[Giorno doesn't know how he feels about Mettaton right now, if he's being honest. It's not that he's angry precisely, but it's . . . difficult, thinking you're understood and discovering your footing isn't quite as secure as you'd thought. He's studiously avoided Mettaton's network presence ever since the call for mercy, simply because he doesn't know how to respond.]
[That makes Mettaton's sudden presence in the piano room a complicated one, although not exactly unwelcome. Giorno has been curled up on the couch, thumbing through Les Mis and reading it without absorbing much. When he looks up and sees who it is, he frowns a bit in confusion.]
Of course. . . . What is it?
[Because this isn't normal. Mettaton doesn't smile like that. Did someone die?]
[Well. That's... certainly a welcoming face. Not. While Mettaton noted Giorno's silence in the past few days, he never attributed it to any one reason.
Maybe the boy realized Mettaton was going to leave before Mettaton did. Their type usually prepares for that, don't they?
Mettaton takes a seat on the arm of the couch with a deep sigh before presenting Giorno a small trinket on a silver chain. It's a bottle necklace containing a bioluminescent flower inside -- an Echo Flower, Gigi would realize if he saw any of the ones recently planted around the hot springs.] I... wanted to give you something, [he explains, letting the light catch on the curves of the glass.] I was going to give it to Keats, but... I thought you would [need it] enjoy it more.
...Put it to your ear.
[Doing so will produce a very familiar voice, playing a very familiar piano, and singing a very familiar song. Really, Giorno would recognize Mettaton's singing by now.]
[Giorno takes it. He does so carefully, with the air of someone holding a priceless treasure. The chain drapes over the back of his hand as he cradles the bottle in his palm. He puts it to his ear.]
[He doesn't even get through the first verse before he jerks it away like he's been burned. His hand closes tight around the bottle, his fingers going white. He visualizes a cage of bone. Steel, maybe. Something strong enough to keep this from ever breaking. Why glass of all things--]
Oh, don't start crying already. It's only your first goodbye and you're so ugly when you cry...]
Well, I was going to jump out of a cake, [he teases valiantly over a plaintive sniffle,] but I was told the logistics would just be nonsensical. [There's a shhhf as he slides from the arm of the couch and into a cushion, his arm making its way around Giorno's shoulder in an attempt to pull him in. He wants to hold his friends. He wants them to know it's going to be fine.
[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.]
[The pause breaks his heart all over again. He knows what that means. He knows, even just for a moment, that Giorno was considering storming off. Of course the boy's hurt. Of course leaving, even for the betterment of himself and his team, was going to hurt someone.
...he just didn't want to think about it.
But here he is. Facing it. Not running. Zenyatta should be proud.]
But where's the fun in that? [Permission to hold granted, Mettaton shifts Giorno into his arms, into his lap, and rests his chin on the top of the boy's head. Just like in the maze, whenever Gigi needed someone else to hold him up, even if it was only for a second or two. Whenever Mettaton needed to deflect away his own sadness.] Stoically waiting for someone to go, only to weep forlornly once they're out the door? That's a way to get an award, surely, but not closure.
[He smiles. Tears trace the shape of it before running down his chin.] Consider this present #2: you don't have to be strong right now. After all my dramatic displays, I have no room to judge you.
[He allows himself to be gathered up. The most he moves in the process is to press the bottle between both of his palms for safekeeping, just in case, because what if it falls? What if it breaks, what would he do then? He doesn't know how to cope with this, and it's easier to hold onto things than people anyway.]
That's not really a present. I don't want the last thing you remember of me to be weakness.
[Curling further under Mettaton's chin, he looks out at nothing much. There's wetness on top of his head. Did--]
[Oh. His mouth forms into a flat, unhappy line.]
I was going to ask why you're going. But I've already made you cry, haven't I? See, I'm no good at this.
[Excuse him?] Haha-- no, wait, go back! [He tries to nudge Giorno's face up with a finger to his chin. It's light. Something to be ignored if the other really doesn't want to look at him right now. Still, Mettaton smiles and laughs through it.
What else can he do?]
