![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
[Somewhere in the background, unseen, Lance says: Lesson one: the buddy system. Giorno's fingers reach out and touch a cold throat with no pulse. Again: Lesson one: the buddy system. Backwards, time skipping, a bottomless gash in a place that shouldn't be open like that, hands deep in guts, cooling, freezing. Lesson one: the buddy system.]
[Bruno's hand jerks up, out of the middle of it. The emptiness. The wrongness. Fingers curl around Giorno's wrist, gentle. He lifts his head, parts his lips, speaks: It's important to know when it's time to let go, Giorno--except it's Miles's voice tripping out of time with the movement of Bruno's mouth.]
[It makes him scream--loud in the dream, a soft and thin wail in the waking world--as he tries to back away, to flee, only to find himself trapped twofold. Something with rows of cold teeth holds his wrist in the hole in Bruno's abdomen as a cold leather-gloved hand wraps fingers around his throat. If you speak to me again in this manner--time skips forward--you will tell me why this bothers you so much--reset--for the sake of friendship.]
[Giorno is crying soundless tears. Bruno's head rests on the pavement again, but his eyes are focused on Giorno, and alive. His lips don't move, but You are a disappointment sounds in Giorno's ears, clear as day.]
[In the waking world, there is a breathy nononono, barely audible, as Giorno struggles against nothing.]
[Bruno's hand jerks up, out of the middle of it. The emptiness. The wrongness. Fingers curl around Giorno's wrist, gentle. He lifts his head, parts his lips, speaks: It's important to know when it's time to let go, Giorno--except it's Miles's voice tripping out of time with the movement of Bruno's mouth.]
[It makes him scream--loud in the dream, a soft and thin wail in the waking world--as he tries to back away, to flee, only to find himself trapped twofold. Something with rows of cold teeth holds his wrist in the hole in Bruno's abdomen as a cold leather-gloved hand wraps fingers around his throat. If you speak to me again in this manner--time skips forward--you will tell me why this bothers you so much--reset--for the sake of friendship.]
[Giorno is crying soundless tears. Bruno's head rests on the pavement again, but his eyes are focused on Giorno, and alive. His lips don't move, but You are a disappointment sounds in Giorno's ears, clear as day.]
[In the waking world, there is a breathy nononono, barely audible, as Giorno struggles against nothing.]
Edited (forgot a thing) 2017-01-24 22:26 (UTC)
[Fugo isn't sleeping. Not really. He's drifting, hazy, clinging with his toes to the knife's edge between one state of consciousness and the next; too tired to think but unwilling to let go and let himself sleep, bothered by the lamp that lights up his corner of the alcove that he can't sleep without. He's not sleeping but he is resting, because a few hours ago Giorno settled down to go to sleep, so Fugo sighed and put his book aside and decided to give sleeping the good college try.
The soft sounds sounds of Giorno's distress don't wake him. They drift through his own unhappy, unfocused thoughts as they stitch themselves together to become his usual unhappy dreams; his eyes crack open and he winces at the light, straining to focus on what he might have heard so he can determine if it's a real thing or something conjured up from his own shitty subconscious. Quickly, he realizes it's very real: moreover, it's coming from Giorno.]
[Fugo doesn't think, doesn't worry about what he should do. He pushes aside his blankets and sheets and makes the journey from his corner of the loft to Giorno's, settling next to where he's drawn himself into a ball of misery and fear. When his dreams are bad, often he'll wake to Giorno's arms already wrapped around his painfully tight shoulders, gently pulling him out of the nightmare by calling his name.]
Giogio, [he murmurs, calling out to Giorno with a voice fuzzy with almost-sleep.] Giorno. I'm here with you.
[He continues to talk, not needing to or making much sense. He reaches out to touch Giorno very carefully, drawing slow circles with his palm over the knots in Giorno's shoulder.]
