[He chuckles again; there's no meanness in it. If anything, he's feeling a little sympathetic towards Polnareff. It's easy to get caught up in admiring Buccellati when when romantic feelings aren't involved.]
Poor Polnareff. He doesn't get it, even when it's spelled out for him.
[But he takes his time, of course. He eats his second cookie slowly and daintily, takes a couple sips of milk to clear his palate. His eventual smile is brilliant and dazzling.]
[It was maybe a mistake to take a bite of his cookie while Giorno took his time with answering. Because what he says in conjunction with the way he's held himself, so slow and dainty and proper, and his dazzling delivery causes a burst of laughter to spill up and out of Fugo--which in turn makes him choke on his cookie. He needs a moment to recover, shoulders shaking, as he coughs around the sweet and clears his throat with a swig of milk.]
Well, [He remarks, clearly trying very hard not to laugh again because they are very obviously not talking about Buccellati's beautiful personality,] At least he's figured something out? And has good taste.
[Fugo shakes his head and waves a hand in front of his face, it's fine, it's fine.] I won't tell him. That I know or that you told me.
[It's fine when Giorno does it. Because, for one, it's a fairly lighthearted secret and, for second, he was plainly suffering by holding it in.]
It would have to be Buccellati. If not knowing what he likes is something Polnareff was having a hard time figuring out, I doubt you'll find someone as patient-- [Fugo pauses and clears his throat. It's a little odd to say this about his superior, but. It's an objective fact, so. There's nothing to be embarrassed about, probably.] -- and aesthetically pleasing as Buccellati is.
Approve? [What ... is there for him to approve of...] Polnareff can be an idiot sometimes, but he's not a bad person.
But if Buccellati is happy and having a good time, I don't see why there would be any reason to object. It's been a long time since he's flirted with anyone. Even longer, I suppose, considering the time he's spent here.
Well... [His expression softens, as he goes thoughtful.] I suppose I'm a little worried that Buccellati wants to look after Polnareff. I think he's drawn to people like that.
But I think that's tempered by the fact that Polnareff is the sort of person who pulls people along with him. He's fun. And I don't think he's intimidated by Buccellati, which is important.
[He falls quiet, before offering:] I don't think it's strange for you to be worried for him. You haven't seen him date anyone, so it's new for you.
[Drinking the last of his milk, he sets the glass on one of his side tables and curls up against the pillows. After another moment's thought, he pulls his shirt over his knees so only his feet are showing past the stretched fabric. He folds his arms over the top of his knees and rests his chin on them.]
Jotaro said something about me once. He said that I'm like a hardass fairy godmother. I want people to be happy and sometimes I work a little too hard to make it happen how I envision it should. So if you think it's all right and you've seen it before, I would rather trust your judgment over mine in this case.
["Hardass fairy godmother" is a surprisingly creative and apt way to describe how Giorno sometimes can't help but gently (and sometimes not so gently) nudge the people he loves and make plots to make sure that they're happy. He takes another sip of his milk while he thinks.]
Polnareff seems a little worried. But he's doing the right things. And Buccellati knows what he's doing. Whatever is happening between them, I'm sure they'll figure it out.
[Automatically bringing his hand up to his mouth, he chews absently at the corner of his nail. Not hard enough to really damage it, or even notice it; he's focusing on something else.]
So you don't think Polnareff is like the kind of people Bruno dated before?
For one, none of them were Stand users. [That by itself is a major difference. That's a part of his life they never could have understood, let alone his work with Passione.] But more than that, Polnareff is good at getting past people.
[He frowns, eyebrows gathering together as he reconsiders his words.]
Perhaps a better way of saying is that he's good at connecting with others. He's surprisingly deft at reaching around and through the usual distance our sort of people maintain around us.
[It's hard not to like Polnareff. As someone who doesn't smile often, Fugo finds his smile to be bizarrely infectious.]
[It comes out distant, Giorno's eyes drifting pas the nothing-much he was looking at to rest at last on Fugo's face. He runs his fingers along his lower lip.]
He's charming. But not in the way that lies. He really means it.
. . . I think it might be less that I'm worried about Polnareff not being right in some way. It's more like I'm worried about Bruno . . . not letting himself be happy.
[When Giorno first looks at Fugo, he's looking down at his half-empty glass of milk; the glass is held steady in front of his crossed ankles with one hand, while he thoughtfully runs his forefinger around the rim.]
