--that make any sense?

[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.

[Fugo understands. It isn't surprising, but it's a relief. The vise-tightness in his chest loosens a bit, the anxiety at possibly being misunderstood. Fugo understands, and he has clever, sensible words to apply to this situation. This feeling.]

[Giorno is so grateful for Fugo in this moment that his breath catches, a sharp feeling lingering in his chest.]

That's--that's it, yes. I used to--

[Again he struggles against his own instincts. He hates talking about Haruno. But he knows Fugo understands now. He can do this. It'd be unfair to start and then stop halfway.]

[He worries his lip a little, focusing on the feeling of Fugo's fingers tracing the back of his hand. It's such a slight touch, but it fills him with butterflies. He doesn't think Fugo knows. Either way, though, it's a good distraction.]

. . . You understand because it's the same for you, isn't it? We don't look like most people back home. It used to be worse for me, before my hair changed, but even after people look at me like--like they're trying to figure me out. With unkind eyes.

I thought, if people are going to look at me anyway I'll make sure they look in awe. I know it doesn't make sense, I don't even know . . . where it came from this time. It wasn't even your words, it was just . . .

[For a moment he's distant, elsewhere, trying to figure it out. When he does, he pronounces it carefully.]

Fear. Old fear. It isn't mine anymore. Or it shouldn't be. You didn't make me afraid, I already was.

[It's only now that he looks up at Fugo, unaccountably shy, through his lashes. He isn't sure what he feels besides gratitude and love, but--mostly those things.]

I love when you look at me. And I know--I know how you feel. I can see it. I like to hear it, but even if you don't say a word I can see it in your eyes when you're looking.

[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.

[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.]

Fugo. You're a very good boyfriend.

[Fugo smiles around and underneath Giorno's fingers. As always, it's crooked and he's self-conscious about it. But it's warm and sweet in a way that only Giorno gets to see; a smile reserved for the beautiful, brilliant boy he's so wholeheartedly in love with.]

Want to know my secret? [There's hardly any gap between them. Leaning in is a dangerous prospect, because now their noses are nudging--and, honestly, each word is a little kiss all on its own.] I want to do my best, for-- ...

[Okay. He can do this. He can say it, he can put these words out there.]

My exceptionally cute boyfriend.

[Oh.]

[This is ridiculous. It's not like it's that much of a surprise. It's just that Giorno didn't know they were starting already. Or that Fugo was starting, and that he should be ready for--that.]

[Exceptionally cute.]

Ah, [he says out loud, stupidly, as he feels prickles of heat spread across his cheeks. His eyes are wide and startled. Fugo is so close to him right now, and he has no idea what to do. But--in a good way.]

[He should say something. He closes his eyes, and thinks, and when thinking doesn't get him anywhere, he just lets feeling lead him, this time.]

I like that, [is where it decides to take him. He opens his eyes.] I think I'm becoming predictable--every time I come see you here, I end up wanting to kiss you. But maybe that's your fault.

It might be. But, you know-- [Fugo pulls back-- which would likely be disappointing, if he didn't immediately lean in to kiss the spot between Giorno's eyebrows.] This is a pretty good place to kiss.

[He then starts to work slowly down and around Giorno's face, kissing his temple; his cheek; and all along the line of his jaw.]

That being said. I believe I've heard you say that you think about kissing me a great deal. All the time, even. What makes here so different?

[Giorno is briefly, desperately disappointed. Even when they aren't kissing, or about to kiss, he likes to be close enough to count every single one of Fugo's eyelashes. It's the best place to be in any situation.]

[But then Fugo comes back. And kisses him. And then kisses him again, and again, and he was not expecting this at all, and the combination of surprise and delight and being so overwhelmed makes him--and here's a throwback--squeak.]

[He squeezes his eyes shut and covers them with one hand.]

. . . I--do not have a rebuttal at this time.

[Fugo makes a thoughtful noise, before magnanimously declaring:]

I'll allow you time to think of one. But only if you kiss me in the meantime.

