[Giorno holds his breath. It's terrifying. Every time this happens, when Fugo just. Goes away. It scares the life out of him. What if he never comes back?]
[And he doesn't realize he does the same, at least not consciously, but some part of him remembers: what it was like to go away like that and never, ever want to come back. The world is cruel to broken children, which is why they try so hard to pretend that's not what they are.]
[But then Fugo focuses, his pupils contract, and he speaks again--I'm okay. Giorno exhales sharply. In the moment before he bows his head, his expression crumples with exhausted relief; then he rests his forehead on Fugo's shoulder and sighs, tries to figure out how to regulate his breathing. He used to know, a few minutes ago.]
You did so well, [he murmurs, soft and shaky.] I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in a situation like this. But you did so, so well, you were so brave.
[And then he just has to stop talking for a moment. He has to figure out how to put his heart back together so he can keep moving. He knows how, generally, but he doesn't have time to worry about it too much right now, he has to be quick and keep moving to keep everyone safe. So he just closes his eyes for ten seconds, ten whole seconds, breathes in the smell of Fugo's shirt and grounds himself in the tight grip of his hands, and then--looks up again.]
[But.]
[Jin is looking at him.]
[There's something about his expression that doesn't . . . quite make sense. Like he's looking for something. Or is upset. Not just worried about the situation, but upset. It--reminds Giorno of something, maybe, but he doesn't know what, or doesn't want to think about it. It's too much.]
Thank you, [he tries to say, but his voice wavers on the second word, sounding teary and more overwhelmed than he ever wants to sound. He clears his throat and smiles tightly.] Thank you, Jin. We'll--need to stay here for a little while. Just until the crowd disperses a bit. We can't leave until people spread out more, it's not safe.
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[And he doesn't realize he does the same, at least not consciously, but some part of him remembers: what it was like to go away like that and never, ever want to come back. The world is cruel to broken children, which is why they try so hard to pretend that's not what they are.]
[But then Fugo focuses, his pupils contract, and he speaks again--I'm okay. Giorno exhales sharply. In the moment before he bows his head, his expression crumples with exhausted relief; then he rests his forehead on Fugo's shoulder and sighs, tries to figure out how to regulate his breathing. He used to know, a few minutes ago.]
You did so well, [he murmurs, soft and shaky.] I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in a situation like this. But you did so, so well, you were so brave.
[And then he just has to stop talking for a moment. He has to figure out how to put his heart back together so he can keep moving. He knows how, generally, but he doesn't have time to worry about it too much right now, he has to be quick and keep moving to keep everyone safe. So he just closes his eyes for ten seconds, ten whole seconds, breathes in the smell of Fugo's shirt and grounds himself in the tight grip of his hands, and then--looks up again.]
[But.]
[Jin is looking at him.]
[There's something about his expression that doesn't . . . quite make sense. Like he's looking for something. Or is upset. Not just worried about the situation, but upset. It--reminds Giorno of something, maybe, but he doesn't know what, or doesn't want to think about it. It's too much.]
Thank you, [he tries to say, but his voice wavers on the second word, sounding teary and more overwhelmed than he ever wants to sound. He clears his throat and smiles tightly.] Thank you, Jin. We'll--need to stay here for a little while. Just until the crowd disperses a bit. We can't leave until people spread out more, it's not safe.