That's a little more difficult. And not something that you can really change from the outside, other than offering him opportunities to be. But... [He looks up again, meeting Giorno's eyes with a crooked half-smile.] You know, it's been a long time since I've seen him smile this much. This whole thing with [He gestures, widely, with the hand that's not holding his glass steady.] The Boat and Polnareff-- I think he's been having fun with it.
[His lips quirk up in a little smile, fond and wistful at once.]
It's been worse here, honestly . . . since we got here. He never talks about it, but he would — check his pulse. All the time. Things like that. But he'd never talk. And then there was a while when he was very upset with me. He was right to be, I did something wrong, thoughtless and selfish, but it made him upset for too long. He shouldn't have had to deal with that.
He should be allowed to have breaks, you know? He deserves that. So . . . I'm glad for Polnareff for a lot of reasons, but that's one of the biggest ones. That he makes Bruno laugh. And smile. And feel good, like there's someone he doesn't have to take care of, maybe.
[Fugo listens, in that quiet and intent way he does when he's taking something to heart. He doesn't immediately respond, thinking over what Giorno has shared with him. He won't press Giorno about what happened between him and Buccellati; for one, it's personal, and for two, it's over and done with. Instead he thinks about how that's very much like Buccellati, to quietly and privately hold on to his heartaches. Because who does he have, really, to lean on here? Giorno is an inspiring leader and has more than a little talent for putting people at ease--but at the end of the day, there's still five years between them. And there's a difference between following and supporting someone and letting them hold you up in return.
He leans over across the bed to return his nearly-empty glass on the nightstand with what's left of the cookies. He then shifts his position on the bed, so he's sitting next to Giorno at the headboard instead of across from him. His position he settles in isn't quite as compact as Giorno's; he rests his forearms, one hand loosely folded over the other, on his knees, which are pulled halfway up to his chest.]
You know, [he begins, tipping his shoulder towards Giorno's,] Buccellati's really great. As long as I've known him, he's always looked out for the people he cares about. His famiglia, the people in our neighborhood... everyone really loved him. But he's always been total shit at taking care of himself. And the only person who could really get him to take a break was Abbacchio.
[Because, as petty and immature as Abbacchio could sometimes be, he was also the second actual adult in their group: the only one who was in a position to call Buccellati's bluff when he pushed himself too far. When Fugo wanted to help Buccellati, he had to go about it in other ways: namely, taking care of as many little things as he could so Buccellati didn't have to worry about them. And that's not exactly something Giorno can do for him when it comes to building a relationship, romantic or otherwise, between with someone.]
I think it's good that he's spending time with Polnareff, no matter what happens. Because it's good for him to have someone he can laugh with. [He unfolds his hands and offers one to Giorno, palm facing up.] The best thing you can do for them is just to listen. If you've talked with Polnareff once already, he should know that the door is open between you to talk again. If there's something he doesn't understand about Buccellati, you can help him put it together.
[Giorno isn't good at taking comfort for himself — not ever. One of the strange benefits of Ruby City, one that he never, ever anticipated and one which he wouldn't trade for anything but the most important thing in the world (Bruno alive and safe and back at home, Narancia and Abbacchio with him, Trish and Mista securely at his side, Polnareff reunited with his Chariot) — that one thing is that touch is safe now. It feels like love, not attack. He can accept it without initiating it. He can anticipate it with pleasure and feel relaxation rather than anxiety coming to greet him.]
[Which means that when Fugo curls up at the head of the bed, Giorno has trouble paying attention to all the words he's saying. He is listening, he gets the gist of it. He hears Abbacchio's name, and he knows what Fugo must be saying, because he knows it to be true himself. Abbacchio wasn't everything to Bruno, but he was a lot. That one person who could always call Bruno on his bullshit, make him own up to the poor decisions he was making. That one person was always Abbacchio.]
[Fugo is saying Polnareff's name now. That's important. He tries to listen a little harder and halfway succeeds, but mostly he's thinking about how he'd feel about a million times better if he was holding Fugo's hand. It's hard to think about anything else. When he feels bad, he wants to feel better; doing that makes him feel better.]
[When it's offered to him, it feels like Christmas. He glances from Fugo's outstretched hand to his face and then back before looking at all of it, the whole situation, and falling into a moment of slight surprise. Oh, he thinks, this was on purpose— and he gives Fugo a sheepish smile before taking it before the offer can be rescinded.]
[It's easy, second nature by now, to curl up against a shoulder when it's offered. Kakyoin, Jotaro, Polnareff, Bruno have taught him how; Fugo is slighter than they are, for the most part, and his shoulder is a little bony, but his hand is warm when Giorno slides their fingers together and snuggles close, and that makes all the difference.]
