[God. This is hopeless. It's sort of amazing how two people who are so intelligent in other realms of their lives can be so useless when it comes to this. He can't see Giorno's face, but he can imagine his look of breathless surprise, a touch of color brushed over his cheeks. He can embarrass Giorno. He embarrasses Giorno, on a frequent basis. This information is maybe too powerful for him.]
That's fine. I don't make promises I don't intend to fulfill. [Starting by the piano is probably not the most effective place to start sweeping, but. That's where he is so that's where he's going to start! It's fine, it's completely fine, he has this under control.]
[He says it more or less because he has to say something to fill the vacancy left by his own embarrassment. His face feels so warm, even though the theater is honestly very drafty. Dutifully, he sweeps the floor while staring at it very hard.]
If I'd known happy-to-see-you kisses were a thing, I would've given you one. Is that something people do?
[Here's the awful thing about big, empty spaces: the more still a space becomes, the faster it seems to accumulate dust. As picky and particular as he is, Fugo just can't keep up with the entire theater. The stage is the most he can manage, along with a few seats up front for Giorno. And even that's a trial, given how big and empty the rest of the space is. Even though this has become a regular chore for him, a fine pile of a dust quickly accumulates from their work.]
I think so? I mean. I used to see people doing it sometimes when they'd meet up for lunch while I was waiting around for Buccellati and the rest at the cafe.
[At the time it had made him wrinkle his nose, roll his eyes, and bury himself deeper into whatever he was reading in an effort to ignore it. People-- couples-- being affectionate in public! Where everyone could see! Terrible.]
[It's a nice sort of distraction, imagining them all at a cafe seeing that kind of thing together. Narancia would hoot and holler until Bruno put a stop to it with a look, he thinks, and Abbacchio would look on in silent disapproval. Mista would smile about it, though, and keep an eye on the two of them at the same time, just in case anything wasn't quite right.]
[Even after thinking about that--which does help distract him a little --he still has a question. It's the kind of question that is just as embarrassing as this entire line of conversation, but--Polnareff did say to just ask. He chews his lip a little, uncertain, and sweeps fiercely for another few seconds, before:]
I suppose it was sort of a stupid question. Jotaro and Kakyoin do it, and Bruno and Polnareff do it more. I would have thought you'd hate that kind of thing, though.
[Another beat, and in an important point of clarification:]
In front of people, I mean. Obviously I'm going to kiss you in private.
[Okay, well. He has no one to blame but himself for the direction this conversation has gone. It's embarrassing, but-- strikes him as important. The only way they can know what the other is fine with is if they talk about it.]
Give me a moment, I need to think. [And he does think about it, brow furrowed and ears pink, as he continues to sweep. Eventually, this is the answer he comes up with:] I don't think I'm ready to kiss you in front of others yet. I'm not sure what the division is, but it's a mix of things. I think most of it is that we haven't told anyone yet and I don't want that to be our method of broaching the subject. But kissing is-- [Here, he can't help but go a little red.] ... it's new. And I don't want anyone but you to see me when I get like... that.
["That" being so flustered and happy all at once that he temporarily loses track of his train of thought. Now that he's aware of it, Fugo is always very careful to carry handkerchiefs with him to catch any smudges on his mouth left behind by Giorno's lip gloss.]
But I wouldn't mind other things, like holding hands or sitting together, because we do that already.
[He pauses in his sweeping, lips pressed together as the thought occurs to them that... he and Giorno had several very couple-like habits. No, they've got the excuse of being very European. Tonika probably didn't think that, if only because she's fourteen and has plenty of other worries to distract her. Lucy is fourteen and from the 1800s. And Togami is... for how smart he is, he's sort of oblivious when it comes to other people. And, upon reflection and to his relief, Fugo doesn't think he's ever been in the same room with Giorno and Togami at the same time.
Which just leaves everyone in the house. Nevermind, he doesn't want to think about this anymore at this particular point in time. He's ... got sweeping to finish and practice to get to. And two to three kisses he owes Giorno, God, why did he let himself actually say something so beyond ridiculous.]
[Huh. It seems as though Polnareff's advice was actually very good. Fugo doesn't seem to mind being asked questions like this, even though he's embarrassed, and he's comfortable enough to say that he needs to think about it. Those are both very good things, and Giorno finds himself both happy and satisfied. He wasn't expecting it to go this smoothly, not by a long shot.]
[. . . Then again, he hasn't expected any of this to go smoothly, and it really has, hasn't it? Fugo wanted Giorno to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Giorno back. He wants to go out with him (he said the word date), and he said haven't told anyone yet like he's planning to eventually.]
