[She's not at all wrong. He's thought about the first part of it to an almost absurd degree, writing it into his mind and his mores until it feels genetically encoded: he does not need anyone. He can and should know exactly who he is and what he wants, and maybe in some improbable future he can have those things — but he will never need them. Not ever. That's what he told himself. That's part of what made him Giorno and not Haruno, who needed and never received. Giorno provides for his own needs, builds his own kingdom, brings his own dreams to life.]
[The part he's never put voice to is the shattering of that illusion. It's been broken down so thoroughly that the glass has turned back to sand. Much of what broke it down was family, the kind he didn't know existed, not blood but breath and heart and love — but that wasn't all of it. It just wasn't, and for Riley, he's willing to look that fact in the eye. People are something he can't live without. Love is something he can't put back in the box. That's always been the reality.]
[He half-smiles when her wing brushes his shoulder, leans gently into the touch. Laces his fingers between hers in turn.]
I know I don't have to.
[That's . . . part of the point, isn't it. He doesn't have to. But he wants to sit in this with her, and while they're not here to talk about his heart, this particular throughline of his heart's story is . . . quite relevant.]
It does feel easier. When there are things you can't talk about and you're used to not being heard in any case.
[Their hands are so gentle with each other, he thinks. Not like they used to be. Back in November, he could never have imagined he'd be able to sit with her like this, or be so open.]
I don't think I really wanted to be alone, either. It just seemed like the only option, and the safest one. I don't know what I would have done if I had someone like Cairo, but . . . Part of me thinks it must have been even more frightening than having no one.
[Because what happens if you have someone and then no one? Better to pull away first. Better to break it yourself, so no one can break it for you.]
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[The part he's never put voice to is the shattering of that illusion. It's been broken down so thoroughly that the glass has turned back to sand. Much of what broke it down was family, the kind he didn't know existed, not blood but breath and heart and love — but that wasn't all of it. It just wasn't, and for Riley, he's willing to look that fact in the eye. People are something he can't live without. Love is something he can't put back in the box. That's always been the reality.]
[He half-smiles when her wing brushes his shoulder, leans gently into the touch. Laces his fingers between hers in turn.]
I know I don't have to.
[That's . . . part of the point, isn't it. He doesn't have to. But he wants to sit in this with her, and while they're not here to talk about his heart, this particular throughline of his heart's story is . . . quite relevant.]
It does feel easier. When there are things you can't talk about and you're used to not being heard in any case.
[Their hands are so gentle with each other, he thinks. Not like they used to be. Back in November, he could never have imagined he'd be able to sit with her like this, or be so open.]
I don't think I really wanted to be alone, either. It just seemed like the only option, and the safest one. I don't know what I would have done if I had someone like Cairo, but . . . Part of me thinks it must have been even more frightening than having no one.
[Because what happens if you have someone and then no one? Better to pull away first. Better to break it yourself, so no one can break it for you.]