[He still checks sometimes. Often, honestly; not as often as he did at first, before Abbacchio and Narancia came and then went again, but often. Once a day, or once every two. On the days when the weather is bad, he makes sure to make two sweeps, to carry an extra umbrella tucked under his arm, to . . .]
[He wants to help. In some ways as much as he loves it here, he hates it too, because of how little he can do to help. This is just one small thing, but it's something. It's better than the way his days stretch out meaninglessly now, without anything he can fix.]
[So on the day he sees Fugo running down the street towards the police station, arms over his head, recognizable by the stupid holes in his stupid jacket, Giorno sort of wants to cry. Because it's Fugo, and Fugo is complicated, but Fugo is part of home and famiglia and god if he isn't lonely some days. Like Carlos said, lonely surrounded by people.]
Hey!
[His voice is sharp, for once, cutting through the gentle patter of the rain.]
a.
[He wants to help. In some ways as much as he loves it here, he hates it too, because of how little he can do to help. This is just one small thing, but it's something. It's better than the way his days stretch out meaninglessly now, without anything he can fix.]
[So on the day he sees Fugo running down the street towards the police station, arms over his head, recognizable by the stupid holes in his stupid jacket, Giorno sort of wants to cry. Because it's Fugo, and Fugo is complicated, but Fugo is part of home and famiglia and god if he isn't lonely some days. Like Carlos said, lonely surrounded by people.]
Hey!
[His voice is sharp, for once, cutting through the gentle patter of the rain.]
You're running the wrong way.