[Giorno wonders why he's so certain something awful is going to happen even in the face of all the evidence. Something to think about later, maybe. Not now. Not when he's so quietly happy he can't quite keep from smiling.]
Mm, I'm glad you said all that . . . I'm sort of glad, too, because I thought that most of those things were true, so it's nice to know that I--understand, at least a little bit. You don't have to tell me the reasons for things if you don't want to, though. You can, but it's enough if it's what you feel or what you want, even if there isn't a reason for it.
[He sweeps a little pile of dirt into the dustpan, humming absently.]
I won't tell anyone until you want to. I don't really want anyone else to see you like that, either, not yet.
[It comes out a tiny bit possessive without him really meaning for it to. He still isn't used to it, either, though, and he doesn't want to share it. It's very important.]
[He hesitates in putting the broom down, drumming his fingers on the handle. There is that other thing, isn't there.]
Polnareff . . . does know, though. On the subject of--broaching the subject.
[Fugo is idly wondering about Yona, who doesn't seem to be from Earth at all, and what she might think of the two of them when his train of thought is abruptly derailed. Giorno's given him something very interesting to think about. Fugo blinks curiously, eyebrows pulling together and head briefly tipping to the side as he studies Giorno's expression and thinks about he says. He's distracted even from his sweeping, standing in a fine, almost-invisible haze of airborne dust particles settling slowly back down to the floor of the stage.
It's enough if it's what you feel or want. In a way, it seems almost too easy. Fugo is careful with his opinions: he holds his cards tightly to his chest, laying them face-up on the table only when he's certain he has enough ammunition to back them up or comfortable enough that he doesn't need to be perfectly prepared. It's an idea that is, at best, very odd and, at worst, completely foreign to him.]
Hm. [The noise he makes is neither dissenting or assenting: simply thoughtful, because he knows he'll have to consider it more on his own. With Giorno, he is always free to explain and to share... but doesn't have to. It's strange.] Okay. I'll keep that in mind.
[He smiles, twitchy and relieved.] Thank you.
[It's not that he's ashamed, or embarrassed. (Well, mostly. The only person he's embarrassed by is himself and that's because being around Giorno makes him act in incredibly foolish ways.) It's just that it's all still-- new. He wants to settle into this feeling. Take the time to practice and get used to the thought "Giorno and I, we're together" alongside "Giorno is my friend," so he maybe has a chance of saying it without getting red around the ears.
But on the subject of Polnareff... oh. Oh.. Something very obviously clicks in Fugo's mind as he rapidly reviews and thinks back on Polnareff's behavior this past week, which has been Unusually Smiley (Even For Polnareff) and a little odd.]
Well, I guess that explains why he's been acting so weird this week. [A little part of him that isn't Purple Haze for once is screaming a bit on the inside. Not so much because he doesn't want Polnareff to know, but more because he knows his nerves can't handle Polnareff's well-meaning but somewhat over-the-top romantic advice.] If you don't mind me asking-- how much?
[Well. This actually is genuinely totally embarrassing. It's tempting to hem and haw and put off answering, but--no, it's too awful to just sit on now that he's actually said it. He sweeps a little more fiercely.]
Nothing you said not to talk about. But, a lot, probably.
[Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.]
I didn't tell him on purpose, he just figured it out somehow. A while ago. Um.
[Several months ago. But.]
I told him not to say anything about it. But he, um, I don't think he's very good at not bothering people about that kind of thing.
[This... explains a lot. This explains... so much. This is why Polnareff was pestering him about kissing back then. God, he's going to deck him. He's going to deck him and then because Polnareff is stupidly huge and beefy he's just going to laugh and bench press him or something. Life is unfair.
Slowly, Fugo drops his face into the palm of both of his hands. He's so mortified. Polnareff's not here, but he can just picture his shitty grin. The broom, caught in the angle of one of his elbows, rests against his shoulder.]
Well, okay. [His voice is muffled in the heels of his hands. He breathes in... and out. Smacks his cheeks with both hands twice.] I'd rather know than not.
[He pauses and frowns.] I guess I can't blame him for figuring it out. It would be depressing if he was dense about everything. And I'm glad you have someone to talk to about it. I think.
[This is 90% a wail, albeit a very quiet one, because it seems wrong to be loud in the theater. He's incredibly embarrassed, though, which has always been an odd feeling for him. He's so used to being shameless that embarrassment seems like a foreign and warm and terrible country.]
[He chews the inside of his cheek nervously. Fugo's saying it's okay, but it's so weird, isn't it? He probably shouldn't have admitted to it. He should have held out. He's been tortured but he can't hold up against this kind of questioning? Ridiculous.]
I don't think he . . . understands how. It. That it's not the same--for you, or me, as it is for him. He gave me some good advice, but some terrible advice, too. And I mostly talked to him about it because I didn't think I'd ever say anything to you about it.
