[Will it ever stop surprising him how tightly Giorno holds onto him? Fugo is briefly caught off-guard, thoughts trailing behind his heart; before he even thinks about it, his fingers lock in place next to Giorno's. Fugo looks down at their hands and blinks, almost puzzled by the gesture. When had he stopped hesitating? When had holding hands gone from being a good thing to the right thing? Ah, but. Now's not the time to worry about that. He can think about it later.]
I won't. I promise. [Fugo looks back up at Giorno's face and squeezes his hand, earnest and serious.] I've got you, Giogio.
[And he doesn't let go. Not when he crosses the room and closes the doors to his bedroom; first the one that opens to the main hall, then the second that leads to the little foyer between his room, the room that should have been Mista's, and Giorno's suite. And certainly not when he climbs into the bed, pulling Giorno together with him to sit with their backs against the headboard.]
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I won't. I promise. [Fugo looks back up at Giorno's face and squeezes his hand, earnest and serious.] I've got you, Giogio.
[And he doesn't let go. Not when he crosses the room and closes the doors to his bedroom; first the one that opens to the main hall, then the second that leads to the little foyer between his room, the room that should have been Mista's, and Giorno's suite. And certainly not when he climbs into the bed, pulling Giorno together with him to sit with their backs against the headboard.]