The soft sounds sounds of Giorno's distress don't wake him. They drift through his own unhappy, unfocused thoughts as they stitch themselves together to become his usual unhappy dreams; his eyes crack open and he winces at the light, straining to focus on what he might have heard so he can determine if it's a real thing or something conjured up from his own shitty subconscious. Quickly, he realizes it's very real: moreover, it's coming from Giorno.]
[Fugo doesn't think, doesn't worry about what he should do. He pushes aside his blankets and sheets and makes the journey from his corner of the loft to Giorno's, settling next to where he's drawn himself into a ball of misery and fear. When his dreams are bad, often he'll wake to Giorno's arms already wrapped around his painfully tight shoulders, gently pulling him out of the nightmare by calling his name.]
Giogio, [he murmurs, calling out to Giorno with a voice fuzzy with almost-sleep.] Giorno. I'm here with you.
[He continues to talk, not needing to or making much sense. He reaches out to touch Giorno very carefully, drawing slow circles with his palm over the knots in Giorno's shoulder.]
[The first change is the way the mattress dips. He feels a sudden imbalance that cuts through his dream, making him feel just for an instant that he's falling. He whimpers, frightened, but not for long; the next thing that filters through is a familiar smell, ink and paper and old books and laundry and the lingering memory of the ocean.]
[After that, he knows who it is, even if he doesn't know. He can't be scared anymore--not just isn't, but can't be. It's impossible.]
[There's a touch to his shoulder, and he turns towards the voice. Not quite awake yet, he furrows his brow a little, reaching out blindly over his shoulder for the front of Fugo's shirt. He says something, but it's not really words; it's a plea for comfort from a more primal, childish, fearful place, and he's still too stuck in his dream to censor it.]
[After that, he knows who it is, even if he doesn't know. He can't be scared anymore--not just isn't, but can't be. It's impossible.]
[There's a touch to his shoulder, and he turns towards the voice. Not quite awake yet, he furrows his brow a little, reaching out blindly over his shoulder for the front of Fugo's shirt. He says something, but it's not really words; it's a plea for comfort from a more primal, childish, fearful place, and he's still too stuck in his dream to censor it.]
[Giorno cries out and reaches for him like a little child. One of Fugo's hands twitches down to Giorno's, to pull him off so he can help him up and out of the rest of the nightmare-- and then stops, frozen in the air by an unbidden memory of silk crinkling under his palms and cool, smooth fingers firmly pulling his hands off by the wrists.
Can someone take him? His mother's voice, distant and annoyed. She hadn't even looked at him; just over her shoulder, calling to an unseen servant. We're going to be late.]
[Where did that even come form. It was so long ago. And doesn't really matter. Why did he even bother to remember it. Why can't he just let useless things go.]
[Instead of pulling Giorno up, Fugo pulls up one corner of his blankets and settles down with him. He gingerly puts an arm around Giorno's shoulders and continues to rub his back and quietly call his name.]
Can someone take him? His mother's voice, distant and annoyed. She hadn't even looked at him; just over her shoulder, calling to an unseen servant. We're going to be late.]
[Where did that even come form. It was so long ago. And doesn't really matter. Why did he even bother to remember it. Why can't he just let useless things go.]
[Instead of pulling Giorno up, Fugo pulls up one corner of his blankets and settles down with him. He gingerly puts an arm around Giorno's shoulders and continues to rub his back and quietly call his name.]
[Fugo, is what breaks through the fog during that pause. Because there is a pause, small and insignificant as it is. That's Fugo, Fugo's voice, Fugo's breath, Fugo's shape and smell, that's him. A moment of panic hits, tugging him forward, so that when Fugo crawls under the blanket with him, he's already in the process of reaching out in a desperate bid to keep him close.]
[The second he feels him so close, though, he calms down. The furrow in his brow smooths out, he curls up tight against Fugo's side, and he sighs, soft and pained. It's--safe now? He thinks. And thinking that, he opens his eyes.]
. . . Fugo.
[Not a question. Because even waking up, he knew who it was. Of course: his Fugo. He blinks a couple of times, then turns his face towards the pillow to hide the tear he's caused to roll down his cheek.]