[Ugh. He watches Fugo carefully, nervously, tensely.] Sorry, [he says again, softly, and ducks his head a little.]
[He's nervous. He's so nervous and embarrassed that he can feel his stomach twisting and tightening itself into knots at just the thought of going home and facing Polnareff today, knowing that he knows. Giorno's apology cuts into that worry; rather than dismissing it, Fugo chooses to push it aside to focus on something else. He crosses the stage, leaving his own broom to balance precariously on the side of the piano so his hands will be free when he makes it over to Giorno.]
Giorno. [He reaches out for Giorno's hands, resting his over Giorno's from where they're holding the broom. He looks intently at Giorno, his usually restless gaze locked with Giorno's.] Giogio. It's okay.
I lived with Narancia and Mista in the same apartment. Polnareff's a pain, but he's got nothing on them.
[Maybe it's ironic, or something, but when Fugo starts moving towards him, he shifts immediately from staring at him to looking sideways and at the floor instead. Fugo's voice is soft and gentle, and he wants that to be real, but he also knows that Fugo's embarrassment is real, and that seems like it should be more important. The wrong things he's done should trump everything.]
[Except then Fugo says Giogio, which means he's serious. So Giorno has to look up. And there's Fugo, just . . . looking at him, direct and confident in his nervous way and, most importantly, unwavering. That's faith, isn't it? In him.]
[So strange.]
Okay, [he says, just as softly. One of his hands makes its way through the space between them and his fingers twist hesitantly in the hem of Fugo's sweater.]
Thank you. I didn't--I know you'd tell me if I'd done something wrong. I'm just worried about messing up, that's all.
You haven't messed up. [That's the most important thing he needs and wants to establish. Then, he can reach up, fingers hesitantly curling back into his palm before he completes the gesture, and lightly brush a wavy piece of hair that's slipped out from its proper pin behind Giorno's ear. Even after it's been tucked away, his fingers continue to trace a line from Giorno's temple to his ear. His voice is low and soft: even in this empty theater, designed to carry voices and sound to its highest corners, the only person who would be able to hear him is Giorno.] I think-- whatever stupid, embarrassing thing JP is going to say to me, it would have been so much worse if there hadn't been anyone you could talk to about it. I can handle being embarrassed. But I hate the idea of you feeling alone with something.
[Fugo's fingers tracing the edges of his face feel--prickly. Not in a bad way. But he's so hyper-conscious of every instant of contact that, while it's definitely good, it still leaves him sensitive and uncertain. Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe he always is like that and it's just that he's noticing now.]
[Not really worth examining in this moment. Not when he keeps hearing it in his head as he stares at Fugo, like a skipping track in his brain: I hate the idea of you feeling alone. It stops him, a hand around his heart, not squeezing but supporting. He doesn't know what to do about it. I hate feeling alone, too, he considers saying, but that would be strange, wouldn't it? And Fugo so obviously knows already.]
I think, [he ventures after a while, leaning in despite himself to the support of Fugo's hand,] that has to be one of the big reasons I like you so much.
. . . Can I have one of my kisses now? Just one, a small one.
[Which is the only way he knows to say that--reassurance helps. Words help, actions help. Except he doesn't have the words, and he doesn't want to take the action, just in case something awful happens (whatever that might be).]
[Fugo doesn't verbally acknowledge Giorno's request; rather he nods, surprisingly unabashed as his hand settles around Giorno's face. His chin briefly tips at a crooked angle while he considers their positions before he leans in with a carefulness that's almost delicate in its precision to kiss him. It's a breath longer than what could be considered a small kiss and terribly, awfully sentimental.]
I'm happy to see you, Giorno. [Fugo doesn't often cheat, but he does now. His long fingers flex halfway around the side of Giorno's neck and his thumb brushes along the high swell of Giorno's cheek. He smiles, fragile and shy, before leaning in for a second brief, sweet kiss. He doesn't pull away far when he reiterates:] Being with you makes me so happy.
[They don't always need to use words. But it's important right now, in this moment, that he say it. Because Giorno does make him happy. His warmth can chase away the chill of his gray days. Being with Giorno is an undeniably good thing-- frightening in its newness, terrifying in that he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if he lost it now that he's taken a hold of it. But it's good, he tells himself. It's good because everything Giorno makes him feel is reflected back at him from Giorno. None of it goes just one way.]
[Fugo is . . . good, Giorno thinks in the foggy moments before Fugo kisses him. Good not in the sense of good versus evil, which Giorno still doesn't believe in, but in the sense that he wants to do the best he can for the people he loves--that's the kind of good that Fugo is.]
