[The way Mista is . . . well, his heart wouldn't break. If she said no, he'd understand. That same understanding months and months ago in Vista Virs that upset Maya so much: the idea that, well, that's fair. He's only himself, no one else. No one incredible or superhuman, no one with genius ideas or incredible ambition. No one who lights up the room or anything like that. He'd understand if he wasn't good enough. Not because he hates himself — he doesn't — it's just that he knows he's only Mista, nothing extraordinary.]
[He offers himself without expecting anything in return. That's how he's always been: clumsy and earnest, kind of an asshole sometimes but most of the time not on purpose. With the people who need him, he's as gentle as big calloused hands know how to be. He'd carry her around just like this as much as she wanted. Will, later. Some other time, when they're not here.]
[For now, he catches her crying out of the corner of his eye; catches her laugh, glances down at her, a look of concern more profound than anything he's shown so far. But she's laughing again and it sounds like it hurts but it sounds like it feels good, too, and . . . that's just feelings, isn't it. They're never straightforward when they're important.]
[Okay, she says, and some of the tension leaves the set of his jaw as he quirks a tentative smile down at her.]
I will. Promise.
[Her and Maya. They both made him promise. And . . . that's part of it, isn't it? Part of all of this. He needs someone to remind him. Someone to guide him and insist that his survival, his well-being, his happiness matters. That selflessness isn't all he can do. That maybe he's not as simple as he thinks he is.]
[Nobody taught him how to do this. It wasn't in the handbook, and even if it was, at the time he discarded it. The idea of swearing himself to anyone but Giorno back then made him feel sick, like admitting everything about the Hunger was true. But there's only so long stubbornness can hold out. And there are people who need him here.]
[Nobody taught him how to do this, but he's always had his own way of doing things anyway. So he does what he knows: with a slightly-pained grunt, holds her closer against his chest with his good arm and uses the bad one to lift her hand to his lips, kiss her knuckles, put her hand back against her stomach all in one smooth motion.]
[Love and loyalty. That's the Oath: just like that. Getting a better grip on her, he coughs lightly as the recognition of Sayori's throat injuries hits him, a ghost of sensation without any real pain. It . . . feels good, in a way. Feels natural, just like it did with Maya. Like they're meant to be connected in this way. But maybe he'd think that about anyone important enough for him to Oath.]
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[He offers himself without expecting anything in return. That's how he's always been: clumsy and earnest, kind of an asshole sometimes but most of the time not on purpose. With the people who need him, he's as gentle as big calloused hands know how to be. He'd carry her around just like this as much as she wanted. Will, later. Some other time, when they're not here.]
[For now, he catches her crying out of the corner of his eye; catches her laugh, glances down at her, a look of concern more profound than anything he's shown so far. But she's laughing again and it sounds like it hurts but it sounds like it feels good, too, and . . . that's just feelings, isn't it. They're never straightforward when they're important.]
[Okay, she says, and some of the tension leaves the set of his jaw as he quirks a tentative smile down at her.]
I will. Promise.
[Her and Maya. They both made him promise. And . . . that's part of it, isn't it? Part of all of this. He needs someone to remind him. Someone to guide him and insist that his survival, his well-being, his happiness matters. That selflessness isn't all he can do. That maybe he's not as simple as he thinks he is.]
[Nobody taught him how to do this. It wasn't in the handbook, and even if it was, at the time he discarded it. The idea of swearing himself to anyone but Giorno back then made him feel sick, like admitting everything about the Hunger was true. But there's only so long stubbornness can hold out. And there are people who need him here.]
[Nobody taught him how to do this, but he's always had his own way of doing things anyway. So he does what he knows: with a slightly-pained grunt, holds her closer against his chest with his good arm and uses the bad one to lift her hand to his lips, kiss her knuckles, put her hand back against her stomach all in one smooth motion.]
[Love and loyalty. That's the Oath: just like that. Getting a better grip on her, he coughs lightly as the recognition of Sayori's throat injuries hits him, a ghost of sensation without any real pain. It . . . feels good, in a way. Feels natural, just like it did with Maya. Like they're meant to be connected in this way. But maybe he'd think that about anyone important enough for him to Oath.]