[Fugo listens. He tries not to stare, to give Giorno the time and the space he needs to work through what he wants to say. He doesn't push. Once he has finished speaking, even though a part of him wants to fill the unhappy silence, he waits for Giorno to be ready to speak on his own terms. Because it's difficult, isn't it? Even for someone like Giorno, usually so certain and eloquent. To find the words to describe this sort of rejection.
Trust doesn't come easily for people like them. It is always a choice, rather than an instinct; one made with the implicit knowledge that trust is synonymous with vulnerability, because to trust is to allow another close enough to hurt. Giorno trusted Riley. Not just with some things, but as with as much of himself as he could. Obviously her rejection hurt him; Fugo can hear that pain in the hoarseness of his voice, see it in the tremor of his shoulders. All of his moments are so precise. So careful. Because if he doesn't take care, he will break something.
But what Giorno cannot wrap his mind around, what makes him so angry that he can't trust himself to hold onto his glass of water for fear of it inevitably cracking and shattering in his white-knuckled grip, is how Riley couldn't see how this spiral of violence she's thrown herself into runs contrary to everything Giorno stands for as a person. Everything he has ever fought and killed and bled for. She is too caught up in the spectacle of it, blinded by her own desire to play the heroine.]
[So, the question is this. Was it wrong of Giorno to trust Riley? To believe they were the same, that she shared his convictions? And where does he go from here?]
Do you think... it's possible to know someone too well?
[It's an odd question to pose. And Fugo knows it, before he even says it. But it's the only way that he knows how to begin. He's spent his whole life trying to know, really know, the people around him. So he can guess at what they want, what they need-- what he can give them that no one else can. So he can stay one step ahead. So he can always be ready for what happens next. But that's not how it works, is it?]
What I mean to say is... sometimes, even when you understand someone as well as two people can possibly know each other, you can still be blindsided by them. Maybe it's even easier, because you think you already know how they will act.
[Fugo shakes his head, then presses his mouth together. He won't bring it up here. But when Bucciarati first emerged from the basilica with Trish unconscious in his arms, Fugo knows that his first emotion in that moment was shock. That he just couldn't believe it. Even though he had known Bucciarati was hiding something from him, from all of them, the scope of it was unimaginable.]
I don't think you were wrong to trust her. But you aren't wrong to be angry with her either. She has chosen a path that you can't and won't ever follow her down.
[Giorno isn't sure that Riley can stop herself. But she is the only one who can end this. Just like trust, if Riley wants to have a relationship with Giorno and the children, she must choose to give this up. She has to put the children before her own anger, her own pain.]
What will matter most, what will say the most about her, is what she chooses to do next.
[Now that Giorno has made Riley look, forced her to acknowledge her own blind spot, will she be able to bring herself to stop? What will she do to protect and provide for the children whose lives she has thrust herself into? Giorno has already made up his mind what he wants to do. Hopefully, when the worst of whatever maelstrom that swallowed Riley whole passes, she will be able to meet him halfway.]
no subject
Trust doesn't come easily for people like them. It is always a choice, rather than an instinct; one made with the implicit knowledge that trust is synonymous with vulnerability, because to trust is to allow another close enough to hurt. Giorno trusted Riley. Not just with some things, but as with as much of himself as he could. Obviously her rejection hurt him; Fugo can hear that pain in the hoarseness of his voice, see it in the tremor of his shoulders. All of his moments are so precise. So careful. Because if he doesn't take care, he will break something.
But what Giorno cannot wrap his mind around, what makes him so angry that he can't trust himself to hold onto his glass of water for fear of it inevitably cracking and shattering in his white-knuckled grip, is how Riley couldn't see how this spiral of violence she's thrown herself into runs contrary to everything Giorno stands for as a person. Everything he has ever fought and killed and bled for. She is too caught up in the spectacle of it, blinded by her own desire to play the heroine.]
[So, the question is this. Was it wrong of Giorno to trust Riley? To believe they were the same, that she shared his convictions? And where does he go from here?]
Do you think... it's possible to know someone too well?
[It's an odd question to pose. And Fugo knows it, before he even says it. But it's the only way that he knows how to begin. He's spent his whole life trying to know, really know, the people around him. So he can guess at what they want, what they need-- what he can give them that no one else can. So he can stay one step ahead. So he can always be ready for what happens next. But that's not how it works, is it?]
What I mean to say is... sometimes, even when you understand someone as well as two people can possibly know each other, you can still be blindsided by them. Maybe it's even easier, because you think you already know how they will act.
[Fugo shakes his head, then presses his mouth together. He won't bring it up here. But when Bucciarati first emerged from the basilica with Trish unconscious in his arms, Fugo knows that his first emotion in that moment was shock. That he just couldn't believe it. Even though he had known Bucciarati was hiding something from him, from all of them, the scope of it was unimaginable.]
I don't think you were wrong to trust her. But you aren't wrong to be angry with her either. She has chosen a path that you can't and won't ever follow her down.
[Giorno isn't sure that Riley can stop herself. But she is the only one who can end this. Just like trust, if Riley wants to have a relationship with Giorno and the children, she must choose to give this up. She has to put the children before her own anger, her own pain.]
What will matter most, what will say the most about her, is what she chooses to do next.
[Now that Giorno has made Riley look, forced her to acknowledge her own blind spot, will she be able to bring herself to stop? What will she do to protect and provide for the children whose lives she has thrust herself into? Giorno has already made up his mind what he wants to do. Hopefully, when the worst of whatever maelstrom that swallowed Riley whole passes, she will be able to meet him halfway.]