[It's overwhelming, a solid weight of happiness pressing against Giorno's chest. He keeps being shocked by how not-bad it is. How sometimes weight can be good, even if he has to keep running away and coming back. It makes him tired, but there's always somewhere to come back to when he needs to rest.]
[He doesn't see Fugo's smile. He's too focused on the lingering sensation of pressure, the reminders of that kiss in his sense-memory and the tickle of Fugo's breath on his sense memory. He wobbles a little, uninterested in opening his eyes just yet.]
I'm always happy to see you. [He bumps their foreheads together, offering Giorno another point of stability. Now it's Fugo's eyes that flutter closed as his smile twitches and unfolds, ever crooked and uneven, from the corners of his mouth while he continues to talk; his expression and voice are warm with fondness.] Even when you're forbidding coffee. Or denying that strawberry is a real color. Or not-very-subtly trying to get me to tell you when my birthday is.
[Oh. And now he's--warm and embarrassed, pink tinging his cheeks as he reaches to tug at the front of Fugo's sweater. He doesn't understand how something so simple makes him feel so dizzy.]
I didn't, um. I can stop doing that. I just . . .
[Fugo's eyes are closed, and he's smiling, and he's beautiful and perfect and--Giorno forgets what he's going to say entirely.]
[Fugo slowly shakes his head, left than right, which has the inadvertent effect of causing their noses to bump together. It's okay, is what he means. It's okay for Giorno to be every bit of his weird and particular self.]
You wanted to know, right? [He opens his eyes a little, focusing on a sidelong point that isn't Giorno. His thumb brushes over the top of Giorno's cheek again, restless and more than a little shy, and he briefly pulls his lower lip between his teeth. He lets it go and brings his eyes back to Giorno's face in one gesture and, before he loses his nerve, quietly tells him:] It's November 11th.
[Any of this, really. How bowled over he is by the delicate lines of Fugo's cheekbones and the uncertain, crooked ways his mouth moves; how desperately overwhelmed and stupid he feels from tiny gestures like Fugo's nose brushing against his; how soon it is; that Fugo told him at all; and--]
I--can't believe you found a way to make that romantic.
[It's going to ruin him. It already has. He's got a death grip on Fugo's sweater, and his face is hot, and he just--he can't, for a moment. So he doesn't, and kisses him instead, threads his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and kisses him, all emotion and no finesse.]
[It isn't even revenge, this time. It's just an inability to make feelings into words. He's the one with his lip caught between his teeth a moment later, dazed and doing his best to meander back to human language.]
Tell me what you want, or don't, and I'll make sure that's what happens. If you want nothing, then nothing. You matter. A day is a day.
I wasn't-- [looking for anything is the sentence Fugo starts but is unable to finish, because all of a sudden Giorno is the one kissing him and has his fingers in his hair. It says nothing and everything all at once about what Giorno feels.
Whenever Giorno kisses him like this, time gets a little-- funny. He didn't mean it to be romantic, but. Oh, he realizes, a little late and sort of stupidly, that this isn't the first thing he's said to Giorno that he didn't intend to be romantic but actually very much was.]
[When Giorno pulls away, Fugo's still bowled over; caught up in the riptide of what he feels about Giorno and what Giorno feels about him. He has no time to recover to for what Giorno has to tell him. Unbidden, tears prick the corners of his eyes. He blinks, trying to chase them away, because it's so stupid, that something so simple can make him feel so much.]
I-- will. I promise. [He takes a breath to steady and then swallow down his nerves; offers Giorno a watery, but brave, smile and brushes his thumb over his cheek to make sure he knows that everything is alright.] More than anything, I-- just want to spend it with you.
[He feels--warm, staticky, jagged, happy, lost, perfect, messy. Like he's falling apart and more whole than he's ever been all at the same time. Fugo's eyes are wet. He's nearly crying, and maybe someone else would think that strange, but Giorno doesn't. Can't. He was there a moment ago. He's nearly there now, that feeling exactly between perfect and awful that hits square in the center of disbelieving.]
[He kisses Fugo again. Then he kisses next to the corner of each of his eyes, for symmetry. Everything might be all right, but that doesn't mean he can't make it more right.]
I want to spend it with you, too. So that's what we'll do, all right?
[He doesn't want to let go. He wants to stay here forever with his hands in Fugo's hair and his breath catching, exactly like this. Slowly, he exhales.]