You smell like cookies, [he murmurs, closing his eyes contentedly.] You smell like cookies and being right. That's the best smell.
Thank you. I'm sorry I'm so . . . [A half-shrug, with his opposite shoulder.] This.
[Fugo isn't even half as good of a read at behavior and body language as Giorno; he struggles in the moment-to-moment because he's always thinking, always trying to connect past behaviors to current ones to better understand the person he's speaking to. He worries more than he should about taking a misstep, because he's so unused to being in a position of comfort. So much of it feels like trial and error--and he hates the idea of getting it wrong even more than he usually does. Being with Giorno makes him feel safe. He wants Giorno to feel that way around him too.]
You do too. Because we've been eating cookies. [It's simple. Cause and effect.] I don't know how anyone can smell like being right, though.
[He shifts again, closer to Giorno. He rests his cheek on the top of Giorno's curls and gently squeezes his hand.] It's okay. You don't have to be everything else all the time.
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They're flirting, Giogio.
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[If you pretend it slipped out by accident in a moment of excitement, it's not breaking a promise!]
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Poor Polnareff. He doesn't get it, even when it's spelled out for him.
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[Whatever could he Mean.]
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Well? You're going to finish that thought, aren't you?
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[But he takes his time, of course. He eats his second cookie slowly and daintily, takes a couple sips of milk to clear his palate. His eventual smile is brilliant and dazzling.]
He gets what he likes, certainly.
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Well, [He remarks, clearly trying very hard not to laugh again because they are very obviously not talking about Buccellati's beautiful personality,] At least he's figured something out? And has good taste.
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Mm, don't tell him. But I'm pretty proud of him. He's miles from where he was a couple of months ago. We had some less than pleasant conversations.
[He doesn't look awfully bothered now, though. Just amused.]
Then again, if there was ever a miracle worker . . .
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[It's fine when Giorno does it. Because, for one, it's a fairly lighthearted secret and, for second, he was plainly suffering by holding it in.]
It would have to be Buccellati. If not knowing what he likes is something Polnareff was having a hard time figuring out, I doubt you'll find someone as patient-- [Fugo pauses and clears his throat. It's a little odd to say this about his superior, but. It's an objective fact, so. There's nothing to be embarrassed about, probably.] -- and aesthetically pleasing as Buccellati is.
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You don't have to dance around it, you know. He's very beautiful.
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I'm not going to say it like that! He's been looking out for me since I was thirteen.
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[He drums his nails on his glass before gesturing with it.]
So do you approve? Polnareff's good taste aside.
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But if Buccellati is happy and having a good time, I don't see why there would be any reason to object. It's been a long time since he's flirted with anyone. Even longer, I suppose, considering the time he's spent here.
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[He looks a little distant for a moment, then smiles faintly.]
Well. You must be right, it must just be me . . . doing that thing again. And you know him better than I do anyway.
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But I think that's tempered by the fact that Polnareff is the sort of person who pulls people along with him. He's fun. And I don't think he's intimidated by Buccellati, which is important.
[He falls quiet, before offering:] I don't think it's strange for you to be worried for him. You haven't seen him date anyone, so it's new for you.
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[Drinking the last of his milk, he sets the glass on one of his side tables and curls up against the pillows. After another moment's thought, he pulls his shirt over his knees so only his feet are showing past the stretched fabric. He folds his arms over the top of his knees and rests his chin on them.]
Jotaro said something about me once. He said that I'm like a hardass fairy godmother. I want people to be happy and sometimes I work a little too hard to make it happen how I envision it should. So if you think it's all right and you've seen it before, I would rather trust your judgment over mine in this case.
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Polnareff seems a little worried. But he's doing the right things. And Buccellati knows what he's doing. Whatever is happening between them, I'm sure they'll figure it out.
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[Automatically bringing his hand up to his mouth, he chews absently at the corner of his nail. Not hard enough to really damage it, or even notice it; he's focusing on something else.]
So you don't think Polnareff is like the kind of people Bruno dated before?
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[He frowns, eyebrows gathering together as he reconsiders his words.]
Perhaps a better way of saying is that he's good at connecting with others. He's surprisingly deft at reaching around and through the usual distance our sort of people maintain around us.
[It's hard not to like Polnareff. As someone who doesn't smile often, Fugo finds his smile to be bizarrely infectious.]
