[Broken bones hurt. That's a simple fact, but one that Fugo didn't completely understand until he came to, heaving seawater out of his screaming lungs, on the stony shore of Siracusa, bothered by a sharp pain in his side. But they're not an unbearable sort of pain, not as it's not a limb necessary for keeping balance and moving forward.

Still. He tries to be careful, while handling Stiles' arm. His touch his firm and his movements certain (because hesitating and stuttering here would just make it worse) but neither does he hurry the process along, or try to force it in a direction that's obviously painful.]

When I was younger, everyone called me Panni. [Using the gauze to hold it in place, Fugo wraps up the ruler around the arm Stiles has been favoring.] But that was a long time ago. "Pannacotta for Panni". It just sounds childish, you know?

[Fugo looks up towards Stiles and wrinkles his nose at the memory. It's an expression that's both odd and not: odd because Fugo is very severe, not because it's a persnickety gesture at home on any teenager's face.]

Giorno, though. He's got a nickname.