[When his emotions run high, Fugo's natural instinct is to clench his fingers; as if by tightening his grip on whatever he's holding will strengthen his mental grasp on what he feels. Not today. Not when he's holding Giorno. He closes his eyes instead and allows it all to wash over and through him. He feels nervy, both from worrying about what would happen if he told Giorno his birthday and from telling him. He's profoundly reassured by Giorno's words and his gestures, one kiss for each damp corner of his eyes, but still a little worried, because he doesn't know how to communicate that just being with Bruno and Girono is all he could ever and more than he should want for his birthday without making Giorno sad to hear it. He's sad, too, in a way that's difficult to explain, because Giorno was so worried that he'd done something wrong by allowing himself to be supported by someone he trusted. And-- happy. He's still so happy to be here, on this stage with Giorno's fingers caught up in his hair, overwhelmed by the affection that's bouncing rather haphazardly between them.
So much of what Giorno has said today, has said to him in the past, goes against what he understands about love. And he wonders if maybe that's it: if what makes everything about this so hard is that his understanding of the subject is flawed, because all this time his own confirmation bias had spoiled the data he'd thought was so impartial. He has to tear it all down and start over. Or maybe he's already started and that's why it hurts.]
Okay. [He takes a breath, only a little shaky, and-- nods, shoulders curling forward towards Giorno.] Thank you.
[And then he kisses Giorno again, without worrying about the angle and about it being just right. Words aren't working. He doesn't know how else to express how much he appreciates this moment, how much Giorno's consideration means to him, how else to share how much he cares and how much Giorno matters to him.]
[Fugo isn't really all that good at kissing. He's practicing a lot--and to be fair, Giorno is providing him with a lot of opportunity to practice--but if he were graded on it, he wouldn't get a perfect score. If there were kissing Olympics, which Giorno thinks there should be, so he could win them, Fugo probably wouldn't place.]
[It doesn't matter, though, because that's a stupid way of evaluating a kiss. Fugo kisses him like he loves him, like nothing matters except loving him. He kisses him in a way that makes the difference between ti voglio bene and ti amo negligible at best, probably irrelevant. It doesn't matter. Fugo is happy, Fugo cares about him, Fugo wants to much to be kissing him. It makes Giorno melt into his arms a little, because once again, it's romantic without Fugo really meaning it to be. In a way, that's even better.]
[He's pretty starry-eyed when it ends. Starry-eyed eventually, when he recovers and opens his eyes. His arms have found their way around Fugo's neck, and he's smiling with that soft self-consciousness that so few people actually get to see.]
You're welcome.
[I'd do anything for you. Except he doesn't need to say that, because Fugo already knows. He bites his lip a little, too happy to think about what they were supposed to be doing. This is more important.]
You're so beautiful right now, you know? I'm glad I'm here with you.
[For just a moment, Giorno's body softens and relaxes in his arms; he doesn't worry, not for a second, about falling. Because he trusts Fugo to hold onto him, to prop him up when he's off balance. Trust. Giorno trusts him, Giorno is happy to be with him, Giorno likes to kiss and be kissed by him, Giorno thinks--
God. Giorno thinks he's beautiful. Somehow? He's already red but he's just going redder, eyes darting about but they're so close that it's honestly impossible not to look at Giorno.]
Mmph. [He never knows what to say when Giorno compliments him. Why aren't there books about this? ... actual books with good advice, not-- baffling magazines with nonsense personality quizzes. That aren't embarrassing to read.] I'm glad you're here. Even though I'm very distracted. [He presses his lips together and then, again, just so know Giorno knows and understands that this isn't a bad thing he very seriously invokes:] Blanket forgiveness.
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That's fine. I don't make promises I don't intend to fulfill. [Starting by the piano is probably not the most effective place to start sweeping, but. That's where he is so that's where he's going to start! It's fine, it's completely fine, he has this under control.]
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[He says it more or less because he has to say something to fill the vacancy left by his own embarrassment. His face feels so warm, even though the theater is honestly very drafty. Dutifully, he sweeps the floor while staring at it very hard.]
If I'd known happy-to-see-you kisses were a thing, I would've given you one. Is that something people do?
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I think so? I mean. I used to see people doing it sometimes when they'd meet up for lunch while I was waiting around for Buccellati and the rest at the cafe.
[At the time it had made him wrinkle his nose, roll his eyes, and bury himself deeper into whatever he was reading in an effort to ignore it. People-- couples-- being affectionate in public! Where everyone could see! Terrible.]
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[It's a nice sort of distraction, imagining them all at a cafe seeing that kind of thing together. Narancia would hoot and holler until Bruno put a stop to it with a look, he thinks, and Abbacchio would look on in silent disapproval. Mista would smile about it, though, and keep an eye on the two of them at the same time, just in case anything wasn't quite right.]
[Even after thinking about that--which does help distract him a little --he still has a question. It's the kind of question that is just as embarrassing as this entire line of conversation, but--Polnareff did say to just ask. He chews his lip a little, uncertain, and sweeps fiercely for another few seconds, before:]
I suppose it was sort of a stupid question. Jotaro and Kakyoin do it, and Bruno and Polnareff do it more. I would have thought you'd hate that kind of thing, though.
