[Fugo stares. It's an expression Giorno should find very familiar: sharp, intent, and focused entirely on him. It's the sort of expression Fugo makes when he wants to absorb everything he possibly can in a moment. His brows come together in a troubled furrow while he thinks, trying to quickly work out the oddness of Giorno's uncertain expression.]
Well, [he says, finally:] you did.
[There isn't much he can say about what he did in Sicilia. He can't honestly say he would do things differently. At the time, he thought he was going to die. He never expected-- not really-- to survive. And it seemed like a fair trade, too; his burnt out, wasted life for the hope a future for Sheila E. He would do it all over again too in a heartbeat. For Sheila, for Giorno, for...
But. I didn't expect you to get so hurt. And: I had to do something or I'd just die! From what? Why? You scared me too! It's difficult, trying to wrap his head around the idea that even back then Giorno felt that strongly about him.]
[So is that really something he should say right now, when Giorno looks worn so thin with a worry that he can't push aside. Instead, Fugo stretches his hand out for Giorno to take. Just to remind him that, despite everything, he's still here. He's okay as he can be.]
I'll never forget it. [Awkwardly:] Thanks for-- looking out for me.
[It's not frightening to be scrutinized so carefully. Not exactly. If it were someone else, it might be, but--it's Fugo. He could never leave Giorno behind.]
[Could he? Or--is that the wrong question?]
[Giorno ducks his head.]
Thank you for not dying.
[Because once someone dies, there's nothing he can do. Not a single thing. Not for lack of trying. Even now he hates that knowledge, hates that there's some pain and hurt that his power can't touch.]
[In a fit of wordless grief and impulse, he takes Fugo's hand in both of his and kisses his knuckles. He can't make words work, not right now, but he can do this.]
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I did want to surprise you.
[It itches, admitting it. Even now, it's not quite honest, not in the depth of his intended manipulation, and it's a struggle to keep eye contact.]
Not . . . not like that. I didn't expect you to get so hurt. I had to do something or I'd just die. You scared me, too!
no subject
Well, [he says, finally:] you did.
[There isn't much he can say about what he did in Sicilia. He can't honestly say he would do things differently. At the time, he thought he was going to die. He never expected-- not really-- to survive. And it seemed like a fair trade, too; his burnt out, wasted life for the hope a future for Sheila E. He would do it all over again too in a heartbeat. For Sheila, for Giorno, for...
But. I didn't expect you to get so hurt. And: I had to do something or I'd just die! From what? Why? You scared me too! It's difficult, trying to wrap his head around the idea that even back then Giorno felt that strongly about him.]
[So is that really something he should say right now, when Giorno looks worn so thin with a worry that he can't push aside. Instead, Fugo stretches his hand out for Giorno to take. Just to remind him that, despite everything, he's still here. He's okay as he can be.]
I'll never forget it. [Awkwardly:] Thanks for-- looking out for me.
no subject
[Could he? Or--is that the wrong question?]
[Giorno ducks his head.]
Thank you for not dying.
[Because once someone dies, there's nothing he can do. Not a single thing. Not for lack of trying. Even now he hates that knowledge, hates that there's some pain and hurt that his power can't touch.]
[In a fit of wordless grief and impulse, he takes Fugo's hand in both of his and kisses his knuckles. He can't make words work, not right now, but he can do this.]