You think the last memory I want of my friends is them emotionlessly saying goodbye? Not weeping forlornly at my departure, filled with both grief at our parting and joy that they were graced with my presence in the first place?
[He follows the gesture, because . . . okay. He doesn't really want to look away from Mettaton. If this actually is the last time he sees him, it would be a waste. There's something to be said for knowing it'll be the last moment, as opposed to not.]
[He's still not smiling, though.]
It's what I want. I don't want to be weak and--messy.
[His lips twist in brief frustration. He wants to be civil and pleasant and sweet and all the other things he isn't feeling. He wants to do this right. Why is it so difficult?]
Are you going with Keats? Are you going somewhere nice?
[Mmm. There's that pride again. Mettaton knows it well - if he was feeling particularly insightful, he could reflect on the fact that it was most probably the root of all his problems. And if he were interested in making Giorno look at himself, he'd say it out loud.
...Mettaton doesn't really feel like doing either. Instead, he draws in his knees and wraps his arms in tighter. He's like a gorgeous shield. Some sort of beautiful armor.]
I hope it's nice. And of course he's coming with me; I can't break his heart. [Heh.] Believe me. I've tried. Man has a rib cage of steel.
[Anyway.]
...to be honest, we put in the request to leave ourselves, [he explains, softly, his smile pained, yet bittersweet.] I... I've started to realize that my personal brand of cheer and regalement isn't... [Sigh.] It's not what Audentes needs. I need to be somewhere brighter. Somewhere I can actually help instead of failing to inspire empathy or being dragged into murderous paranoia. I understand the concept of needing to break a few eggs more than anyone knows, but...
Well, at least you're being honest about it. Although I'm not sure why you came to say anything to me if that's what you think.
[If there's one thing he's never tried to do, it's drag Mettaton into anything. He's never once tried that, because he knew how toxic and awful it would be, how easily Mettaton would see through it, how it would burn bridges between them beyond repair. And yet.]
[He gently pokes a finger to Giorno's forehead.] Have we forgotten the part where you're a dear friend and I love you immensely? Of course I'm going to tell you. It might not seem that way, but I've learned my lesson about running away without goodbyes a long time ag--
[...wait.
Mettaton tilts his head as he stares at the boy. His smile leaves him, at least for now, as sympathetic concern takes over.] ...you thought I meant you, eh?
Giorno. My sweetest of friends. Look at me. You know I'd never say that about you. I'd never think that about you.
[He wants to say something truly cutting. Truly petty. Truly childish. Like: Maybe I don't know as much about you as I thought I did. But really, even in this moment he knows it's not true. It's something they could have taken the time to pull apart and glue back together, taking as much time as they needed. Like this, though, it can't be done, and maybe that's what upsets him most. He could be doing better, he could learn to do better, and he won't have time.]
[But then he's being noogied, and there's only so much angst you can sustain through a noogie.]
Ugh, stop!
[Standard halfhearted noogie-reception squirming. He pushes at Mettaton's face and yollers a little. Ugh. Ugh!!]
You want to make me cry and mess up my hair and ruin my life and then leave--
[Even without the petty remarks, the failure to break any sort of ice is enough of a dagger. None of his tricks are working. He used to be so good at this, and here he is: failing on his first goodbye.
...maybe it just makes sense, with Giorno. They're too alike.
He combs his fingers through yellow curls, smoothing them out.] What do you want, Giorno? What can I do.
[God. He sighs. He doesn't want to do this. Not now, not ever. It was easier when there wasn't a deadline. He isn't any good at this when he doesn't have the space to maneuver, and he's terrible at honesty anyway.]
[What he wants and what Mettaton can do aren't the same, in any case.]
[Giorno's quiet for a moment, letting himself relax so he's tucked under Mettaton's chin. It seems like all he's doing this whole conversation is fighting himself.]
I want you to be happy. I want you to be somewhere doing something that's good for you and makes you smile. The problem is that I want it to be somewhere I can find you.
[He doesn't understand why people keep leaving. He can't be home, which he's come to terms with, but when he tries to stem the loneliness by daring to care about someone, it's a couple months and they're gone. At least Kaz and Jesper didn't ask to go. This hurts either more or less, or maybe just differently.]