'm sorry. I woke you up, huh?
[The second he feels him so close, though, he calms down. The furrow in his brow smooths out, he curls up tight against Fugo's side, and he sighs, soft and pained. It's--safe now? He thinks. And thinking that, he opens his eyes.]
. . . Fugo.
[Not a question. Because even waking up, he knew who it was. Of course: his Fugo. He blinks a couple of times, then turns his face towards the pillow to hide the tear he's caused to roll down his cheek.]
'm sorry. I woke you up, huh?
[Really, Fugo's not very good at this. He has so little experience in being comforted and often worries too much about getting it "right". But this late at night, with his thoughts still so muddled from stumbling around the edge of sleep, he doesn't think too much about holding Giorno close.]
Mm-mm. [Fugo shakes his head and regards Giorno with a sleepy gravity. Some of Giorno's hair has fallen in his face. Fugo is struck by the urge to brush it away from his brow; before he can stop to think better of the gesture, it's already done.] I wasn't sleeping. It'd be okay, though, even if you had. I wake you up all the time.
Mm-mm. [Fugo shakes his head and regards Giorno with a sleepy gravity. Some of Giorno's hair has fallen in his face. Fugo is struck by the urge to brush it away from his brow; before he can stop to think better of the gesture, it's already done.] I wasn't sleeping. It'd be okay, though, even if you had. I wake you up all the time.
That's different.
[His brow pinches uncertainly; then he relaxes, goes limp entirely, his eyes falling shut the moment Fugo's fingers touch his forehead. He was going to argue about it, but he isn't sure, now, what he was going to say.]
I . . . mm. [Slowly, he blinks his eyes open again, sleep-fogged and curious.] It's different . . . because it's you. I want to be awake if you don't . . . I wanna help.
[His words are softer than usual and more angular, the gentle roll of Italian sharpened into something else. He looks up at Fugo like he's the whole world. Right now, it feels a lot like he is.]
[His brow pinches uncertainly; then he relaxes, goes limp entirely, his eyes falling shut the moment Fugo's fingers touch his forehead. He was going to argue about it, but he isn't sure, now, what he was going to say.]
I . . . mm. [Slowly, he blinks his eyes open again, sleep-fogged and curious.] It's different . . . because it's you. I want to be awake if you don't . . . I wanna help.
[His words are softer than usual and more angular, the gentle roll of Italian sharpened into something else. He looks up at Fugo like he's the whole world. Right now, it feels a lot like he is.]
[There's something funny about what Giorno's saying. No, Fugo mentally corrects himself. How. Giorno's Italian is all corners tonight. It's puzzling. But the way he went slack as soon as Fugo's fingers touched his hairline is equally puzzling and he's too tired to wonder about them both. So he takes Giorno's funny-sounding Italian and nudges it up on a shelf of other things about him that don't make sense, between yakitori and Giorno's adamant love for pre-packaged pudding.]
Sounds pretty similar to me. [His fingers twitch over Giorno's temple before he repeats the gesture, even though there's no hair to push away.] I don't want to sleep if you feel bad, either. I want to help.
Sounds pretty similar to me. [His fingers twitch over Giorno's temple before he repeats the gesture, even though there's no hair to push away.] I don't want to sleep if you feel bad, either. I want to help.
[He sighs, light and a little helpless, when Fugo's fingers brush against his forehead again. His eyes fall shut again. The tiny gesture makes him want to cry a bit, but not in a bad way. It's more like . . . too much good welling up, threatening to choke him. He feels safe, which he knows he never is, and loved, which is one thing he thinks he can rely on.]
[After a moment, he curls forward a little and touches his forehead to Fugo's chest, then opens his eyes a crack to look at--Fugo's shirt. It's a very organized shirt. There are stripes. An easy-to-follow pattern. Not odd and nonsensical like dreams at all.]
I don't know how. [Inhale, caught on a hitched breath, exhale.] You can help me not be afraid.
