[There's no sense in what she's saying, from Giorno's perspective. Of course he needs to apologize. He didn't mean to do this, but that doesn't make it any less his fault. If he were stronger, he'd be able to handle it on his own. He wouldn't have needed to bother her, and he wouldn't have to keep bothering her now. Of course it's his fault. Of course he has to apologize.]
[So the idea she presents to him leaves him looking lost and hunted. He's done something else wrong, but he doesn't understand what or how. What he does understand is that she doesn't want him to apologize anymore, even if he doesn't understand why. He presses his lips shut against the urge to apologize for apologizing too much until they're a thin red line in the white of his face.]
[And then she tells him to come here.]
[He's already still, but that makes him freeze, the trembling of his hands going as still as it can under the circumstances. She's telling, not asking. But he's terrified he's misunderstood. His gaze drifts, uncertain, from her face to the bedside table to the door and back to her face again.]
[It . . . makes sense. Logical sense. It does. But he still can't make himself understand, no matter how hard he pushes. And at the same time, he can't refuse her.]
[So he moves forward along the floor, hands and knees, inch by inch. His eyes stay on her the whole time. He doesn't speak, but every movement feels like an unspoken apology. When he gets close enough that they're nearly-but-not-quite touching, when he's obeyed the letter of her demand but not the spirit, he stills, watching her carefully for approval or disapproval. He can feel the presence of her body heat. It helps, but—]
im sorry hes so stupid
[So the idea she presents to him leaves him looking lost and hunted. He's done something else wrong, but he doesn't understand what or how. What he does understand is that she doesn't want him to apologize anymore, even if he doesn't understand why. He presses his lips shut against the urge to apologize for apologizing too much until they're a thin red line in the white of his face.]
[And then she tells him to come here.]
[He's already still, but that makes him freeze, the trembling of his hands going as still as it can under the circumstances. She's telling, not asking. But he's terrified he's misunderstood. His gaze drifts, uncertain, from her face to the bedside table to the door and back to her face again.]
[It . . . makes sense. Logical sense. It does. But he still can't make himself understand, no matter how hard he pushes. And at the same time, he can't refuse her.]
[So he moves forward along the floor, hands and knees, inch by inch. His eyes stay on her the whole time. He doesn't speak, but every movement feels like an unspoken apology. When he gets close enough that they're nearly-but-not-quite touching, when he's obeyed the letter of her demand but not the spirit, he stills, watching her carefully for approval or disapproval. He can feel the presence of her body heat. It helps, but—]
[But he's still shaking.]