[Giorno is trying, but anger has neatly cut his Achilles tendon. As much as he strains, he can only stay in place at best, not move forward, not understand better. No matter how much he tries to hear her objectively, his heart doesn't open. He tries to give her the benefit of the doubt, and he can't, because—]
[Because after everything, something about his most intrinsic and true self, who he was and what he has formed himself into, disgusts her. Because no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that she has been honest with him, something still feels wrong.]
[She says it has nothing to do with you, and his eyes narrow. In his head, softly: She's lying. Which follows in turn in response to the gratitude. Why would she be grateful to him if his purpose makes her recoil? Why would she express gratitude now of all times, when that's not what he's ever cared about, as though it's supposed to mollify him?]
[He thinks about telling her to her face that she's lying. He thinks about smiling and expressing gratitude in return and leaving. But she wouldn't let him. She won't let him lie, and she doesn't want to hear the truth. What does that leave him?]
[He sits back, ultimately, hooks his ankles on the bar under his seat and sighs. The change in position helps release some tension, although not much.]
Well. I'm sorry, in that case, to have reminded you, right after you said you're tired of living in fear. That was careless of me. I'll choose my words more carefully next time.
[And that's all. He doesn't know what else to say. He's tired. It's taking all of his efforts to be true to himself right now, to the person he wants to be, to not cause irreparable damage to their relationship with any of the ugly words waving knives on the tip of his tongue.]
oof with reverb
[Because after everything, something about his most intrinsic and true self, who he was and what he has formed himself into, disgusts her. Because no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that she has been honest with him, something still feels wrong.]
[She says it has nothing to do with you, and his eyes narrow. In his head, softly: She's lying. Which follows in turn in response to the gratitude. Why would she be grateful to him if his purpose makes her recoil? Why would she express gratitude now of all times, when that's not what he's ever cared about, as though it's supposed to mollify him?]
[He thinks about telling her to her face that she's lying. He thinks about smiling and expressing gratitude in return and leaving. But she wouldn't let him. She won't let him lie, and she doesn't want to hear the truth. What does that leave him?]
[He sits back, ultimately, hooks his ankles on the bar under his seat and sighs. The change in position helps release some tension, although not much.]
Well. I'm sorry, in that case, to have reminded you, right after you said you're tired of living in fear. That was careless of me. I'll choose my words more carefully next time.
[And that's all. He doesn't know what else to say. He's tired. It's taking all of his efforts to be true to himself right now, to the person he wants to be, to not cause irreparable damage to their relationship with any of the ugly words waving knives on the tip of his tongue.]