[Abbacchio reaches out and rests a hand on his shoulder.]
[Fugo senses it coming. He sees the movement in his lateral eyes, the vague impression of Abbacchio's arm reaching towards him, and he feels it too, in the way Abbacchio shifts his weight and leans forward. Even so. Even so, his tight muscles bunch up further. Fugo looks up at Abbacchio, surprise swimming somewhere in the sea of nothing he's adrift in, and it's really him this time, the Fugo behind the things he needs to get done and take care of. Fugo, who is always surprised and never quite knows what to do with gestures of care. He doesn't pull away. Fugo, worn down with grief and guilt and regret.
I should have been there. I should have looked for him sooner. I shouldn't have let him go alone.
He just watches, throat thick with emotion he can't let himself express, and allows Abbacchio to take the coat from his hands and help him into it. It's much easier when someone helps him get the panels settled, but Fugo never asks. When he moves to fasten the buttons down the front, it's with trembling fingers. He then closes his eyes, takes a breath, and holds it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. When he exhales, it's not as shaky as he thought it would be.]
Thank you. [At first, his voice is soft; rough around the edges with everything that he's holding in. But it gets easier, as he goes, to reign himself back in. To duck back out of sight.] I'll work closely with Jodariel. I've packed my laptop. I'll check in when I can. If you want to hear from me, just send me a message.
[There are two things Fugo cannot allow. He can't let the orphanage come to any harm. He must protect it. But, at the same time-- he can't let himself be killed. As strange as it is, as little sense as it makes, Fugo knows that Giorno would never be able to forgive himself if Fugo let himself die for this. He has to live. He has to keep moving forward, no matter what.]
Look after Bucciarati. [And let him look after you, he thinks, but doesn't say.] And-- ... if you check on her, could you bring Trish some water? Just in case she wakes up. The brand she prefers is in the main kitchen's refrigerator. I've written her name on the bottles it so no one drinks it accidentally.
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[Fugo senses it coming. He sees the movement in his lateral eyes, the vague impression of Abbacchio's arm reaching towards him, and he feels it too, in the way Abbacchio shifts his weight and leans forward. Even so. Even so, his tight muscles bunch up further. Fugo looks up at Abbacchio, surprise swimming somewhere in the sea of nothing he's adrift in, and it's really him this time, the Fugo behind the things he needs to get done and take care of. Fugo, who is always surprised and never quite knows what to do with gestures of care. He doesn't pull away. Fugo, worn down with grief and guilt and regret.
I should have been there. I should have looked for him sooner. I shouldn't have let him go alone.
He just watches, throat thick with emotion he can't let himself express, and allows Abbacchio to take the coat from his hands and help him into it. It's much easier when someone helps him get the panels settled, but Fugo never asks. When he moves to fasten the buttons down the front, it's with trembling fingers. He then closes his eyes, takes a breath, and holds it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. When he exhales, it's not as shaky as he thought it would be.]
Thank you. [At first, his voice is soft; rough around the edges with everything that he's holding in. But it gets easier, as he goes, to reign himself back in. To duck back out of sight.] I'll work closely with Jodariel. I've packed my laptop. I'll check in when I can. If you want to hear from me, just send me a message.
[There are two things Fugo cannot allow. He can't let the orphanage come to any harm. He must protect it. But, at the same time-- he can't let himself be killed. As strange as it is, as little sense as it makes, Fugo knows that Giorno would never be able to forgive himself if Fugo let himself die for this. He has to live. He has to keep moving forward, no matter what.]
Look after Bucciarati. [And let him look after you, he thinks, but doesn't say.] And-- ... if you check on her, could you bring Trish some water? Just in case she wakes up. The brand she prefers is in the main kitchen's refrigerator. I've written her name on the bottles it so no one drinks it accidentally.