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What is the fundamental difference between feeling, and emotion?
Some might say there are none. That the two are one and the same, seamlessly replaceable in everyday conversation. But that wasn’t quite so true.
Cold. That was a feeling. And not an emotion. Tired. Other things like, shaky, faint, short of breath. Feelings, but not emotions.
But…hunger?
That could be both.
~~~
It was weeks ago, when Giorno first felt it. A pull from the center of his soul, from his chest, from his throat, from his stomach, a need. A yearn for something untasted, the want for something not yet known. He had yet to place the feeling, and for a while, it floated aimlessly within him, with no direction.
It was only recently, when he thought hard about his origins, when he had looked once again at that photo in his wallet of the fellow blond man he never met, that he realized this feeling in full. And when he saw someone get a papercut, and expose just a drop, did he fully and truly understand what he wanted.
To his utter discomfort, to his great concern and worry, he knew now what he needed.
It was red, life giving fluid, one which flowed through all of our veins.
And all was not made equal, no. Through his own research, it had become apparent that some people possessed a far more desirable type than others. Something people could not tell at all with sight, became obvious to Giorno by scent.
“It has been observed that vampires prefer to drink from those with the same blood type as them when they were alive.”
He read the passage over again, turning the words around in his mind, thinking of it always, especially right now, as he stared in the bathroom mirror. His usually green eyes were amber like honey right now, and his canine teeth had grown much and sharper too much to be ignored. Even though he was marked by another word, dhampir, the sentiment still applied. He shared a blood type with only one person close to him, being as it was the rarest. And over these weeks it had become noticeable, to unavoidable, to utterly impossible to ignore.
Narancia.
At this point the thought of his name made Giorno’s stomach twist with need and his chest ache with yearning. The two of them had much more in common than they originally thought, and this time after the storm of reimagining Passione under Giorno’s control had brought them together. Together, he had enjoyed long nights of just the two of them, talking and laying together. Laying had become locking arms, and holding hands, embracing when people were not looking. After all, this was far more than what most friends did, wasn’t it? And yet, the nature of their relationship remained still unspoken, while still treasured. Neither of them wanted to overstep, to say what they both thought, to put words to complex feeling and potentially break the placid calm of what they had together.
But it no longer felt so placid. Not lately.
What was once soft and gentle felt like it burned Giorno, now, feeling like torture to be enveloped in Narancia’s scent and not permitted to devour him.
He feared saying something.
He feared ruining things.
He loved what they had—even if it hurt him.
Even if it took so much will power and resolve to restrain himself not to tear his skin open, and drink of the nectar he craved more than anything lately. To explain this predicament would scare Narancia, he was sure. And so, he kept quiet. Gritting his teeth and bearing it until—
“Narancia.” He pushed him off himself, his voice harsher than he meant. “I can’t…keep doing this.”
Narancia’s eyes looked shaky. He laughed a little, nervous. “This like…what? What’s the matter?”
What was he supposed to say? That he feared he would tear his throat open? That he worried he was a monster, waiting to strike when his instincts took over?
“I just…want to take a break. I’m dealing with some complicated things.” He ran his hand through his shiny gold hair. “I need space.”
“…Do you not like me anymore…?”
“No—Narancia. It’s not that. I promise.”
“You can tell me if it is.” His voice is small. “You can tell me if I annoy you.”
“I just need us to be apart-“
“No-I’ll just leave.” Narancia sighed, defeated. “I understand. I fucking…get it.”
Before he could tell him to wait, that he was misunderstanding, he had things all wrong, he was gone.
~~~
Things didn’t really get better.
Giorno tried to immerse himself in work, totally fill his life with other busy things, so as to prevent the chance of an opportunity to…well he didn’t want to think about it.
When he was done with the day, and he laid down for sleep, his bed felt like a prison, and it was nearly impossible to rest. The cells in his body screamed out—it would be easy, his body said.
Use those sharp canines that grew in some weeks ago. Tear into flesh. Rip into his neck. Drink.
You’ll feel better.
It won’t hurt anymore.
At times, he would picture it even being his father, speaking to him from a world beyond.
Giorno had begun to replace his habit of spending time with Narancia during waking hours, to spending time with Narancia during the night. After all, he felt more awake now when the sun was down. He would creep, slow and methodical, out of his bed, down the hallway, and gently pushing the door open, into Narancia’s room, where they slept, still and warm.
And without any words, only an unbreaking, amber-eyed stare, he would simply…watch. Experience. Him.
The soft rise and fall of his chest under the blanket, the gentle sound of his breathing, the intoxicating scent of what laid just beneath his skin. Like Aurum on the rocks. An elixir of ecstasy. It was all he thought of during the day, all he craved for all night, until his body forced him up and to come here, to loom over him, getting so close, but never following through, no. To look was alright. To look was safe, it was secure. He just had to keep merely looking…forever.
But there is no such thing.
No real forever.
Everything ends.
And this too, did.
~~~
“I wanna talk to you.”
Giorno blinked at the question. Narancia was standing in front of his desk, hands on his hips.
“About…?”
“Us.”
Such a short word set the stage and thickened the air.
Narancia continued. “It’s been weeks. You’ve…been avoiding me at this point. I just want to know what it is. Is it me? Are you scared…?”
“Of what…?”
“Being…together with me. I never dreamed—anyone like you would ever, ever want anyone like me, not like it seemed like you did…” Tears are starting to prick at Narancia’s eyes. “You’re so…out of my league. I know that. I always did. If you think you deserve someone better, it’s okay…I know you always said it’s what it’s inside that counts. But…the way you just dropped me…can you blame me for thinking you were lying?”
…He can’t, really. All this time, Giorno had been struggling with himself-but he entirely disregarded how this must feel to Narancia, who knows nothing, who doesn’t understand…
And in front of him, watching him near tears, he stands from his desk, and he hugs him, burying his face in his neck. He has to bend over a bit, he’s always been so much taller.
“I’m sorry. For keeping you in the dark.”
His scent is overwhelming him.
“It’s not your fault, Narancia.”
His jaw aches. His chest hurts.
“I never meant to make you feel this way, never.”
His stomach twists hard, and in the terrible pain, he feels a dam break inside him.
Giorno parts his lips, and before he can push himself back, his teeth are sinking into flesh. He is pure instinct, raw and unfiltered. The taste hits his tongue like a symphony, it is far more euphoric than the scent alone, tenfold, a hundred, maybe even a thousand times more wonderful. At this moment, he cannot think of the consequences, he just needs to relieve this ever growing pain he’s had for weeks now, as he feels it all melting away as he consumes his very life force.
He never lied.
Giorno Giovanna, may he be beautiful, ethereal, charming, even angelic, was not a shallow young man. He didn’t form this attachment to Narancia based on anything superficial like his appearance, nor did he try to end it for anything else of the sort. No, no, Giorno was never shallow.
It was always what’s inside that counts.