I've never known someone like you before. I thought it was meant to be that we'd met, because there were things about you that I understood without having to work as hard as I work with everyone else. I thought we could help each other, that understanding would be good enough, but it just isn't. It's not.
We're not the same. I don't think anything I said to you about George and Mavahari was wrong. If something like that happened again, there isn't anyone's opinion I respect enough to stop, not like I stopped for you. But I'm not a cruel enough person to tell you to stay for me. That's what I want, because I'm sick of losing people, but it's not a fair thing to ask of someone you care about.
[Another moment of quiet. His fingers curl in Mettaton's shirtfront; he sighs again.]
I'm just disappointed, really. I could have done better.
[It's a lot to take in. Not because the subject matter is difficult - if anything, like always, it's far too similar to places he's been before - but because Giorno's hurt. Hurting Giorno's like hurting himself, but not in the melodramatic, self-pitying, addicting way. It hurts like a punch to the core hurts. Like seeing his own ugly, tear-stained reflection in the mirror hurts.
They've known each other for a long time, now. This may very well be the last time they see or hear from each other outside of letters and photos.
Sigh.
For once in a long time, without the aid of a spell or the threat of death, Mettaton opens his mouth and let's out the truth.]
...You did help me.
I've been alive for a very long time. A very long time. And in all that time, no one's ever really understood me. Not my friends. Not my fans. [He clenches and unclenches his fingers, eyes far away and on a word he's never told more than one person.] Not my family... I'm sure they thought they did - letting people think they understand is kind of how I operate, but... But no one ever seemed to comprehend just how much I sacrificed. How much thought went into everything I did. How much I was constantly burying what was inside me by being "the happy one." And because they didn't understand, they didn't appreciate it. And because they didn't appreciate it, I'd... I'd always start to hate them.
...Haha. And even though I'd be simmering in contempt that no one bothered to look closer than the surface, I'd lash out when they tried. I always thought if they could see through the walls and find who I really was, they'd hate me. And being hated - really, truly, personally hated - was worse than being taken for granted.
You're the first person in a hundred years who's ever seen through me. ...Metaphorically, [he adds with a sad smile, not exactly clarifying. Giorno's a smart cookie. He can piece it together.] And even though it was terrifying for me, it was so refreshing to have someone I could talk to and not be misunderstood. Every problem I had, you could relate to. Every problem you had, I could think of an answer to. It was like meeting a twin I never knew I had. [He laughs.] For one of the few times in my life, I had someone I'd actually listen to instead of gallivanting right into my own bad ideas like an idiot.
...I never would have opened myself up without you. [Pft.] I'd either still be single or stabbed in the neck by an angry date without you. When things were the darkest for me... I don't think I would have pulled through entirely without you.
So maybe you could have done better. But you did good enough for me.
...I can't tell you not to be disappointed. I can't tell you not to be upset or disillusioned or tell you not to hurt anyone after I'm gone. I can't even tell you to try kindness, no matter how much I want to. That's for you to decide. All I want is that you wake up in the morning after a long, hard-fought day and feel like you've done the right thing. [One more time, just to do it, he rustles his hand through Giorno's hair again.] (And not "the right thing" by society's standards. I mean your own standards. I want you to be happy with yourself.)
And hey. You're not losing me.
These legs are burning into the back of your eyes whether you want it or not.
[This time, when Mettaton runs his fingers through Giorno's hair, Giorno leans fully into the touch. He closes his eyes, feeling entirely comfortable for the first time in this entire conversation, although that lump of sadness in his throat hasn't gone anywhere. It feels safe now, and not like weakness, to feel the mess of things that he's feeling.]
[It hurts a lot to think that he'll never be this close to Mettaton again. It's an exaggeration to say he's used to it, much more so to say he takes it for granted, but he was starting to cautiously hold out hope that it would be there when he was upset, at least most of the time. The idea of this safe place just being a memory is strange and hollow. But still: better than a few moments ago.]