[He very graciously does not remark on on the squeak. But let it be known: it did not go unnoticed. It has been filed away in his memory. It will never be forgotten. It was, after all, incredibly cute. He's... so glad. That he can surprise Giorno in this way; make Giorno so happy that he can't help but make a silly sound.]

[The obvious danger here is, of course, that Giorno will prolong the period of kissing indefinitely while he claims to think of a rebuttal. He chooses not to point that out right now, though. He's too busy being happily infuriated by how smug Fugo is.]

[He likes Fugo smug. It's a good look on him for a lot of reasons, some happy and some sad, none of which he's going to dwell on at this moment. He just--]

[Well. Makes another stupid, sort of strangled sound, before pulling Fugo firmly forward by his tie and kissing him, very soundly. Take that.]

[Oh, no. Giorno has yanked him forward by his tie to kiss him. Whatever is he going to do?

(Which is-- you know, that's nice. He likes the bossiness of the gesture; the way Giorno tugs him forward, to an angle that's maybe not perfect but good enough because that's how much Giorno wants to be kissing him.)

Well. The answer to that is so obvious it's barely even a question. Fugo smiles, leans forward into Giorno's very adamant kiss, and does his best to keep balanced by holding on to Giorno's shoulders with both hands.]

[It's a good kiss. He likes how off-balance Fugo is. He likes how off-balance Fugo's made him, too. The angle of this kiss is good enough, and he has time to make it better. So he does.]

[His fingers find their way into Fugo's hair, because that's what he wants. He lets the hand grabbing Fugo's tie wrap itself up in it, slow and careful, as they kiss, because he wants that, too: to have Fugo close enough, secure enough, that there's no reason for either of them to move away.]

You're right, [is what he says after a bit against Fugo's lips, eyes still closed. Why move? He refuses.] I'm always thinking about kissing you. But I try to be good and let you practice.

[And fucking fails, obviously.]

[As the kiss continues, Fugo doesn't ... quite forget about teasing Giorno. It's more that he puts the thought aside in favor of favor of craning in and finding that perfect angle with Giorno; his fingers twitch and curl in the fabric of Giorno's shirt and he murmurs, helplessly pleased, at the light, ticklish feeling of Giorno's own fingers on the nape of his neck.

Unfortunately, he can't seem to find it again when the kiss ends. He's too caught up in the lingering warmth of Giorno's mouth on his. It's been months--(half a year, he realizes all of a sudden; it's been half a year since that day in October)--since they first started kissing and he's still dazzled by it.]

Hmm? [Oh. Right. He... was teasing Giorno, just a few minutes ago. But that was before he realized that Giorno's hand in his tie was keeping him tethered in place. Not that he needs to. Why would he want to move? Here is good. Here is perfect. Just look at Giorno; how content he looks, how soft and feathery his eyelashes are.] Oh. Well. As long as you try.

[Un......... believable.]

I do.

[He sighs, then opens his eyes wide. So earnest. He isn't trying to tease, he's genuinely so earnest right now, which probably just makes what he's about to say a million times worse. He means it. And that's terrible.]

[Carding his fingers through the hair at the back of Fugo's neck, he nods. Reassuring both of them that, yes, he tries. All the time. But--]

The only thing is that you're--actually irresistible.

[Call........... the police on him.]

[What. What? Wha..at.]

[Over all this time, Fugo has gotten better at reading Giorno's intent; he has a much better grasp on when Giorno is actually teasing him and when Giorni is ... just trying to describe the enormity of his feelings.

Which doesn't make the phrase actually irresistible any less than totally overwhelming. Because it is. If Giorno didn't have such a firm grip on him, he would just fold up in on himself in his fluster.]

Well... that's it. [Because he has nowhere else to hide, really, Fugo tightly closes his eyes. His heart is running a hundred miles a minute and his chest is full of butterflies.] For practice. I won't be able to think about anything but--

[There's no point in finishing that sentence. Giorno knows what he means, so why bother to take the time to say it when they could be kissing again? Fugo closes the gap again, clumsy and embarrassed and without any clever words to back hi up. He's absolutely ruined. Piano just isn't going to happen today.]