[Another beat, and in an important point of clarification:]
In front of people, I mean. Obviously I'm going to kiss you in private.
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Give me a moment, I need to think. [And he does think about it, brow furrowed and ears pink, as he continues to sweep. Eventually, this is the answer he comes up with:] I don't think I'm ready to kiss you in front of others yet. I'm not sure what the division is, but it's a mix of things. I think most of it is that we haven't told anyone yet and I don't want that to be our method of broaching the subject. But kissing is-- [Here, he can't help but go a little red.] ... it's new. And I don't want anyone but you to see me when I get like... that.
["That" being so flustered and happy all at once that he temporarily loses track of his train of thought. Now that he's aware of it, Fugo is always very careful to carry handkerchiefs with him to catch any smudges on his mouth left behind by Giorno's lip gloss.]
But I wouldn't mind other things, like holding hands or sitting together, because we do that already.
[He pauses in his sweeping, lips pressed together as the thought occurs to them that... he and Giorno had several very couple-like habits. No, they've got the excuse of being very European. Tonika probably didn't think that, if only because she's fourteen and has plenty of other worries to distract her. Lucy is fourteen and from the 1800s. And Togami is... for how smart he is, he's sort of oblivious when it comes to other people. And, upon reflection and to his relief, Fugo doesn't think he's ever been in the same room with Giorno and Togami at the same time.
Which just leaves everyone in the house. Nevermind, he doesn't want to think about this anymore at this particular point in time. He's ... got sweeping to finish and practice to get to. And two to three kisses he owes Giorno, God, why did he let himself actually say something so beyond ridiculous.]
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[. . . Then again, he hasn't expected any of this to go smoothly, and it really has, hasn't it? Fugo wanted Giorno to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Giorno back. He wants to go out with him (he said the word date), and he said haven't told anyone yet like he's planning to eventually.]
[Giorno wonders why he's so certain something awful is going to happen even in the face of all the evidence. Something to think about later, maybe. Not now. Not when he's so quietly happy he can't quite keep from smiling.]
Mm, I'm glad you said all that . . . I'm sort of glad, too, because I thought that most of those things were true, so it's nice to know that I--understand, at least a little bit. You don't have to tell me the reasons for things if you don't want to, though. You can, but it's enough if it's what you feel or what you want, even if there isn't a reason for it.
[He sweeps a little pile of dirt into the dustpan, humming absently.]
I won't tell anyone until you want to. I don't really want anyone else to see you like that, either, not yet.
[It comes out a tiny bit possessive without him really meaning for it to. He still isn't used to it, either, though, and he doesn't want to share it. It's very important.]
[He hesitates in putting the broom down, drumming his fingers on the handle. There is that other thing, isn't there.]
Polnareff . . . does know, though. On the subject of--broaching the subject.
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It's enough if it's what you feel or want. In a way, it seems almost too easy. Fugo is careful with his opinions: he holds his cards tightly to his chest, laying them face-up on the table only when he's certain he has enough ammunition to back them up or comfortable enough that he doesn't need to be perfectly prepared. It's an idea that is, at best, very odd and, at worst, completely foreign to him.]
Hm. [The noise he makes is neither dissenting or assenting: simply thoughtful, because he knows he'll have to consider it more on his own. With Giorno, he is always free to explain and to share... but doesn't have to. It's strange.] Okay. I'll keep that in mind.
[He smiles, twitchy and relieved.] Thank you.
[It's not that he's ashamed, or embarrassed. (Well, mostly. The only person he's embarrassed by is himself and that's because being around Giorno makes him act in incredibly foolish ways.) It's just that it's all still-- new. He wants to settle into this feeling. Take the time to practice and get used to the thought "Giorno and I, we're together" alongside "Giorno is my friend," so he maybe has a chance of saying it without getting red around the ears.
But on the subject of Polnareff... oh. Oh.. Something very obviously clicks in Fugo's mind as he rapidly reviews and thinks back on Polnareff's behavior this past week, which has been Unusually Smiley (Even For Polnareff) and a little odd.]
Well, I guess that explains why he's been acting so weird this week. [A little part of him that isn't Purple Haze for once is screaming a bit on the inside. Not so much because he doesn't want Polnareff to know, but more because he knows his nerves can't handle Polnareff's well-meaning but somewhat over-the-top romantic advice.] If you don't mind me asking-- how much?
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Nothing you said not to talk about. But, a lot, probably.
[Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.]
I didn't tell him on purpose, he just figured it out somehow. A while ago. Um.
[Several months ago. But.]
