The ceiling is familiar. He wakes up and leaves the bed where Abby is still sleeping. He grabs his phone to check the time, plain midnight. âEmotional cheating,â Princess had said, which is bullshit. Of course, they weren't particularly talking about this, just the general topic, but he knew it didn't exist. Relying on someone on nights like this, where sleep wouldnât come, when he needed some company, isnât cheating. Her number being pinned on top of his wifeâs isnât cheating. The fluttering in his stomach while he waits, the sheer plain joy when she picks up, isnât cheating. Late night conversation, casual, small talk, really; the weather, a random tv show, their day at their shift; that quickly transforms into deeper topics, his fears of fatherhood, the grief of the loss of her parents, his relationship with Robby, her relationship with Becca, doesnât make It cheating. Sitting on the couch of his living room, the dog snoring at his feet, her voice like a lullaby, the peace that comes, tranquility, the feelings he would push aside, not think about, isnât cheating.
Â
 He is tired, sheâs tired as well, he can tell. They are sitting on a bench in the park, the one in front of the hospital. And they both know itâs late, itâs stupid. Thereâs no phone, no break of reality here. They are facing each other, knees touching, sheâs moving her hand over his legs, telling an anecdote, and the hand is part of it, and he pretends he hasnât heard the story before, because of course he did, because they have been speaking every day for months and thereâs a limit on how many stories they have, but heâs enjoying himself too much, and the hand on his leg, the bare touch of her fingertips, sends chills through his whole body, and still not cheating. Still not cheating when he says âFuck it,â and grabs the wrist of said hand and pushes her body against his, not cheating when his other arm hooks her waist. Not cheating because she pushes her arms against his chest and grabs him by the collar. Not cheating because his face is so close to her lips can feel the warmth of hers, but sheâs keeping one fisted hand against his jaw, the other on the nape of his neck, leaning in and refusing at the same time. Not cheating because his eyes get obfuscated when trying to look at hers, and she's so close, but not touching yet.
âLangdon,â she whispers, âask.â
Itâs not cheating because he hasnât voiced it yet, he hasnât said the words he hopelessly has been thinking, over and over, ruminating at the end of each nightly call, always at the tip of his tongue, touching his teeth, keeping it mouth close, surrounded by darkness, keeping it in his dreams.
âMel,â he grunts, desperately, âplease.â
âJust ask,â sheâs desperate too, voice dripping with heat.Â
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âDonât you think I feel guilty? Donât you think I miss them too?â Giorno cried. Mista stood in silence for a second, but shouted back with renewed vigor.
âHow can you miss them? How can you even imagine you could miss them as much as I do!â Tears flew off his face. He still sounded so, so small, even though his voice shook the dust off the walls. Giorno was quiet. The barrel sat just inches from his nose. It was a small while before he spoke again, this time softly, devoid of emotion.
âI donât. I canât.â Giorno wiped his eyes. No more tears followed his hand.
~
Mista confronts Giorno after Fugo's death. It seems he's taking a little more after his father.
link
~
i wrote a fic! above is a little excerpt from the middle i really think you should read it im very proud of it. pretty short around 1000 words. um its very angsty one of them bites it be warned
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Eddie: what is the one thing I told you not to do
Richie: burn the house down
Eddie: and what did you do
Richie: made you dinner
Eddie:
Richie:
Eddie:
Richie: and burnt the house down
Sou um acĂșmulo de dor latente, uma bomba relĂłgio de sentimentos crus, revoltos e incontrolĂĄveis, em uma contagem regressiva cruel, prestes a explodir. Â
PLĂGIO Ă CRIME de acordo com o Art. 184 â CĂłdigo Penal, acerca da Violação aos Direitos Autorais: Violar direitos de autor e os que lhe sĂŁo conexos implica a: Pena â detenção, de 3 (trĂȘs) meses a 1 (um) ano, ou multa.
