[It's not as though there's anything to compare it to, really. Even if there was--Giorno doesn't want to, and he doesn't need to. Comfort doesn't have to be perfect to be perfect. Fugo is, imperfectly, perfect precisely here and in this way, exactly what was needed, what Giorno needed that he didn't know he needed.]
[Somehow, despite the pointiness, it feels like he fits here perfectly. For the first time since he arrived, he allows himself to deflate, to be neither Don Giovanna nor Giogio, to be small. He breathes in the smell of Fugo's uniform, which doesn't smell quite right yet, and turns himself towards Fugo entirely. This is safe. This is his. He will be all right; they both will. He has to believe that.]
I--
[His words come slowly, his breathing deliberate. He has to calm down, to be strong for a little while longer, even if he has to be strong with his face pressed against Fugo's shoulder. It still counts, in this case. They've made that agreement. This is who they are to each other. Maybe it was too vulnerable and reckless a thing for him to give Fugo, a sight of his own heartbreak--but it's given, and he'll never take it back.]
no subject
[Somehow, despite the pointiness, it feels like he fits here perfectly. For the first time since he arrived, he allows himself to deflate, to be neither Don Giovanna nor Giogio, to be small. He breathes in the smell of Fugo's uniform, which doesn't smell quite right yet, and turns himself towards Fugo entirely. This is safe. This is his. He will be all right; they both will. He has to believe that.]
I--
[His words come slowly, his breathing deliberate. He has to calm down, to be strong for a little while longer, even if he has to be strong with his face pressed against Fugo's shoulder. It still counts, in this case. They've made that agreement. This is who they are to each other. Maybe it was too vulnerable and reckless a thing for him to give Fugo, a sight of his own heartbreak--but it's given, and he'll never take it back.]
Have to. Tell you the other things.