digiorno | ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅲ

[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.

. . . Ah?

[There's a question. God, he knows there is, he heard the way Fugo's voice went up at the end of his sentence. But it's so hard to focus. All he can think of is how nice Fugo's voice sounds, the ebb-and-flow roll of syllables that make up his name in Fugo's voice; how nice it feels, those words pressed against his skin. Fugo says he smells nice. Fugo's absolutely destroying him.]

[There's a question. He almost doesn't care. His breath stutters, eyes half-opening to look beyond Fugo at . . . the piano. The stage curtains. He blinks.]

I--

[Can't make decisions while you're doing that. But if he says that, maybe Fugo will stop.]

Don't want you to stop.

[There. That's . . . hm. He murmurs, listening to and letting himself feel Fugo's breathing, one of his favorite natural rhythms in the world. He listens to his own heartbeat, which doesn't know what to do with itself.]

But you're making me so-- If we stay here, I think I'll fall. [A conundrum. He sighs plaintively. He doesn't want to move, but he doesn't want to fall, but he hates the idea of being anywhere but wrapped up in Fugo as he is. This is terrible.]

I don't want you to fall.

[That's ... common sense. But it still feels weird to put into the air in this moment, which doesn't make common sense at all. Fugo lingers where he is, reluctant to leave the delightful curve of Giorno's neck, for a few moments longer. And then, with great regret, begins the journey of kissing back up to Giorno's jawline.]

It's not... really stopping. If we moved somewhere else. [... no, Fugo, that's pretty much the definition of stopping. Which he, very notably, hasn't yet. Rather than pulling away to try and convince Giorno (and himself) of the merits of relocating, he continues to ramble all of this nonsense right where he is.] It's more like-- pausing. I'll come back for my papers later, so we don't have to waste time picking them up. And you could hold onto me while we walked. I just can't carry you. Then I'd fall, probably, which is what we're trying to avoid.

No falling.

[All of his words come out so slow. He knows he should be trying to work on this--conversation they're trying to have, this problem they're trying to solve. But his eyes have fallen shut again with the gentle pressure of Fugo's words breathed against his jaw.]

[His grip eases. A little. For a moment. Then it tightens again, because no, he still might fall.]

You'll keep kissing me when we get there? It's good, I like it a lot. I like everything you're doing.

Yes. Of course. I want to kiss you ev-- [Fugo hesitates, in the middle of a last kiss-- as a promise that, in just a little bit, they can get back to this-- to Giorno's temple. Something's clicked in his head that... no. Maybe he shouldn't say "I want to kiss you everywhere," because if he does he will probably combust in place while walking back home.] Um. Yes, I'll keep kissing you. I want to keep doing that.

[That's a good instinct. They wouldn't get anywhere if Fugo said that out loud, probably; Giorno would start kissing him and refuse to stop, and he'd not only fall off the piano bench but off the stage.]

[Instead, the reassurance soothes him enough to at last loosen his grip. He pulls away, even--not far, but a bit, so that he can look Fugo over. Fugo, who is so beautiful, who's flushed and a little unfocused and who wants to keep kissing him . . .]

[And Giorno kisses him. Just once. It's a sweet kiss, but it's also--well. Giorno's gotten very good at putting all of the feelings he can't verbalize into his kisses in the last six months or so. This kiss is full of love, but also of the simmering warmth he would like to get back to as soon as possible, the reason he's so reluctant to let go.]

[But he can't let it be a long kiss, or they'll linger on the edge of leaving for ages. So after a moment he pulls away and sighs.]

Okay. Okay, let's go, then.

[He bites his lip and stands to go; his eyes catch on the burst of color that is the flower atop the piano, and--oh. He carefully plucks it up and tucks it behind his ear. He can't leave a present behind. They'll have to get the pudding later, though, because he'd absolutely drop it on the way back if he tried to bring it now.]

[Giorno is the most eloquent person Fugo knows. He paints vibrant pictures with his words and weaves patterns, some visible and others not, that guide whoever is listening to him as surely as if Giorno was gently tugging them forward by the hand. In the past six months, those same words have failed him again and again; he's sat flustered, tongue tied, overwhelmed by his own enormous emotions.

And so, the two of them together, have come up with a language that doesn't need words. It's expressed with kisses and little touches; warm smiles, tearful ones, smiles stretched wide with laughter; furtive glances and unbreakable eye contact. Fugo learns a little more of it every day. Of all the languages he knows, this is his favorite to practice.]

[Giorno's kiss means I love you. But at the same time, it's greedy--don't keep me waiting. Fugo's response, relayed through the twitch of his fingers and the way he bites his lip when they part, boils down to soon, soon, soon and there's no one I would rather be with than you.]

[It's with some reluctance that he stands, a heartbeat behind Giorno--he means to link their arms together without hesitation, but the way Giorno tucks the flower in his hair gives him pause. It's ... cute. Wait, more than that--

Giorno is leaving his pudding behind. Which is about as strange, Fugo thinks, as the fact that it honestly doesn't matter much in this moment to leave his sheet music and notes behind. Normally it wouldn't matter that there's no one to see or take note of his mess: leaving a bunch of paper strewn about would make him anxious. But Fugo knows that as soon as they walk out the door, he'll forget them in favor of the feeling of Giorno's hand in his and the promise of a kiss just a few moments in the future.]

Let's hurry. But carefully.

[So they don't trip, or something. That would be unbelievably stupid.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject