[In those twenty minutes, Fugo gets to work. He's very tired: he knows he can't get all he wants to accomplish done at once. But he begins. He retrieves a phone book and his personal map of Bavan. After marking the location of Persephone's orphanage on the map, he begins to narrow down nearby grocery stores from the retail directory of the yellow page sections. It's in the middle of this work that he receives Giorno's next message, which--
It does and doesn't catch him by surprise. Something that isn't quite pain slides between his ribs as he reads it. The truth is, practicalities are easier to wrap his head around. His whole life has been ruled by his practical usefulness: what he can do, not who he is. Because who he is-- well. That's awful, isn't it? What he could not accept that morning in November, as he sat across the table from Giorno in that empty restaurant, unable to hold back his tears at how unfair it was that he survived and the others did not, is that Giorno first held his hand out to him for who he was.
Half of a step. What Giorno needs, more than anything-- is a friend. To not be alone with the grief that's too heavy for either of them to carry alone.]
I will always believe in you. No matter what sort of path you might walk, I will always follow you. That's what the promise I made to you means to me.
It's difficult, sometimes. Even just to think about. It feels like I have chosen to believe the sky is orange instead of blue. But even when it's difficult, you don't let me forget. That is what the promise you made to me means to me.
I think so, yes. No matter what happens, how difficult it might be to work through it, they won't be alone.
[He hesitates, before he sends this last message. But only for a moment. He doesn't let himself think too much about it.]
If you are at the house and would like the company, my door is open. I'll be awake for a while longer, working on this.
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It does and doesn't catch him by surprise. Something that isn't quite pain slides between his ribs as he reads it. The truth is, practicalities are easier to wrap his head around. His whole life has been ruled by his practical usefulness: what he can do, not who he is. Because who he is-- well. That's awful, isn't it? What he could not accept that morning in November, as he sat across the table from Giorno in that empty restaurant, unable to hold back his tears at how unfair it was that he survived and the others did not, is that Giorno first held his hand out to him for who he was.
Half of a step. What Giorno needs, more than anything-- is a friend. To not be alone with the grief that's too heavy for either of them to carry alone.]
I will always believe in you. No matter what sort of path you might walk, I will always follow you. That's what the promise I made to you means to me.
It's difficult, sometimes. Even just to think about. It feels like I have chosen to believe the sky is orange instead of blue. But even when it's difficult, you don't let me forget. That is what the promise you made to me means to me.
I think so, yes. No matter what happens, how difficult it might be to work through it, they won't be alone.
[He hesitates, before he sends this last message. But only for a moment. He doesn't let himself think too much about it.]
If you are at the house and would like the company, my door is open. I'll be awake for a while longer, working on this.