[Fugo isn't any taller than Giorno, really. They're of a height. Fugo is even thinner than Giorno is, because he can't seem to put the weight back on that he lost between Milano and Sicilia. Still: Fugo positions himself in front of Giorno, curling his narrow shoulders forward to give him as much cover as possible. He wants to hold him, but he can't do that without letting go of Giorno's hands-- and he refuses to do that.]
It isn't your fault. [It isn't Giorno's fault that there was an outbreak. And it isn't Giorno's fault, either, that Fugo is like this: damaged goods, inherently dangerous, messed up in a way that can't be fixed.] You were with me the whole time.
[They only have ten seconds. Fugo doesn't know the exact number, but he knows it's only a moment. And then he has to be more-or-less in the present again, because the situation is not one where he can fold himself into a crack in the farthest part of his head and run on autopilot. He can't let his head fill with white noise. He needs to think. He needs to be here, in this moment, with Giorno.]
[He didn't quite forget about Jin. It's just that there wasn't room in his head to remember him. Fugo watches him, wary and a little confused, as the pieces of what happened line up neatly in his head. Jin lead them here without arguing, or any commentary. Jin-- let him hold onto his jacket, even though all things considered it probably would have been safer for everyone to have their eyes open when making it through that crowd. And now Jin is reaching out to touch (comfort?) Giorno and is ... asking after them.
He doesn't get it. And he really doesn't have time to reason it out, either. Moreover, he's not even sure how to answer Jin's question.]
I'll be fine. I just need-- [Not to be closed up in a mall with a panicked crowd and infected. To be back home. To not be involved in any of this at all.] A moment. [...] I can't go out there again until the crowd is gone.
[Fugo looks from Jin to Giorno. He doesn't say anything, but there's a quiet, unnatural deference in his expression that doesn't fit with the story they just happen to be friends from home. What does Jin know? How much does Giorno want to tell him? How honest are they going to be?]
no subject
It isn't your fault. [It isn't Giorno's fault that there was an outbreak. And it isn't Giorno's fault, either, that Fugo is like this: damaged goods, inherently dangerous, messed up in a way that can't be fixed.] You were with me the whole time.
[They only have ten seconds. Fugo doesn't know the exact number, but he knows it's only a moment. And then he has to be more-or-less in the present again, because the situation is not one where he can fold himself into a crack in the farthest part of his head and run on autopilot. He can't let his head fill with white noise. He needs to think. He needs to be here, in this moment, with Giorno.]
[He didn't quite forget about Jin. It's just that there wasn't room in his head to remember him. Fugo watches him, wary and a little confused, as the pieces of what happened line up neatly in his head. Jin lead them here without arguing, or any commentary. Jin-- let him hold onto his jacket, even though all things considered it probably would have been safer for everyone to have their eyes open when making it through that crowd. And now Jin is reaching out to touch (comfort?) Giorno and is ... asking after them.
He doesn't get it. And he really doesn't have time to reason it out, either. Moreover, he's not even sure how to answer Jin's question.]
I'll be fine. I just need-- [Not to be closed up in a mall with a panicked crowd and infected. To be back home. To not be involved in any of this at all.] A moment. [...] I can't go out there again until the crowd is gone.
[Fugo looks from Jin to Giorno. He doesn't say anything, but there's a quiet, unnatural deference in his expression that doesn't fit with the story they just happen to be friends from home. What does Jin know? How much does Giorno want to tell him? How honest are they going to be?]