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“Can I help you redo your hair?”
Giorno turned his attention at Fugo, who stood a few steps away from the desk.
He’d been toying with his braid for hours now, running a hand through his hair every now and then as his eyes meticulously read each document to keep blond strands from blocking his view. Eventually, it became loose. Giorno meant to fix it before, but as easily as it was to undo it, his mind also found a way to keep him entertained with his work. It would’ve been a little embarrassing, if it weren’t Fugo’s eyes watching him.
At a glance, Giorno noticed the ceaseless fidgeting from Fugo’s fingers, the way his lips tensed to hold back from speaking any more words, awaiting for a response. Cute .
“I would appreciate it, Fugo.” Giorno replied.
His hands lowered to the wood of the desk, carefully placed atop the papers he’d been going through since the morning. Budget distribution, protection fees, alliance invitations from other families — he didn’t know what would be of all these details without everyone’s support. He supposed that, in a way, Fugo was trying to be of service right now.
Upon hearing his approval, Fugo’s expression lightened in the subtle way Giorno had learned to notice during their interactions. Giorno watched Fugo round the desk until he was standing next to his chair, paused only to signal that he’d be touching Giorno’s hair. All these formalities were part of Fugo’s charm, and he couldn’t get enough of it, no matter how much time they’ve spent together.
Giorno’s heart fluttered with anticipation, and when Fugo’s fingers began to untwirl what remained of his braid, the corner of his lips twitched on their own volition. Fugo moved carefully, all actions calculated as to not delay any of this. Sometimes, Giorno wished Fugo would ask for more than what they had.
However, Fugo never closed off any door for him. It was up to Giorno to cross the bridge, interpret what Fugo didn't say and watch the slight changes: the tint of his cheeks when they’re close, or the way his eyes drop to follow the curve of Giorno’s lower lip. He’d happily reach as far as necessary, cross what land stands between them. If the world were to end now, with Fugo’s knuckles softly brushing against his shoulders, he’d be satisfied with it.
“Done.” Fugo announced, bringing Giorno back from his thoughts. Giorno reached back to feel his hair, firm and back in place.
“Thank you. I meant to do this myself, but my mind was kept elsewhere.” a chuckle escaped him. Fugo tensed at his side, the tip of his ears looking shades darker and redder than before. Giorno raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“No need to thank me, this is part of my job.” Fugo averted his gaze, taking one of the white locks on the side of his head and placing it on behind his ear, self-conscious.
Ah …
Giorno remained silent for a moment, reviewing their interaction. His body burned where Fugo’s hands touched, and his mouth felt strangely dry since the moment Fugo stood beside his chair. He looked down to the floor, then back to Fugo’s fidgeting hands. Separated by only a step, Giorno could simply reach and take him by the wrist. But he didn’t want it that way.
Instead, Giorno stood from his seat and leaned back against the edge of the desk, his arms spreading at the height of his hip in a welcoming manner. Fugo watched in silence, then moved a step forward when Giorno’s arms opened in front of him. Giorno received Fugo’s hands with his own, locking their fingers as their bodies got closer and closer, until there was no more bridges to cross.
“You know you can just kiss me, right?” Giorno’s voice was teasing. He guided their arms to fall on each their sides. Fugo pressed a little tighter against his chest, and he wasn’t sure who that restless heartbeat belonged to.
“Gio, please. You know I can’t. I...” Fugo hesitated for a moment, then bit back his next words. Giorno blinked twice, confused. After a short pause, Fugo’s grip on his hands grew stronger. The next second, Giorno felt his own body being pulled down and he allowed it. He trusted that Fugo would never let him fall.
Fugo’s lips were always warm, and sweet. Tense, but unforgiving. He kissed not with anger, but with longing. Like a bird that’s been caged for a long time and is presented the vast blue sky. He’s scared of its endless expanse, but is inevitably drawn by its beauty, so he spreads his wings and flies away from the land, to never be found again.