[Trish isn't one to say sorry easily. There's a multitude of reasons for that, starting at pride and ending at the fear of being a liar. Donatella told her once, "don't apologize, just don't do it again" and Trish can see the sense in that sentiment.
Actions before words, always.
Not that such a phrase fits every situation. No, it doesn't fit this one at all. Giorno hasn't done a single thing to wrong her – no, he's been wronged himself – and he's understandably flustered, scattered. But he's like her, isn't he? Being weak, needing help...it's not what they want to be. It's not the person the people around them want or need, right?
It's not something shared easily, and if she could convince him she doesn't think a thing of it like she might have before, maybe that would help, or maybe it wouldn't matter when his perception will rest like a stubborn film on everything he sees. Something she knows she's abetted, not so long ago.
She watches the uncertainty cling to his limbs like chains in how he inches towards her, sees a reflection of the hurt boy just under the surface, and it's nearly too much. But she doesn't look away until he stops, and then her big head swivels to the side and the enormous hollow of her rib cage contracts as she sighs deeply.
The following motion is slow, deliberate.
He's given more than an ample amount of time to refuse her as she lifts a broad paw, intending to drape it over a good portion of his small-to-her frame and squish him gently against her. Because he's still shaking. Whether from cold, or something else, he's shaking.
And if it helps...she wants to help him. He hasn't said how she can help, of course, but if his behavior as a bat meant anything, then...]
he is but i adore him and his bat spam
Actions before words, always.
Not that such a phrase fits every situation. No, it doesn't fit this one at all. Giorno hasn't done a single thing to wrong her – no, he's been wronged himself – and he's understandably flustered, scattered. But he's like her, isn't he? Being weak, needing help...it's not what they want to be. It's not the person the people around them want or need, right?
It's not something shared easily, and if she could convince him she doesn't think a thing of it like she might have before, maybe that would help, or maybe it wouldn't matter when his perception will rest like a stubborn film on everything he sees. Something she knows she's abetted, not so long ago.
She watches the uncertainty cling to his limbs like chains in how he inches towards her, sees a reflection of the hurt boy just under the surface, and it's nearly too much. But she doesn't look away until he stops, and then her big head swivels to the side and the enormous hollow of her rib cage contracts as she sighs deeply.
The following motion is slow, deliberate.
He's given more than an ample amount of time to refuse her as she lifts a broad paw, intending to drape it over a good portion of his small-to-her frame and squish him gently against her. Because he's still shaking. Whether from cold, or something else, he's shaking.
And if it helps...she wants to help him. He hasn't said how she can help, of course, but if his behavior as a bat meant anything, then...]