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There is a limit to the amount of luxury to be afforded in any one object or tool. At some point, a bed has the highest thread count and most beautiful covers it can have, and there is nothing gained from trying to fancy it further.
(The exception to this is cars. There is always a better car to purchase than the one someone else has. It makes up for the low success rates of penis enlargement pills.)
Showers come in many different forms. There are showers that recycle the water used, showers that provide rhythmic massages, and showerheads in all shapes and sizes, some that can be adjusted to taste and some that are a yard across and mounted to the ceiling.
Fugo has what would be called a ‘standard’ shower. It’s spacious enough to give him some elbow room, but not huge, and the showerhead can’t be moved. He has never seen reason to complain about his shower, except that one time he banged his elbow on the wall, and even that was mostly his own fault. He doesn’t normally envy other people’s showers, but he hasn’t taken showers in too many other people’s homes in the first place.
It’s early in the morning when Fugo arrives to deliver the report of success on his last mission. He’d been so tired after dealing with the Stand user that he hadn’t been able to do more than make it to his bed before collapsing, let alone make it all the way to Giorno’s office. After a good night’s sleep, he’d immediately thrown on his clothes and headed to Giorno’s place of residence.
He only realizes he might have come too early when Giorno isn’t anywhere to be seen in his office. Fugo steps back into the hallway and casts a glance towards Giorno’s bedroom before deciding that no, it was better to just leave a written notice and go than wait for Giorno to wake up. That would just be awkward.
He writes up all the relevant details, adds a brief ‘sorry I missed you’ note at the end, and leaves the report on the desk. When he returns to the hallway, another door further on opens up and Giorno steps out.
Giorno, who has a towel around his messy hair and another around his hips as the only thing preserving his modesty, blinks at him. “Good morning,” he says, like he steps out of the shower and sees other people in his home all the time.
“G...ood morning?” Fugo answers. It does not escape his notice that he is talking to a practically naked Giorno, and he tries not to blush. “I’m sorry I came so early, I got back last night but I was too tired to deliver the report then, I’ll just-”
“Fugo. You don’t have to deliver your reports to me instantly. Have you even had breakfast or showered yet today?” Giorno asks.
“No,” Fugo admits. “But those things can wait.”
Giorno shakes his head. “I was about to make myself breakfast anyway. As for the shower, you can use mine.”
“That’s very kind of you but I-”
“I insist.”
That’s that. Fugo hesitantly approaches Giorno, who is still not wearing anything resembling clothing, and peeks into the room he just left. “...GioGio. There are apartments smaller than your bathroom.”
It’s enormous. The shower is easily twice the size of Fugo’s, and who actually needs a floor-length mirror in their bathroom? It’s ridiculous.
Giorno shrugs. “The building came like that. I’ve been thinking of ways to better use the space, but so far I haven’t come up with anything. Let me know when you’re done.”
Fugo nods, and steps inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
It’s not the first time he’s stripped down in Giorno’s home, but it is the first time he’s done so in this particular lap of luxury. Even Giorno’s bedroom isn’t quite so bad. He sets his clothes aside carefully and pulls back the shower curtain.
Of course the shower has one of those high-tech showerheads with a million settings. Fugo’s done being surprised.
He will grant that the right setting, after doing a little bit of fiddling, feels like heaven on his skin. It takes no time at all to warm up enough and has exactly the right amount of pressure. Fugo can’t recall enjoying a shower this much for a long time as he soaps himself up.
“I forgot to mention something.”
Did Fugo say he was done being surprised? Because Giorno pulling back the shower curtain gets him to jolt and drop the bar of soap. “What are you doing?!”
Giorno, still not wearing more than a towel kept in place by one hand, holds out a bottle of shampoo with his other. “Telling you where the hair products are. I have too many and there’s no wall space designed for them for some reason, so I usually just keep them in the cabinets.”
Fugo grabs the shampoo from his hand, more violently than necessary, and turns away to hide his bright red face. “Thank you. Is that all?”
“You dropped your soap,” says Giorno.
“I was almost done with it anyway.” Fugo hears a soft sound like the crumple of fabric. “Please don’t tell me that was your towel hitting the floor.”
He gets his answer when Giorno picks up a small washcloth and starts to rub it over his toes. He makes a noise of embarrassment and covers his face with his hands as Giorno continues to wash his feet, then his calves, working up his body part by part. Every piece of Fugo is treated with care and gentleness.
Giorno washes his hair for him as well. The entire experience is soothing, and Fugo just lets Giorno do as he pleases without any resistance. It’s only after the shower is turned off that he mumbles a weak, “Why do you do these things?”
“Usually because I want to.” Giorno kisses the back of his shoulder. “Would you still like breakfast?”
“Nothing fancy. I don’t think I could take it after all that.” Fugo looks down at the discarded towel. “And we both need to be wearing clothes.”