I know you're telling the truth, because I know what you sound like when you're lying. And you know what I sound like when I'm lying, too. It was frightening at first, but I think I like it now.
[He's quiet for another moment, thinking about words. Family. Invisibility. Kindness. Happiness. Then he takes Mettaton's hand in his own and squeezes it gently.]
I'm going to miss you so much, you know-- [Oh. And now he's crying, big stupid tears that he can't push back, but he's smiling at the same time, face pressed against Mettaton's chest.] You do feel so much like family. The kind that counts.
[Ah, there's the tears. It sets off Mettaton's own again, but it's not because he's sad. He is a little, yes. It hurts to say goodbye. But mostly...
He laughs, low and throaty and not bothering to pick back up the mask he just dropped.]
You don't have to be a stranger, you know. If this team ever feels like it's too much, you have an open invitation from me to join ours. [He nudges the boy to look at him just to give him a wink. Needing an invitation from Keats doesn't seem to be implied.
...so this is it, then. The end of this little duo they've formed. Mettaton rests his chin back onto Giorno's crown--]
Gasp.
[Giorno is already on his lap; it takes very little maneuvering for one arm to curl under the boy's knees so Mettaton can lift him, bridal style, into the air. He doesn't wait for a reaction. He's already running back to his own room.]
You never got to meet Duke Anastasia- this is changing right now!!!
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no subject
[That makes Mettaton's sudden presence in the piano room a complicated one, although not exactly unwelcome. Giorno has been curled up on the couch, thumbing through Les Mis and reading it without absorbing much. When he looks up and sees who it is, he frowns a bit in confusion.]
Of course. . . . What is it?
[Because this isn't normal. Mettaton doesn't smile like that. Did someone die?]
no subject
Maybe the boy realized Mettaton was going to leave before Mettaton did. Their type usually prepares for that, don't they?
Mettaton takes a seat on the arm of the couch with a deep sigh before presenting Giorno a small trinket on a silver chain. It's a bottle necklace containing a bioluminescent flower inside -- an Echo Flower, Gigi would realize if he saw any of the ones recently planted around the hot springs.] I... wanted to give you something, [he explains, letting the light catch on the curves of the glass.] I was going to give it to Keats, but... I thought you would [need it] enjoy it more.
...Put it to your ear.
[Doing so will produce a very familiar voice, playing a very familiar piano, and singing a very familiar song. Really, Giorno would recognize Mettaton's singing by now.]
no subject
[He doesn't even get through the first verse before he jerks it away like he's been burned. His hand closes tight around the bottle, his fingers going white. He visualizes a cage of bone. Steel, maybe. Something strong enough to keep this from ever breaking. Why glass of all things--]
That's no way to say goodbye to someone.
[He sounds--resigned. Sort of tired, too.]
no subject
Oh, don't start crying already. It's only your first goodbye and you're so ugly when you cry...]
Well, I was going to jump out of a cake, [he teases valiantly over a plaintive sniffle,] but I was told the logistics would just be nonsensical. [There's a shhhf as he slides from the arm of the couch and into a cushion, his arm making its way around Giorno's shoulder in an attempt to pull him in. He wants to hold his friends. He wants them to know it's going to be fine.
...]
How do you want to say goodbye?
no subject
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.]
no subject
...he just didn't want to think about it.
But here he is. Facing it. Not running. Zenyatta should be proud.]
But where's the fun in that? [Permission to hold granted, Mettaton shifts Giorno into his arms, into his lap, and rests his chin on the top of the boy's head. Just like in the maze, whenever Gigi needed someone else to hold him up, even if it was only for a second or two. Whenever Mettaton needed to deflect away his own sadness.] Stoically waiting for someone to go, only to weep forlornly once they're out the door? That's a way to get an award, surely, but not closure.
[He smiles. Tears trace the shape of it before running down his chin.] Consider this present #2: you don't have to be strong right now. After all my dramatic displays, I have no room to judge you.
no subject
That's not really a present. I don't want the last thing you remember of me to be weakness.
