[And that's something, that he seems to have recognised Giovanni's attempt for what it is. There are so many things he struggles to grasp and comprehend about the world he's been thrust into, cut off and apart from the kind of cold brutality he's always known where feelings were something to be shunned and shut down and altogether denied unless one wanted to be destroyed. And so faced with them now, again and again, this team that seems to be filled with bleeding hearts and people who's edges are far too soft, he rarely knows how to act, how to be. Where he fits into all this.
He suspects they'd rather not have him here. Doesn't blame them for it.
But it's because of this that the faint smile surprises him-- not an indication of happiness, no, but there's something in it. Some subtle form of acknowledgement and as such Giovanni moves a few steps closer, makes to crouch down beside his fellow teammate and the cooling body of their fallen ally.]
I suppose it is, yes.
[It's not as though he doesn't know what that's like. To see the bodies of people that had mattered to him (had been the only thing that mattered) shattered and broken and ripped apart, lying in pools of their own livid blood, and that situation had been different to this (infinitely worse), but he's still living in its shadow even now. He'd known it, once, how it felt to be affected by such deaths. To be surrounded by it, crushed beneath their weight. Maybe that's what his teammate is feeling now, to a lesser extent. Perhaps that's how it feels to him.]
Is there something we ought to do? Move the body, perhaps.
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He suspects they'd rather not have him here. Doesn't blame them for it.
But it's because of this that the faint smile surprises him-- not an indication of happiness, no, but there's something in it. Some subtle form of acknowledgement and as such Giovanni moves a few steps closer, makes to crouch down beside his fellow teammate and the cooling body of their fallen ally.]
I suppose it is, yes.
[It's not as though he doesn't know what that's like. To see the bodies of people that had mattered to him (had been the only thing that mattered) shattered and broken and ripped apart, lying in pools of their own livid blood, and that situation had been different to this (infinitely worse), but he's still living in its shadow even now. He'd known it, once, how it felt to be affected by such deaths. To be surrounded by it, crushed beneath their weight. Maybe that's what his teammate is feeling now, to a lesser extent. Perhaps that's how it feels to him.]
Is there something we ought to do? Move the body, perhaps.
[And again, he's trying. He is.]