[Oh. Fugo is so . . . Giorno sighs, because there aren't words. He's fragile and magnificent and gorgeous and devastating and perfect, and there isn't a word for all of those things. At least not one that he knows. At least not one that he can access right now, due to being so devastated.]

[Even so, he feels a little thrill of victory. He wasn't competing, but he did sort of win by accident. Fugo won't be able to think about anything but him, about what he's said; that's why there's no more piano today. And Giorno feels a little bad for ruining Fugo's plans, and he won't try to make a habit of it or anything, but--]

[It's impossible to mind.]

[He meets Fugo's clumsy kiss with a delighted hum, fingers tightening bossily in his hair again as his other hand settles in at Fugo's hip. He's so happy it's a little ridiculous--pleased with himself for saying it, because he's been thinking it for a while. How hard it is for him to focus on anything else in the world when Fugo is close by, right there for the kissing, not being kissed.]

[He's all dizzy with a knot of good feelings that boil down to Giorno, Giorno, Giorno. Giorno's words, fluttering up through his chest and buzzing around in his thoughts; Giorno's mouth, which is warm and soft and insistent; Giorno's hands, tugging in his hair and pressing at his hip. God. Although he knows, logically, that there are plenty of things to do with Giorno other than kiss that they both enjoy, it's hard to think of any in this particular moment.

Even when the kiss finishes, Fugo can't help himself; he reaches up to cup Giorno's face with both of his hands, smiling hazily, before delicately tipping Giorno's face to one side so he has the best possible angle to leave a trail of soft kisses along his jaw and down his neck while he murmurs affectionate nonsense between them. It's mostly a muffled stream I love you - ti amo - aishiteru, but there's a few new turns of phrase mixed in with it; you're beautiful - so lovely and carino, carino, carino.

Because it's all true. And it's much easier to say when he's not thinking about anything or anyone but Giorno.]

[And that's how Giorno fell off the piano bench.]

[Well, not really. It's a close call, though. There's a lot about this thing that's happening right now that's unexpected. It isn't the kissing, which he's happily used to by now, and it isn't the emotion, although--maybe the relief of honesty has something to do with it after all.]

[The really strange thing is that they are on a stage. Literally on a stage, and that isn't a very Fugo place to kiss, especially not in this particular way, and Giorno is just about to ask him if he's sure this is okay when . . .]

[When Fugo says you're beautiful, and kisses his neck, and in the space before he bites down hard on his lip there's a helpless gasp that he will later probably refuse to acknowledge.]

[It's honestly his own fault. He shouldn't have underestimated Fugo, the cleverest person he knows, who always learns too fast for anyone else's good. But he did, and now here he is, totally overwhelmed by this learning curve and the words pressed against his throat between kisses. It's karma, not being able to think or even breathe because of carino carino carino, but--as usual-- he's not sorry. As he instinctively digs his fingers into Fugo's hip and moves to grab onto shoulder instead of hair so he won't fall, as he tries to squirm closer and tips his head for better access and stubbornly bites his lip, he isn't even the tiniest bit sorry he was wrong this time.]

[Later, Fugo will be pretty embarrassed by his own behavior. They were on a stage. Anyone could have walked in on them. But in this moment, he doesn't want to and frankly can't think about anything or anyone but--]

Giogio, [he sighs, into the crook of his neck.] Giorno.

[In this moment, he could sit on this bench and kiss Giorno's neck... probably forever. He's so close. So warm. So soft. Giorno's grip on his shoulder and at his hip is tight, almost painful; he can feel each fingertip as it digs into his side. The smell of Giorno's fading perfume, floral and sweet, tickles his nose.]

Mm. You smell nice. [He kisses Giorno's neck again, thoughtful. They're all caught up with each other and balanced enough... for now. But there really isn't much room for them together on the bench, even though Giorno has squirmed as close to him as he possibly can get. Not a lot of room for error.] Do... you want to stay here? Or go somewhere else.

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