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Within an hour of meeting Galo for the first time, Lio reaches a natural conclusion. Beneath all that ridiculous hair, Galo has precisely one brain cell. It works very hard, has more energy and passion than most people have in their entire body, but it's a singular, limited entity.
Lio watches it work. Sometimes it's devoted to levity, to full-bodied laughter and dazzling grins. Sometimes it's fully focussed on action, on battle, on shouting phrases that sound right until you actually try to understand the words. (Making sense would require a second brain cell and, alas, there's none to be found.) Sometimes the poor thing is completely wrapped up in confusion, Galo's face twisting as it works in overdrive and comes up with nothing.
But somehow it works out. Galo faces one challenge after another, head-on, hands on, and together with that single brain cell, Lio finds victory. And victory suits Galo. He stands in the middle of devastation and looks the part of a hero, maybe just because he believes it.
For a moment, Lio believes it too.
Time passes, the world changes, but Galo remains the same. Lio can't even bring himself to mock him, not properly, not when his own world is shifting and evolving. There is a strange kind of comfort in Galo's predictability, his single-minded enthusiasm, the way he manages to bulldoze his way through every obstacle big or small.
He crashes through every wall Lio tries to throw up between them in those first few months of peace without even thinking about it. It's impossible to defend against that kind of brainless, boundless optimism. Before Lio can even think of questioning it, they're seeing each other every day, going out for lunch or dinner, even hanging out at Galo's place in the evening. Before long he's sleeping there too.
"Just until you find a place of your own," Galo says every time Lio tries to go back to his hotel.
Lio knows he means it. That single brain cell doesn't have room to think about the future, about how maybe letting someone with a past like Lio sleep in his place might ruin his reputation. All his energy is focussed on being a nice guy and while Lio knows himself to be an asshole when he has to be, he doesn't have it in him to refuse.
A few weeks later, after he tells Galo to stop sleeping on the couch and they start sharing the bed, Lio forgets all about searching for a place of his own. He tries not to think about it too much, about all the what-ifs. He knows for certain that Galo isn't thinking about it at all.
It takes around three months for Lio to make another observation. He has, in hindsight, been unnecessarily harsh on Galo's intelligence. He doesn't have one brain cell after all. He has two.
Lio first notices at a completely inappropriate time. They've gone out for dinner, had a few drinks, and have taken the long route back to Galo's place. They're in the elevator when Galo catches Lio's eye in the mirror and just comes out with it.
"Do you wanna go out with me?"
Lio can't say he hasn't seen this coming. He might not have much of a history with these things but he's not blind. Maybe this is why he's able to keep a clear head.
"We've just been out," he says, tone carefully flat. "Did you forget already?"
Galo's face is a pretty picture. His brow furrows, his jaw hangs open, and Lio can almost hear his mind creaking. It's at this moment that Lio realises he's been wrong. Such a hilarious expression needs at least two brain cells. One, to be utterly confused and at a loss as to what to say. The second, to stop the first from saying something stupid and losing the moment. In truth, Lio is impressed. Impressed enough that he lets Galo suffer for only a moment longer before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss.
"Is that a yes?" Galo asks when Lio lets him go. "I just wanna be absolutely sure."
He's blushing. One brain cell to be flustered and one to worry about consent. Lio's a little red in the face himself but he snorts in laughter anyway and reaches for Galo's hand.
"Yes," he says. "Why not?"
Galo gives his hand a hesitant squeeze but his brow is still furrowed.
"Uh, well,” he says slowly, “because you don't see me that way, or you're already interested in someone else, or-"
"Rhetorical question, Galo."
“Right. Gotcha.”
There are a lot of ‘gotcha’ moments in the months to come. It’s too sweet for Lio to find annoying. He had never thought that his life could be like this, that he would have the luxury of a relationship at all let alone one based on trust and affection and mutual respect. (He keeps the latter to himself, of course, lest Galo gets the wrong idea.)
Where his time as a Burnish had seemed endless, each day a drawn out lesson in suffering, the days he spends with Galo fly by. It’s not even like they’re busy, not really. Lio has no idea what to do with himself, too wrapped up in acclimatising to ordinary life to even consider giving it a new purpose. Galo takes time off work to spend it with him, holding his hand both literally and figuratively as he navigates his way through the unknown. They kiss in coffee shops and on street corners, share stories on park benches under the stars, try and fail to cook a successful dinner together and order take out instead. Lio thinks he’s getting to know Galo but really he’s getting to know himself just as much.
For the first time, he’s not afraid of what he can see.
It’s a Sunday morning. Galo is frying eggs for breakfast that are looking more scrambled by the moment while Lio sits on the counter in one of his shirts.He idly pokes at the faint outline of bruises on his thighs, the shape of Galo’s hands on his skin. He senses Galo opening his mouth to speak rather than sees it.
“Don’t apologise.”
“But-”
“We’ve been over this.”
“But you-”
“What, do you think I’m so fragile that I can't handle a few bruises?”
Lio says this with a smile on his face and glances sidelong at Galo to see his expression twist into a display of agonised confusion. Half of his brain is trying to make sure Lio is actually okay. The other half is trying not to offend him. In the pan, the scrambled eggs are frying. Lio leans across and presses a kiss to Galo’s cheek.
“Hey,” he says. “I think I love you. Is that all right?”
What happens next is a miracle. Galo turns to look at him with wide eyes, eggs forgotten, confusion abandoned, as both brain cells in that dumb, wonderful brain of his align like stars in the sky and work in perfect tandem. He slowly breaks into the biggest grin Lio has ever seen.
“Rhetorical question?” he asks.
“Double rhetorical question.”
“Right. I think I love you, too. Is that- ”
“A triple rhetorical question would be too much.”
“Gotcha.”
Galo stands in front of their burning breakfast with his big, bright eyes filled with affection and looks like a happy ending. Lio’s certain he believes it.
From that moment, Lio believes it too.