[Fugo doesn't see the look that Giorno gives Jin, or the way Jin looks down at him. He can't see anything. He doesn't hear much either, because he-- has to focus on the material he's reciting, because when he focuses he can filter out the screaming and the crying and the shouting. Purple Haze, howling with fury because every other time Fugo has been this afraid the fastest solution to the problem was to kill and he can't, he can't, he can't. The heavy sounds of people pushing and fighting around them. The only voice that reaches him is Giorno's. I have you: that's the promise he fixes on, that the hand locked in with his belongs to Giorno.
Left, right, left, right; they're making progress, he thinks. Giorno has him. They're halfway. Giorno hasn't let go. They're almost there. Giorno is still with him, even though it must hurt to be held onto so tightly.]
[He doesn't quite realize they've made it. He stands still, his eyes still tightly closed and his hand still balled tightly in Jin's jacket. He doesn't let go of until Giorno pulls him away and starts the process of easing him out of his head and back into thepresent. When he opens his eyes and looks at Giorno, they're so glassy and faraway, pupils enormous in his uncanny, red irises, it's obvious he doesn't see him. He looks very lost.]
Giogio? [He knows that he's there, though. You didn't hurt anyone. Fugo finally allows himself to shudder, because it's been a very long time since he's been this irrationally, foolishly frightened. (How did it get this bad? He's not really claustrophobic. Closed spaces, or densely packed crowds, are just places he avoids as a precaution, not something he's actually afraid of.) Too close. That was too close. But he didn't hurt anyone. Fugo's fingers twitch in Giorno's hands and, very quickly, his pupils contract and he's more himself again.]
Sono qui. Sto bene. [This quiet assurance is less for himself and more for Giorno, who looks so worried and afraid. Fugo's grip shifts and adjusts in Giorno's hands, still sure but not so painfully tight.]
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Left, right, left, right; they're making progress, he thinks. Giorno has him. They're halfway. Giorno hasn't let go. They're almost there. Giorno is still with him, even though it must hurt to be held onto so tightly.]
[He doesn't quite realize they've made it. He stands still, his eyes still tightly closed and his hand still balled tightly in Jin's jacket. He doesn't let go of until Giorno pulls him away and starts the process of easing him out of his head and back into thepresent. When he opens his eyes and looks at Giorno, they're so glassy and faraway, pupils enormous in his uncanny, red irises, it's obvious he doesn't see him. He looks very lost.]
Giogio? [He knows that he's there, though. You didn't hurt anyone. Fugo finally allows himself to shudder, because it's been a very long time since he's been this irrationally, foolishly frightened. (How did it get this bad? He's not really claustrophobic. Closed spaces, or densely packed crowds, are just places he avoids as a precaution, not something he's actually afraid of.) Too close. That was too close. But he didn't hurt anyone. Fugo's fingers twitch in Giorno's hands and, very quickly, his pupils contract and he's more himself again.]
Sono qui. Sto bene. [This quiet assurance is less for himself and more for Giorno, who looks so worried and afraid. Fugo's grip shifts and adjusts in Giorno's hands, still sure but not so painfully tight.]