[Fugo shoots Giorno a skeptical look. He's no Bruno Buccellati, but he can spot a fib when he sees it. He chooses not to call Giorno out on this point in the interest of strawberries.]
It looks repentantly awful. [He thumbs through the pages, noting a few dog-eared pages; he then turns it around to inspect the spine, which is worn through with creases.] Yet, somehow beloved. It should be good for evening reading.
[That's such a silly description, and Giorno loves it. He gives Fugo a disgustingly fond smile.]
That's good. I like giving you presents. Even if they're just temporary and have to go back to the library eventually . . .
[He wishes he could give Fugo more things. He'll have to endeavor to look for presents on their journeys. Humming contentedly at this thought, he leans his head against Fugo's shoulder and smiles at not very much.]
[Fugo leans over so he can rest his cheek on the top of Giorno's head, not really caring about the danger of poking himself with a pin holding GIorno's elaborate hairdo in place. It's an acceptable risk in exchange for this closeness.]
You've given me a lot. [Not just presents. Things are things, Fugo thinks. There are only a few things he doesn't want to let go of. In the present, the most important of these is his place by Giorno's side. He doesn't ever want to let go of it.] I'll try to take my time with this one. [He flips it back to the front, rubbing his thumb over its worn face.] We could take turns reading it before bed.
[It's an answer, although not a good one. Very vague. General positivity rather than anything specific. Maybe make words, Giorno.]
I'd like that. We can--
[Which is when Danny butts into the conversation more firmly, resting one huge foot on Fugo's leg in order to slurp his cheek. Excuse you, please include the dog in this conversation.]
Danny-- [Fugo knows exactly what's coming. This is not the first time Danny has inserted himself into a conversation before; he's learned to avoid cheek slurps by leaning out of Danny's impressive range. Except with Giorno on his shoulder, there's no escape.] Ugh, that's disgusting. Danny, get off!
[This, combined with a longer, steadier push, seems to do the trick. Sort of. It gets Danny a few inches away, at least, although he continues to slurp at the air between himself and Fugo's cheek in the vain hope of being able to close the distance and continue the slurpening. Giorno taps him on the nose severely.]
We were having a conversation, Danny. Are you mad that it wasn't about you?
I think he was just excited to be a part of things. He likes you a lot.
[Giorno pats Fugo's knee, then takes Danny's big blocky head in his hands. His expression goes soft. He really does love this dog, even if he doesn't understand why on earth Danny was entrusted to him.]
Or maybe, [he says to Danny, sotto voce,] you want me to keep my promise to Fugo. Is that right? [Scratching Danny behind the ears, he kisses him on the forehead.] You want me to tell him about where you came from, don't you? Because you're a very good conscience. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.
[Fugo makes a dismissive sound, short and sharp. But his expression, so stern and exasperated, has already gone very soft around the edges. How can he stay annoyed about being slobbered on when Giorno is so happy to spend time with him and this dog? Even though, realistically speaking, Danny is neither good or evil. He's a truly neutral force of hunger.
He doesn't tense so much when Giorno pointedly shifts the conversation in a particular direction; rather, he starts to really pay attention. Yes, he remembers what Giorno means. Fugo's never pressed him to explain about Danny. As someone who'd rather leave his blood relatives in the past, he can respect why Giorno wouldn't want to talk about his either.]
... he probably just wants another snack. [Or to take a nap. Or both. Danny isn't a complicated creature.] But. If that's something you want to talk about, I'll listen.
[Pfft. Pfft, Giorno says, flowing a few flyaways (that he will never admit to) out of his face and resting his chin on Danni's solid head. He shoots Fugo a sulky look.]
Don't point out my excuse! It's easier if Danny tells me to do it.
[This doesn't . . . really make sense. At all. Giorno leans down and presses his cheek against Danny's. Danny wags uncertainly.]
Okay, okay. [Fugo sets the book aside and picks up the tupperware of berries. He pops it open and pulls out... to no one's surprise... a strawberry. Chomp.] Danny, as usual, is full of good ideas. You should probably listen to him.