[Curling further under Mettaton's chin, he looks out at nothing much. There's wetness on top of his head. Did--]
[Oh. His mouth forms into a flat, unhappy line.]
I was going to ask why you're going. But I've already made you cry, haven't I? See, I'm no good at this.
no subject
What else can he do?]
You think the last memory I want of my friends is them emotionlessly saying goodbye? Not weeping forlornly at my departure, filled with both grief at our parting and joy that they were graced with my presence in the first place?
Gigi. Giorno. Light of my life.
It's like you don't know me at all.
no subject
[He's still not smiling, though.]
It's what I want. I don't want to be weak and--messy.
[His lips twist in brief frustration. He wants to be civil and pleasant and sweet and all the other things he isn't feeling. He wants to do this right. Why is it so difficult?]
Are you going with Keats? Are you going somewhere nice?
no subject
...Mettaton doesn't really feel like doing either. Instead, he draws in his knees and wraps his arms in tighter. He's like a gorgeous shield. Some sort of beautiful armor.]
I hope it's nice. And of course he's coming with me; I can't break his heart. [Heh.] Believe me. I've tried. Man has a rib cage of steel.
[Anyway.]
...to be honest, we put in the request to leave ourselves, [he explains, softly, his smile pained, yet bittersweet.] I... I've started to realize that my personal brand of cheer and regalement isn't... [Sigh.] It's not what Audentes needs. I need to be somewhere brighter. Somewhere I can actually help instead of failing to inspire empathy or being dragged into murderous paranoia. I understand the concept of needing to break a few eggs more than anyone knows, but...
[He shrugs.]
It's not for me. I can't do it anymore.
no subject
Well, at least you're being honest about it. Although I'm not sure why you came to say anything to me if that's what you think.
[If there's one thing he's never tried to do, it's drag Mettaton into anything. He's never once tried that, because he knew how toxic and awful it would be, how easily Mettaton would see through it, how it would burn bridges between them beyond repair. And yet.]
no subject
[He gently pokes a finger to Giorno's forehead.] Have we forgotten the part where you're a dear friend and I love you immensely? Of course I'm going to tell you. It might not seem that way, but I've learned my lesson about running away without goodbyes a long time ag--
[...wait.
Mettaton tilts his head as he stares at the boy. His smile leaves him, at least for now, as sympathetic concern takes over.] ...you thought I meant you, eh?
Giorno. My sweetest of friends. Look at me. You know I'd never say that about you. I'd never think that about you.
Do you want to know who's really to blame?
no subject
It's me. I fuck up alone all by myself.
[Enjoy this noogie, you self-conscious brat.]
no subject
[But then he's being noogied, and there's only so much angst you can sustain through a noogie.]
Ugh, stop!
[Standard halfhearted noogie-reception squirming. He pushes at Mettaton's face and yollers a little. Ugh. Ugh!!]
You want to make me cry and mess up my hair and ruin my life and then leave--
no subject
...maybe it just makes sense, with Giorno. They're too alike.
He combs his fingers through yellow curls, smoothing them out.] What do you want, Giorno? What can I do.
no subject
[What he wants and what Mettaton can do aren't the same, in any case.]
[Giorno's quiet for a moment, letting himself relax so he's tucked under Mettaton's chin. It seems like all he's doing this whole conversation is fighting himself.]
I want you to be happy. I want you to be somewhere doing something that's good for you and makes you smile. The problem is that I want it to be somewhere I can find you.
[He doesn't understand why people keep leaving. He can't be home, which he's come to terms with, but when he tries to stem the loneliness by daring to care about someone, it's a couple months and they're gone. At least Kaz and Jesper didn't ask to go. This hurts either more or less, or maybe just differently.]
I've never known someone like you before. I thought it was meant to be that we'd met, because there were things about you that I understood without having to work as hard as I work with everyone else. I thought we could help each other, that understanding would be good enough, but it just isn't. It's not.
We're not the same. I don't think anything I said to you about George and Mavahari was wrong. If something like that happened again, there isn't anyone's opinion I respect enough to stop, not like I stopped for you. But I'm not a cruel enough person to tell you to stay for me. That's what I want, because I'm sick of losing people, but it's not a fair thing to ask of someone you care about.
