[The circus . . . is pretty silly. Giorno doesn't say it, though, not unless Zelda says it first. There's something to be said for preserving the — well, the mystique. Even if it's silly mystique, even if it's juvenile and inconsequential, even if the whole thing is a scam overlaid by bright colors and flashing lights so thinly that one can still see its bones, it doesn't really matter. It's all right not to pick everything apart to the bone.]

[Although he likely wouldn't be thinking that way if he were here with someone other than Zelda. He's aware more keenly with her than with anyone else how strictly she holds herself apart from simple joys, as minor as sweets or as major as companionship. Some of his insight is due to the Bond. Some of it is just because he's looking in a mirror when he looks at her in the right light. Self-denial is easy to see in someone else once you've done it to yourself for long enough.]

[So he won't question the circus. He wants her to enjoy it. He'd like to see her smile a little, maybe. And he doesn't slide his hand into hers as the Sisters begin to darken, but the thought is a loud one.]

[Instead:]

I'm glad this happened after dark. So I could come with you. [Soft and thoughtful, as the show comes to a close. They're lingering on the edge of the crowd, although they've certainly paused too long to pretend they weren't watching. There's still some somersaulting happening, it seems.] Otherwise they might have gotten you up on stage and sawed you in half.

[Oh my God, Giorno.]