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"Giogio." Fugo sounded flabbergasted.
"Yes, Panna?"
Even from Giorno's perspective on the floor, he could see how red Fugo's face is from seeing the drawn patterns on his ankle cast. "Are you drawing on my cast?"
“Maybe.”
“That pink marker in your hand says otherwise.”
Giorno merely laughed quietly, giving his husband a quick wink as he drew another heart on Fugo’s cast. The strawberry boy's cast was signed by all of their other friends, including Narancia's large 'get better soon nerd!' drawing. Giorno was the last to do anything with it, but now with the two of them being alone in their home the Don felt unstoppable in showing his silver-haired husband all of his undying love.
"Gio. Oh my god. You're literally drawing everywhere." Fugo's tone was a mix of amusement and embarrassment. "Don't you want to leave extra room for everyone else?"
"They all had their chances to write as much as they wanted. It's my turn now, caro." Giorno took Fugo's hand into his own and kissed the palm, with said man laughing into his other hand.
The events that led up to Fugo’s poor ankle being put into a cast happened during a mission that Giorno was unfortunately not present for. It wasn’t even predicted to be dangerous, just a quick snatch and grab with Fugo acting as the strategizer. The warehouse they went to didn’t seem to be guarded, but of course, looks can be deceiving. The strawberry boy was lucky to escape with only a broken ankle after falling out of a third story window. However, not much could be said about the rest of the group on either side of the fight.
Now, Fugo is laid on the couch in his shared home with Giorno, foot propped up on the coffee table under a pillow. And Giorno has an assortment of markers, doodling little things in all sorts of different colors. Pink hearts, blue flowers, green frogs, and yellow stars. He even drew over Abbachio’s own little phrase a bit, probably to be spiteful. Fugo wasn't exactly surprised, but still held back laughter when he caught the smug look on Giorno's face when he did that.
“Trish will be mad that you didn’t leave any room for her to write something.” Fugo said with a teasing tone, casually swinging his other leg back and forth. Giorno merely rolled his eyes, but there was still a soft smile on his face as he capped one marker and uncapped another. “I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions later, Panna. She’s not as scary as she lets on to be, you know.”
“Well, don't say I didn't warn you. What kind of flowers would you like at your funeral?” Fugo had leaned down a bit, his hand finding a stray strand of Giorno’s hair. He twirled it in his fingers, letting it wind and unwind over and over again. Giorno hummed, still doodling away on the cast. “That’s a tough question. Perhaps carnations?” He switched from the blue marker to the green one. “But, then again, I think tulips could work out better. It's not so much the decorations that I care about, rather, the message I leave behind.”
Fugo’s hand had reached down to Giorno’s cheek, cupping his face gently. His thumb slowly stroked the golden boy’s cheekbone. “You seem like you have a lot of stuff planned out already.” Fugo muttered, hand still on Giorno's cheek while the other boy's hand rested on Fugo's other arm.
“No, I’m simply a quick thinker. Shouldn’t you know that about me already?” The Don flashed a fanged grin, and Fugo could practically feel his heart fluttering. They were slowly moving closer to one another, almost in a graceful, dance-like way. "Oh, I know that already. That's one of the reasons I married you, il mio sole."
The couple were only inches apart now, with Giorno on his knees and hands on either side of Fugo's waist while the silver-haired boy was leaning down in a slightly uncomfortable position. But it was completely worth it to be close to his husband like this. He would even stay in a cast for all of his life to be able to do this everyday.
And he knew Giorno would take care of him everyday, love him, kiss him, cherish him. Fugo would return that same love, respect, loyalty, all of it. Their wedding rings were simply scratching the surface of proof that they both had in regards to just how much they love each other. Their home, their bed, their kitchen utensils, their potted plants, all reminders of their love. Neither of them would ever get tired of it.
Fugo doesn't know when they began to kiss, but he loves that too.