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[It comes out distant, Giorno's eyes drifting pas the nothing-much he was looking at to rest at last on Fugo's face. He runs his fingers along his lower lip.]
He's charming. But not in the way that lies. He really means it.
. . . I think it might be less that I'm worried about Polnareff not being right in some way. It's more like I'm worried about Bruno . . . not letting himself be happy.
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That's a little more difficult. And not something that you can really change from the outside, other than offering him opportunities to be. But... [He looks up again, meeting Giorno's eyes with a crooked half-smile.] You know, it's been a long time since I've seen him smile this much. This whole thing with [He gestures, widely, with the hand that's not holding his glass steady.] The Boat and Polnareff-- I think he's been having fun with it.
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[His lips quirk up in a little smile, fond and wistful at once.]
It's been worse here, honestly . . . since we got here. He never talks about it, but he would — check his pulse. All the time. Things like that. But he'd never talk. And then there was a while when he was very upset with me. He was right to be, I did something wrong, thoughtless and selfish, but it made him upset for too long. He shouldn't have had to deal with that.
He should be allowed to have breaks, you know? He deserves that. So . . . I'm glad for Polnareff for a lot of reasons, but that's one of the biggest ones. That he makes Bruno laugh. And smile. And feel good, like there's someone he doesn't have to take care of, maybe.
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He leans over across the bed to return his nearly-empty glass on the nightstand with what's left of the cookies. He then shifts his position on the bed, so he's sitting next to Giorno at the headboard instead of across from him. His position he settles in isn't quite as compact as Giorno's; he rests his forearms, one hand loosely folded over the other, on his knees, which are pulled halfway up to his chest.]
You know, [he begins, tipping his shoulder towards Giorno's,] Buccellati's really great. As long as I've known him, he's always looked out for the people he cares about. His famiglia, the people in our neighborhood... everyone really loved him. But he's always been total shit at taking care of himself. And the only person who could really get him to take a break was Abbacchio.
[Because, as petty and immature as Abbacchio could sometimes be, he was also the second actual adult in their group: the only one who was in a position to call Buccellati's bluff when he pushed himself too far. When Fugo wanted to help Buccellati, he had to go about it in other ways: namely, taking care of as many little things as he could so Buccellati didn't have to worry about them. And that's not exactly something Giorno can do for him when it comes to building a relationship, romantic or otherwise, between with someone.]
I think it's good that he's spending time with Polnareff, no matter what happens. Because it's good for him to have someone he can laugh with. [He unfolds his hands and offers one to Giorno, palm facing up.] The best thing you can do for them is just to listen. If you've talked with Polnareff once already, he should know that the door is open between you to talk again. If there's something he doesn't understand about Buccellati, you can help him put it together.
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[Which means that when Fugo curls up at the head of the bed, Giorno has trouble paying attention to all the words he's saying. He is listening, he gets the gist of it. He hears Abbacchio's name, and he knows what Fugo must be saying, because he knows it to be true himself. Abbacchio wasn't everything to Bruno, but he was a lot. That one person who could always call Bruno on his bullshit, make him own up to the poor decisions he was making. That one person was always Abbacchio.]
[Fugo is saying Polnareff's name now. That's important. He tries to listen a little harder and halfway succeeds, but mostly he's thinking about how he'd feel about a million times better if he was holding Fugo's hand. It's hard to think about anything else. When he feels bad, he wants to feel better; doing that makes him feel better.]
[When it's offered to him, it feels like Christmas. He glances from Fugo's outstretched hand to his face and then back before looking at all of it, the whole situation, and falling into a moment of slight surprise. Oh, he thinks, this was on purpose— and he gives Fugo a sheepish smile before taking it before the offer can be rescinded.]
[It's easy, second nature by now, to curl up against a shoulder when it's offered. Kakyoin, Jotaro, Polnareff, Bruno have taught him how; Fugo is slighter than they are, for the most part, and his shoulder is a little bony, but his hand is warm when Giorno slides their fingers together and snuggles close, and that makes all the difference.]
You smell like cookies, [he murmurs, closing his eyes contentedly.] You smell like cookies and being right. That's the best smell.
Thank you. I'm sorry I'm so . . . [A half-shrug, with his opposite shoulder.] This.
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You do too. Because we've been eating cookies. [It's simple. Cause and effect.] I don't know how anyone can smell like being right, though.
[He shifts again, closer to Giorno. He rests his cheek on the top of Giorno's curls and gently squeezes his hand.] It's okay. You don't have to be everything else all the time.
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