[Another moment of quiet. His fingers curl in Mettaton's shirtfront; he sighs again.]
I'm just disappointed, really. I could have done better.
no subject
They've known each other for a long time, now. This may very well be the last time they see or hear from each other outside of letters and photos.
Sigh.
For once in a long time, without the aid of a spell or the threat of death, Mettaton opens his mouth and let's out the truth.]
...You did help me.
I've been alive for a very long time. A very long time. And in all that time, no one's ever really understood me. Not my friends. Not my fans. [He clenches and unclenches his fingers, eyes far away and on a word he's never told more than one person.] Not my family... I'm sure they thought they did - letting people think they understand is kind of how I operate, but... But no one ever seemed to comprehend just how much I sacrificed. How much thought went into everything I did. How much I was constantly burying what was inside me by being "the happy one." And because they didn't understand, they didn't appreciate it. And because they didn't appreciate it, I'd... I'd always start to hate them.
...Haha. And even though I'd be simmering in contempt that no one bothered to look closer than the surface, I'd lash out when they tried. I always thought if they could see through the walls and find who I really was, they'd hate me. And being hated - really, truly, personally hated - was worse than being taken for granted.
You're the first person in a hundred years who's ever seen through me. ...Metaphorically, [he adds with a sad smile, not exactly clarifying. Giorno's a smart cookie. He can piece it together.] And even though it was terrifying for me, it was so refreshing to have someone I could talk to and not be misunderstood. Every problem I had, you could relate to. Every problem you had, I could think of an answer to. It was like meeting a twin I never knew I had. [He laughs.] For one of the few times in my life, I had someone I'd actually listen to instead of gallivanting right into my own bad ideas like an idiot.
...I never would have opened myself up without you. [Pft.] I'd either still be single or stabbed in the neck by an angry date without you. When things were the darkest for me... I don't think I would have pulled through entirely without you.
So maybe you could have done better. But you did good enough for me.
...I can't tell you not to be disappointed. I can't tell you not to be upset or disillusioned or tell you not to hurt anyone after I'm gone. I can't even tell you to try kindness, no matter how much I want to. That's for you to decide. All I want is that you wake up in the morning after a long, hard-fought day and feel like you've done the right thing. [One more time, just to do it, he rustles his hand through Giorno's hair again.] (And not "the right thing" by society's standards. I mean your own standards. I want you to be happy with yourself.)
And hey. You're not losing me.
These legs are burning into the back of your eyes whether you want it or not.
no subject
[It hurts a lot to think that he'll never be this close to Mettaton again. It's an exaggeration to say he's used to it, much more so to say he takes it for granted, but he was starting to cautiously hold out hope that it would be there when he was upset, at least most of the time. The idea of this safe place just being a memory is strange and hollow. But still: better than a few moments ago.]
I know you're telling the truth, because I know what you sound like when you're lying. And you know what I sound like when I'm lying, too. It was frightening at first, but I think I like it now.
[He's quiet for another moment, thinking about words. Family. Invisibility. Kindness. Happiness. Then he takes Mettaton's hand in his own and squeezes it gently.]
I'm going to miss you so much, you know-- [Oh. And now he's crying, big stupid tears that he can't push back, but he's smiling at the same time, face pressed against Mettaton's chest.] You do feel so much like family. The kind that counts.
no subject
He laughs, low and throaty and not bothering to pick back up the mask he just dropped.]
You don't have to be a stranger, you know. If this team ever feels like it's too much, you have an open invitation from me to join ours. [He nudges the boy to look at him just to give him a wink. Needing an invitation from Keats doesn't seem to be implied.
...so this is it, then. The end of this little duo they've formed. Mettaton rests his chin back onto Giorno's crown--]
Gasp.
[Giorno is already on his lap; it takes very little maneuvering for one arm to curl under the boy's knees so Mettaton can lift him, bridal style, into the air. He doesn't wait for a reaction. He's already running back to his own room.]
You never got to meet Duke Anastasia- this is changing right now!!!