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[starmark]

. . . Yare yare. What is it? Hurry up and say something already.



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[digiorno]

[There's a while where Jotaro doesn't speak, and Giorno doesn't expect him to. It's not as though they have anywhere else to be; it's not as though he's got anything more important to do right now, or ever, than protect his famiglia. Sometimes quiet is a kind of protection - this he's learning from Bruno, a lesson he feels he should have learned earlier, and from Jotaro, who is always teaching him something.]

[What he does in the silence is stand steady. He knows himself well enough to be aware that's something he does well, something people value him for. He wants to be valued, but more than anything else he wants to be that pillar of support. He wants to help, because that is the most direct way he knows to love people - personally and impersonally, in the micro- and macrocosm.]

[He's pretty sure there isn't anything more important than that - love and the good things that can come from love. And in this realm of the-most-important-thing-that-is, Jotaro is one of the most important things.]

[Sometimes it's baffling that he doesn't see that, how vital he is, how necessary, how much. But sometimes a friend's role is to be a mirror and nothing more. This is something else Giorno has learned.]

[So for a few minutes, he lets himself focus out into the trees. His attention, forcefully gentle as always, doesn't return to Jotaro entirely until he speaks.]

[Three words. Aren't they important ones, too.]

It's like those pictures, the ones that are from very close up, so you can't tell what they are. It looks like the center of the sun, explosions on top of explosions, but it's a dragonfly's eye. Something tiny and insignificant. That's what it is, looking at a human life for a month, or two, or three.

I believe that he is. I believe - there are little, tiny signs that say he's starting to question power as a pure ideal, as what he wants. I believe the less scared he is, the more truth he hears, the more he will be able to heal, the safer he'll be from scarring.

But I can't . . .

[For half a second, he buries his face in Jotaro's sleeve. Half a second is all it takes to pull himself together again.]

I can't promise anything. I'm not him. I haven't lived his life. I just know - what it means to want power, so that no one else can ever hurt you again. It's not about the power, in the end. It's about being safe, and everything else comes after.

[starmark]

...When I say I trust you...

[He's slow, when he begins, not so much choosing his words carefully as simply taking his time with the thoughts; it's a subtle difference, but on Jotaro it's an obvious one, particularly to someone who knows him so well. Words wouldn't come easily, whether he was trying to craft them or not. As it is, he feels burned-out and tired, with ache already ringing his eyes like the dark circles he suspects he'll have in the morning.]

I never...expect promises. Certainties, I mean. It's not about being infallible.

[He pulls Giorno a little tighter; it's strange how he almost feels like an impostor like this, a little kid playing at being an adult, in a too-big body to match.]

What I mean is...I trust that you'll tell me what you honestly believe. And that when you act, it'll be on honest belief. I might not ever be able to see him differently than I do. You might do things differently than I would. Maybe I'll disagree with them, even, but...

...I don't know what's right. I know what I think is right. And I trust you, always, to do what you believe is right. So...at least if we're all trying, one of us will probably get to it. Even if it's not me.

I believe in you. And I believe...that you think, that there's no version of "right" that involves me getting hurt. So...

[digiorno]

[It's not about being infallible.]

[That's a wonderful kind of statement. Awe-inspiring, really. Isn't that what he's supposed to be - perfect, so that no one else has to be? So that other people can make mistakes and it won't ruin everything? He must be perfect, or everything falls apart.]

[So this - it's not about being infallible - it makes him gust out a sigh, easy to disguise as Jotaro pulls him close, and he thinks it must be so difficult to be Jotaro, to give comfort to someone who's chosen to lead when you haven't chosen it yourself. He clings tightly to the sleeve of his gakuran and buries his face in it and thinks if I had been there no one would have gotten hurt except for me.]

[It's a guilty thing to think. But if he could pull all of that weight off of Jotaro's shoulders . . . some days he feels like he should. Some days he feels like he could be Atlas.]

There isn't one.

[He says this fiercely, pressing himself tight against Jotaro's side, refusing to be forgotten or ignored.]

There's no reality where you getting hurt is right. So I won't allow it. I don't allow wrong things to happen anymore.