[After a moment, he curls forward a little and touches his forehead to Fugo's chest, then opens his eyes a crack to look at--Fugo's shirt. It's a very organized shirt. There are stripes. An easy-to-follow pattern. Not odd and nonsensical like dreams at all.]
I don't know how. [Inhale, caught on a hitched breath, exhale.] You can help me not be afraid.
[In this moment, something unquantifiable tells Fugo that what he's doing is okay--moreover, it's the right thing to do. So he keeps at it, stroking Giorno's hair with a steady motion born from years of practice at a piano bench.]
Well, [Fugo begins, thoughtful and sleepy,] we can approach it scientifically. Come up with hypotheses and test them. Find the most effective methods.
But even if we don't, I won't go anywhere. [He falls quiet, thoughts circling around fear; of the way it takes root and holds on, how it can be cut and trimmed back. But, in so many ways, it's impossible to completely eradicate.] I'll stay even if you can't stop being afraid.
Well, [Fugo begins, thoughtful and sleepy,] we can approach it scientifically. Come up with hypotheses and test them. Find the most effective methods.
But even if we don't, I won't go anywhere. [He falls quiet, thoughts circling around fear; of the way it takes root and holds on, how it can be cut and trimmed back. But, in so many ways, it's impossible to completely eradicate.] I'll stay even if you can't stop being afraid.
Even if I can't . . . ?
[It doesn't make sense. He almost asks why. But in a way it's sort of obvious. Fugo said . . . body, mind, and soul. Body, mind, and soul.]
[Fugo has a beautiful soul. But why would anyone stay with Giorno if he can't be . . . all the things he tries to be?]
[Doesn't Fugo know it was all his fault, really? The corners of his eyes sting.]
I know that I can't stop being afraid. I've never--ever not been afraid. I don't want you to--to tie yourself to--
[But he already did. Body, mind, and soul. Giorno sniffs a little, blinks slowly against the fabric of Fugo's shirt.]
Reproving proven fact is a waste of time. It's useless.
[It doesn't make sense. He almost asks why. But in a way it's sort of obvious. Fugo said . . . body, mind, and soul. Body, mind, and soul.]
[Fugo has a beautiful soul. But why would anyone stay with Giorno if he can't be . . . all the things he tries to be?]
[Doesn't Fugo know it was all his fault, really? The corners of his eyes sting.]
I know that I can't stop being afraid. I've never--ever not been afraid. I don't want you to--to tie yourself to--
[But he already did. Body, mind, and soul. Giorno sniffs a little, blinks slowly against the fabric of Fugo's shirt.]
Reproving proven fact is a waste of time. It's useless.
I'll say it again. As many times as you like. [The hand in Giorno's hair stills, but doesn't leave. Fugo presses him close and just holds him, breathing in and out. Like this, anything that wanted to get to Giorno would have to make it past the barrier of his bony shoulders and elbows. It doesn't look like much, but that's fine. It's better to be underestimated. It's why Fugo doesn't care much for knives or guns and instead prefers to use whatever he can lay hands on to plumb the surprising depths of his own viciousness.] Saying it reminds me I can be a little less afraid.
[Even this tired, Fugo can't help but think and wonder-- would it be easier for Giorno to take comfort, if it were offered as help for someone else? Maybe. He hopes so. It's true, anyway. Repeating and confirming his promises helps him to feel more grounded; more centered on the path he's decided to walk down.]
[Even this tired, Fugo can't help but think and wonder-- would it be easier for Giorno to take comfort, if it were offered as help for someone else? Maybe. He hopes so. It's true, anyway. Repeating and confirming his promises helps him to feel more grounded; more centered on the path he's decided to walk down.]
[If Giorno believed in God, what he would think right now is that this, right here, is the truest proof of God's blessing. That Fugo is with him--that he was taken away from his home, and Fugo was brought to stand beside him--that he isn't alone--even on the brightest days, there's a part of him that thinks he doesn't deserve that. In the middle of the night, most of him thinks he doesn't deserve it.]