I told him not to say anything about it. But he, um, I don't think he's very good at not bothering people about that kind of thing.
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Slowly, Fugo drops his face into the palm of both of his hands. He's so mortified. Polnareff's not here, but he can just picture his shitty grin. The broom, caught in the angle of one of his elbows, rests against his shoulder.]
Well, okay. [His voice is muffled in the heels of his hands. He breathes in... and out. Smacks his cheeks with both hands twice.] I'd rather know than not.
[He pauses and frowns.] I guess I can't blame him for figuring it out. It would be depressing if he was dense about everything. And I'm glad you have someone to talk to about it. I think.
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[This is 90% a wail, albeit a very quiet one, because it seems wrong to be loud in the theater. He's incredibly embarrassed, though, which has always been an odd feeling for him. He's so used to being shameless that embarrassment seems like a foreign and warm and terrible country.]
[He chews the inside of his cheek nervously. Fugo's saying it's okay, but it's so weird, isn't it? He probably shouldn't have admitted to it. He should have held out. He's been tortured but he can't hold up against this kind of questioning? Ridiculous.]
I don't think he . . . understands how. It. That it's not the same--for you, or me, as it is for him. He gave me some good advice, but some terrible advice, too. And I mostly talked to him about it because I didn't think I'd ever say anything to you about it.
[Ugh. He watches Fugo carefully, nervously, tensely.] Sorry, [he says again, softly, and ducks his head a little.]
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Giorno. [He reaches out for Giorno's hands, resting his over Giorno's from where they're holding the broom. He looks intently at Giorno, his usually restless gaze locked with Giorno's.] Giogio. It's okay.
I lived with Narancia and Mista in the same apartment. Polnareff's a pain, but he's got nothing on them.
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[Except then Fugo says Giogio, which means he's serious. So Giorno has to look up. And there's Fugo, just . . . looking at him, direct and confident in his nervous way and, most importantly, unwavering. That's faith, isn't it? In him.]
[So strange.]
Okay, [he says, just as softly. One of his hands makes its way through the space between them and his fingers twist hesitantly in the hem of Fugo's sweater.]
Thank you. I didn't--I know you'd tell me if I'd done something wrong. I'm just worried about messing up, that's all.
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[Not really worth examining in this moment. Not when he keeps hearing it in his head as he stares at Fugo, like a skipping track in his brain: I hate the idea of you feeling alone. It stops him, a hand around his heart, not squeezing but supporting. He doesn't know what to do about it. I hate feeling alone, too, he considers saying, but that would be strange, wouldn't it? And Fugo so obviously knows already.]
I think, [he ventures after a while, leaning in despite himself to the support of Fugo's hand,] that has to be one of the big reasons I like you so much.
. . . Can I have one of my kisses now? Just one, a small one.
[Which is the only way he knows to say that--reassurance helps. Words help, actions help. Except he doesn't have the words, and he doesn't want to take the action, just in case something awful happens (whatever that might be).]
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I'm happy to see you, Giorno. [Fugo doesn't often cheat, but he does now. His long fingers flex halfway around the side of Giorno's neck and his thumb brushes along the high swell of Giorno's cheek. He smiles, fragile and shy, before leaning in for a second brief, sweet kiss. He doesn't pull away far when he reiterates:] Being with you makes me so happy.
[They don't always need to use words. But it's important right now, in this moment, that he say it. Because Giorno does make him happy. His warmth can chase away the chill of his gray days. Being with Giorno is an undeniably good thing-- frightening in its newness, terrifying in that he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if he lost it now that he's taken a hold of it. But it's good, he tells himself. It's good because everything Giorno makes him feel is reflected back at him from Giorno. None of it goes just one way.]
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[It's overwhelming, a solid weight of happiness pressing against Giorno's chest. He keeps being shocked by how not-bad it is. How sometimes weight can be good, even if he has to keep running away and coming back. It makes him tired, but there's always somewhere to come back to when he needs to rest.]
[He doesn't see Fugo's smile. He's too focused on the lingering sensation of pressure, the reminders of that kiss in his sense-memory and the tickle of Fugo's breath on his sense memory. He wobbles a little, uninterested in opening his eyes just yet.]
Grazie, falenino. I'm--
[Ah. Wait. Now he opens his eyes.]
I'm happy to see you, too.
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I didn't, um. I can stop doing that. I just . . .
[Fugo's eyes are closed, and he's smiling, and he's beautiful and perfect and--Giorno forgets what he's going to say entirely.]
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You wanted to know, right? [He opens his eyes a little, focusing on a sidelong point that isn't Giorno. His thumb brushes over the top of Giorno's cheek again, restless and more than a little shy, and he briefly pulls his lower lip between his teeth. He lets it go and brings his eyes back to Giorno's face in one gesture and, before he loses his nerve, quietly tells him:] It's November 11th.
