[There's about half a second when the stubborn, vindictive part of Giorno wants to pull away. He only freezes for a moment, though, before slumping against Mettaton's shoulder. There's not really any point, after all. Dramatic gestures like that in a situation like this . . . it's just burning seconds, and he's certain there aren't many to waste.]

I don't.

[This is, admittedly, sullen. He's hurt. He was always going to be hurt. But there's a part of him that isn't, because it's not surprised and never is. Of course. Bruno, Narancia, Polnareff, Kaz, and Mettaton. Who's next? He should be grateful that some people on that list aren't dead, but he can't quite access that emotion.]

[After a moment, he acquiesces:] I'm not good at it. But I don't want . . . I don't know. I'm not fragile, you don't need to act as though I need to--to be eased into it. I'm stronger than you think I am, and it's not as though you're the first person to leave me behind.

[It isn't about him, that's a fact he knows even without knowing the details. It's something else he can't quite seem to access.]