[In Fugo's arms, Giorno shudders. One long shiver, and then a single sob, low as a moan and drawn-out. When he starts crying properly, though, when his tears start flowing steadily down his cheeks, it's in silence.]
[Giorno doesn't believe in God. But Fugo is here, and Giorno can believe in him.]
I'm sorry.
[It comes out on a hiccup. He curls closer, presses his face against Fugo's shoulder, his breathing heavy and frightened.]
I just want to be perfect. If I was better, then nothing bad would happen anymore, no one would--
[He manages to cut off his voice, but his mouth is already moving; the words leave me shape themselves against Fugo's shoulder, and he shudders again, silent and breathless.]
I just want, [he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut,] to be perfect. For you. You deserve it. I want to. Why can't I . . . ?
[In Fugo's arms, Giorno shudders. One long shiver, and then a single sob, low as a moan and drawn-out. When he starts crying properly, though, when his tears start flowing steadily down his cheeks, it's in silence.]
[Giorno doesn't believe in God. But Fugo is here, and Giorno can believe in him.]
I'm sorry.
[It comes out on a hiccup. He curls closer, presses his face against Fugo's shoulder, his breathing heavy and frightened.]
I just want to be perfect. If I was better, then nothing bad would happen anymore, no one would--
[He manages to cut off his voice, but his mouth is already moving; the words leave me shape themselves against Fugo's shoulder, and he shudders again, silent and breathless.]
I just want, [he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut,] to be perfect. For you. You deserve it. I want to. Why can't I . . . ?
Edited (changes some wording to make myself Sadder) 2017-03-13 21:01 (UTC)
[Giorno shakes, shivers, and makes a single sound of grief. And then he cries in silence, face hidden in the slope of Fugo's shoulder. Fugo holds him close and thinks, over and over again: I won't go. I'll stay. I won't go. I'll stay. I won't go. I'll stay. Maybe if he thinks it enough, Giorno will feel it in his heartbeat and breath.
He won't go. This is where his place is. He can't go back. He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't know what to do to help Giorno be less afraid, how he can help him shoulder his grief. All he can do is step halfway and reach blindly for his hand.]
I don't want you to be perfect. I want you to be you.
He won't go. This is where his place is. He can't go back. He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't know what to do to help Giorno be less afraid, how he can help him shoulder his grief. All he can do is step halfway and reach blindly for his hand.]
I don't want you to be perfect. I want you to be you.
[Why is Fugo so good to him? He doesn't understand. He did it on purpose, tried to make himself so lovable and so needed, but it doesn't make sense. His plan didn't go right, Fugo almost died, it all so nearly fell apart, but Fugo is--]
[Fugo is here. Fugo's holding him, telling him impossible things as he gets his shoulder wet with tears and forgets how to breathe from crying so hard. Why? Why doesn't Fugo want him to be perfect?]
I'm no good, [he gasps, and then bites down hard on his lip and makes himself shut up. Promise me you won't die, he wants to demand, promise me, promise, please, Fugo, please, but he doesn't. He doesn't.]
Bruno, [he says instead, and inhales once so sharply that it hurts, then lets out one long shuddering breath.] Bruno was in--my dream.
[Fugo is here. Fugo's holding him, telling him impossible things as he gets his shoulder wet with tears and forgets how to breathe from crying so hard. Why? Why doesn't Fugo want him to be perfect?]
I'm no good, [he gasps, and then bites down hard on his lip and makes himself shut up. Promise me you won't die, he wants to demand, promise me, promise, please, Fugo, please, but he doesn't. He doesn't.]
Bruno, [he says instead, and inhales once so sharply that it hurts, then lets out one long shuddering breath.] Bruno was in--my dream.
[I'm no good.]
[There's something bothering him behind his eyelids. It prickles and stings. His arms cinch tighter around Giorno in an effort to pull him closer, even when there's honestly no closer for them to get. He knows he can't, but he wishes he could draw that pain of Giorno and into himself and just-- hold onto it, for a little while. Maybe forever.]