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[Any of this, really. How bowled over he is by the delicate lines of Fugo's cheekbones and the uncertain, crooked ways his mouth moves; how desperately overwhelmed and stupid he feels from tiny gestures like Fugo's nose brushing against his; how soon it is; that Fugo told him at all; and--]
I--can't believe you found a way to make that romantic.
[It's going to ruin him. It already has. He's got a death grip on Fugo's sweater, and his face is hot, and he just--he can't, for a moment. So he doesn't, and kisses him instead, threads his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and kisses him, all emotion and no finesse.]
[It isn't even revenge, this time. It's just an inability to make feelings into words. He's the one with his lip caught between his teeth a moment later, dazed and doing his best to meander back to human language.]
Tell me what you want, or don't, and I'll make sure that's what happens. If you want nothing, then nothing. You matter. A day is a day.
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Whenever Giorno kisses him like this, time gets a little-- funny. He didn't mean it to be romantic, but. Oh, he realizes, a little late and sort of stupidly, that this isn't the first thing he's said to Giorno that he didn't intend to be romantic but actually very much was.]
[When Giorno pulls away, Fugo's still bowled over; caught up in the riptide of what he feels about Giorno and what Giorno feels about him. He has no time to recover to for what Giorno has to tell him. Unbidden, tears prick the corners of his eyes. He blinks, trying to chase them away, because it's so stupid, that something so simple can make him feel so much.]
I-- will. I promise. [He takes a breath to steady and then swallow down his nerves; offers Giorno a watery, but brave, smile and brushes his thumb over his cheek to make sure he knows that everything is alright.] More than anything, I-- just want to spend it with you.
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[He feels--warm, staticky, jagged, happy, lost, perfect, messy. Like he's falling apart and more whole than he's ever been all at the same time. Fugo's eyes are wet. He's nearly crying, and maybe someone else would think that strange, but Giorno doesn't. Can't. He was there a moment ago. He's nearly there now, that feeling exactly between perfect and awful that hits square in the center of disbelieving.]
[He kisses Fugo again. Then he kisses next to the corner of each of his eyes, for symmetry. Everything might be all right, but that doesn't mean he can't make it more right.]
I want to spend it with you, too. So that's what we'll do, all right?
[He doesn't want to let go. He wants to stay here forever with his hands in Fugo's hair and his breath catching, exactly like this. Slowly, he exhales.]
I want you to have everything you want.
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So much of what Giorno has said today, has said to him in the past, goes against what he understands about love. And he wonders if maybe that's it: if what makes everything about this so hard is that his understanding of the subject is flawed, because all this time his own confirmation bias had spoiled the data he'd thought was so impartial. He has to tear it all down and start over. Or maybe he's already started and that's why it hurts.]
Okay. [He takes a breath, only a little shaky, and-- nods, shoulders curling forward towards Giorno.] Thank you.
[And then he kisses Giorno again, without worrying about the angle and about it being just right. Words aren't working. He doesn't know how else to express how much he appreciates this moment, how much Giorno's consideration means to him, how else to share how much he cares and how much Giorno matters to him.]
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[It doesn't matter, though, because that's a stupid way of evaluating a kiss. Fugo kisses him like he loves him, like nothing matters except loving him. He kisses him in a way that makes the difference between ti voglio bene and ti amo negligible at best, probably irrelevant. It doesn't matter. Fugo is happy, Fugo cares about him, Fugo wants to much to be kissing him. It makes Giorno melt into his arms a little, because once again, it's romantic without Fugo really meaning it to be. In a way, that's even better.]
[He's pretty starry-eyed when it ends. Starry-eyed eventually, when he recovers and opens his eyes. His arms have found their way around Fugo's neck, and he's smiling with that soft self-consciousness that so few people actually get to see.]
You're welcome.
[I'd do anything for you. Except he doesn't need to say that, because Fugo already knows. He bites his lip a little, too happy to think about what they were supposed to be doing. This is more important.]
You're so beautiful right now, you know? I'm glad I'm here with you.
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God. Giorno thinks he's beautiful. Somehow? He's already red but he's just going redder, eyes darting about but they're so close that it's honestly impossible not to look at Giorno.]
Mmph. [He never knows what to say when Giorno compliments him. Why aren't there books about this? ... actual books with good advice, not-- baffling magazines with nonsense personality quizzes. That aren't embarrassing to read.] I'm glad you're here. Even though I'm very distracted. [He presses his lips together and then, again, just so know Giorno knows and understands that this isn't a bad thing he very seriously invokes:] Blanket forgiveness.
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