[The familiarity of Fugo reaching for a strawberry is weirdly grounding. With a soft sigh, Giorno gives Danny one last brief squeeze and then leans back to give him a bit of space, only reaching out to pet him gently down his shoulders.]
[It's such a weird thing to try to explain. Even the tiniest part of it sounds so stupidly implausible that most people would assume he was lying. He isn't sure if Fugo will think that, honestly, but he wouldn't blame him if he did. The big question is, where to start? And the answer is: there isn't a good starting point. There honestly isn't. It's all a mess.]
. . . Well, [he begins uncertainly,] to start, from our chronological perspective, Danny's over a hundred years old. That's when my father lived and had him as a pet.
[A beat.]
I am not a hundred. Just to get that out of the way immediately. I'm not.
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It looks repentantly awful. [He thumbs through the pages, noting a few dog-eared pages; he then turns it around to inspect the spine, which is worn through with creases.] Yet, somehow beloved. It should be good for evening reading.
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That's good. I like giving you presents. Even if they're just temporary and have to go back to the library eventually . . .
[He wishes he could give Fugo more things. He'll have to endeavor to look for presents on their journeys. Humming contentedly at this thought, he leans his head against Fugo's shoulder and smiles at not very much.]
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You've given me a lot. [Not just presents. Things are things, Fugo thinks. There are only a few things he doesn't want to let go of. In the present, the most important of these is his place by Giorno's side. He doesn't ever want to let go of it.] I'll try to take my time with this one. [He flips it back to the front, rubbing his thumb over its worn face.] We could take turns reading it before bed.
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[It's an answer, although not a good one. Very vague. General positivity rather than anything specific. Maybe make words, Giorno.]
I'd like that. We can--
[Which is when Danny butts into the conversation more firmly, resting one huge foot on Fugo's leg in order to slurp his cheek. Excuse you, please include the dog in this conversation.]
[Giorno huffs and pushes on Danny's chest.]
That is rude.
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[This, combined with a longer, steadier push, seems to do the trick. Sort of. It gets Danny a few inches away, at least, although he continues to slurp at the air between himself and Fugo's cheek in the vain hope of being able to close the distance and continue the slurpening. Giorno taps him on the nose severely.]
We were having a conversation, Danny. Are you mad that it wasn't about you?
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I can't believe he's still got the energy for that. We've been out here for ages.
[Is it possible that Danny has recovered from Fetchgeddon already??]
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[Giorno pats Fugo's knee, then takes Danny's big blocky head in his hands. His expression goes soft. He really does love this dog, even if he doesn't understand why on earth Danny was entrusted to him.]
Or maybe, [he says to Danny, sotto voce,] you want me to keep my promise to Fugo. Is that right? [Scratching Danny behind the ears, he kisses him on the forehead.] You want me to tell him about where you came from, don't you? Because you're a very good conscience. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.
[Danny wags like hell. He's living deliciously.]
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He doesn't tense so much when Giorno pointedly shifts the conversation in a particular direction; rather, he starts to really pay attention. Yes, he remembers what Giorno means. Fugo's never pressed him to explain about Danny. As someone who'd rather leave his blood relatives in the past, he can respect why Giorno wouldn't want to talk about his either.]
... he probably just wants another snack. [Or to take a nap. Or both. Danny isn't a complicated creature.] But. If that's something you want to talk about, I'll listen.
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Don't point out my excuse! It's easier if Danny tells me to do it.
[This doesn't . . . really make sense. At all. Giorno leans down and presses his cheek against Danny's. Danny wags uncertainly.]
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[It's such a weird thing to try to explain. Even the tiniest part of it sounds so stupidly implausible that most people would assume he was lying. He isn't sure if Fugo will think that, honestly, but he wouldn't blame him if he did. The big question is, where to start? And the answer is: there isn't a good starting point. There honestly isn't. It's all a mess.]
. . . Well, [he begins uncertainly,] to start, from our chronological perspective, Danny's over a hundred years old. That's when my father lived and had him as a pet.
[A beat.]
I am not a hundred. Just to get that out of the way immediately. I'm not.