[Fugo's in the midst of patiently brushing glitter off the front of his hoodie (he is only marginally successful: while he gets most of it off, there's now a distinctly sparkly patch on his left) when Mettaton perches nearby.]

There's really not much to say. He likes your taste in music and clothes. He thinks you're fun. [Briefly, the stern set of of his features slides towards wistfulness; Giorno could use more fun in his life. Letting Giorno have some fun is what brought Fugo here today. And he doesn't regret coming, even though shopping has never been something he enjoys and things have gone entirely to hell. He just wishes the day could have stayed that way. He stubbornly sets his jaw and, rather than letting himself get stuck in the feeling, translates it into bending down to stash his stolen cash into a bag.] He didn't say anything bad.