[Sometime during this explanation, Giorno's eyes open. After another moment or two, his gaze slides sideways, eerily smooth and slow, until they fix on Jin. He is always looking for a lie. This is almost certainly not one, but he still has to check. Always watch his back. Always.]
[Not with Fugo, though. And that's the other piece. He wonders.]
Yes. That's the conclusion I've come to as well, in the end.
[He says it clinically, academically, like it wasn't painful, like it didn't make him regret everything about himself all over again. Which is in complete contradiction to what he said just a moment ago, but that's fine. He's sure Jin will understand why he does it.]
[Even if he doesn't, it's no secret that in this moment Giorno is a little bit elsewhere. It's worn him out, being this honest. He wants Fugo; he wants to wind his fingers together with Fugo's and dance with words around their broken hearts. He wants to sit with Kaz and be vicious in the ways that only they can be. He wants to sit alone and cry soundlessly about Bruno Buccellati, whom he might as well have killed with his own hands.]
I feel a little bad, [he murmurs, glancing away again.] I can tell . . . you're sharing something with me that you don't share with many people. And I think maybe it makes you sad to talk about it. Have I made you sad? I don't know. I think I have, a little.
[His voice is soft, his phrasing stilted and angular. Don Giovanna isn't here right now; someone else is, someone who Giorno chooses not to name.]
I don't like that. I don't want that. I want you to be happy. I should be able to make that happen. So sometimes, it's easier to just lie. I'd rather smile and protect--the boys with just themselves, their weapons, their wits. Someone should.
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[Not with Fugo, though. And that's the other piece. He wonders.]
Yes. That's the conclusion I've come to as well, in the end.
[He says it clinically, academically, like it wasn't painful, like it didn't make him regret everything about himself all over again. Which is in complete contradiction to what he said just a moment ago, but that's fine. He's sure Jin will understand why he does it.]
[Even if he doesn't, it's no secret that in this moment Giorno is a little bit elsewhere. It's worn him out, being this honest. He wants Fugo; he wants to wind his fingers together with Fugo's and dance with words around their broken hearts. He wants to sit with Kaz and be vicious in the ways that only they can be. He wants to sit alone and cry soundlessly about Bruno Buccellati, whom he might as well have killed with his own hands.]
I feel a little bad, [he murmurs, glancing away again.] I can tell . . . you're sharing something with me that you don't share with many people. And I think maybe it makes you sad to talk about it. Have I made you sad? I don't know. I think I have, a little.
[His voice is soft, his phrasing stilted and angular. Don Giovanna isn't here right now; someone else is, someone who Giorno chooses not to name.]
I don't like that. I don't want that. I want you to be happy. I should be able to make that happen. So sometimes, it's easier to just lie. I'd rather smile and protect--the boys with just themselves, their weapons, their wits. Someone should.