I am yours, no matter what. I won't go anywhere. Not without you. [It's all he can think to say, because he ... knows. Even if he said it a hundred times, even if he said it a thousand times, Giorno wouldn't be able to believe he was good. Fugo strokes Giorno's hair, mentally counting out a triple meter: one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. All of this before he even thinks of Bruno, which hurts more than when Angelica angled and buried a knife up to its hilt in his side.] Tell me. Let-- me hold onto it. At least until the morning, or as long as you need.
[There's something bothering him behind his eyelids. It prickles and stings. His arms cinch tighter around Giorno in an effort to pull him closer, even when there's honestly no closer for them to get. He knows he can't, but he wishes he could draw that pain of Giorno and into himself and just-- hold onto it, for a little while. Maybe forever.]
I am yours, no matter what. I won't go anywhere. Not without you. [It's all he can think to say, because he ... knows. Even if he said it a hundred times, even if he said it a thousand times, Giorno wouldn't be able to believe he was good. Fugo strokes Giorno's hair, mentally counting out a triple meter: one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. All of this before he even thinks of Bruno, which hurts more than when Angelica angled and buried a knife up to its hilt in his side.] Tell me. Let-- me hold onto it. At least until the morning, or as long as you need.
1. Oh, well. I will. Think about it? For now please don't use it in front of others.
Speaking of nicknames. Is it ... okay? To use Giogio here, when it's not just us. Or would you prefer Giorno.
2. That's ... a little less ominous. I guess. I've done movie nights before.
3. Except for this part. I can understand wanting you to come but why me? I'm not very fun. Especially for movie nights.
Speaking of nicknames. Is it ... okay? To use Giogio here, when it's not just us. Or would you prefer Giorno.
2. That's ... a little less ominous. I guess. I've done movie nights before.
3. Except for this part. I can understand wanting you to come but why me? I'm not very fun. Especially for movie nights.
1. of course, i won't if you don't want me to. and you're sweet but it's fine. i like it, it makes me miss home a little less
2 > 3. i don't know, but he probably wants to bother us at the same time and in the same place. it's also possible that he thinks you need to socialize more. he added a smiley face, i'm not sure what that signifies. i think you're fun, though.
2 > 3. i don't know, but he probably wants to bother us at the same time and in the same place. it's also possible that he thinks you need to socialize more. he added a smiley face, i'm not sure what that signifies. i think you're fun, though.
1. Thanks. I don't think I mind when it's you, but it can be hard sometimes getting people to stick with just Fugo to begin with.
2. I think the smiley face signifies he will probably use the opportunity to be nosy. And it sounds like Mettaton's in the habit of being wrong.
Do you want to go?
2. I think the smiley face signifies he will probably use the opportunity to be nosy. And it sounds like Mettaton's in the habit of being wrong.
Do you want to go?
1. it can be just us then. secret fugetto.
2. i do! i think it will be fun. he's very excited, he sent me a very glittery invitation. and i sort of think it also won't be that many people because i think he might be more particular about people than he lets on.
2. i do! i think it will be fun. he's very excited, he sent me a very glittery invitation. and i sort of think it also won't be that many people because i think he might be more particular about people than he lets on.
I am, for the time being, doing away with numbers since we're back down to one point.
That sounds like him. Did I tell you how he threw glitter over his head when we met to prove a point? Note: please don't take this as an excuse to make a habit of it yourself.
If there aren't too many people there, I suppose it won't be so bad. Unless they're all as loud as Mettaton is. Do you think everyone there will be as loud as Mettaton is? That might be overwhelming. I'm not sure what to think about potentially being in the same room as you both.
That sounds like him. Did I tell you how he threw glitter over his head when we met to prove a point? Note: please don't take this as an excuse to make a habit of it yourself.
If there aren't too many people there, I suppose it won't be so bad. Unless they're all as loud as Mettaton is. Do you think everyone there will be as loud as Mettaton is? That might be overwhelming. I'm not sure what to think about potentially being in the same room as you both.
Page 1 of 5