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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, PURPLEPIPER. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 541.26.365.77 * PURPLEPIPER has joined 541.26.365.77 <PURPLEPIPER> Am I doing this right? <PURPLEPIPER> Pretty weird to just leave a message like this is an answering machine or something <PURPLEPIPER> ME leaving a message I mean! <PURPLEPIPER>** You can leave one if you want and I'll just get back to you whenever I can.

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[The voice fizzles away to nothing with a click and a hum of static. The absence of noise is just enough to jolt Diavolo; a sudden change in environment is never a good sign. He feels no pain except for the dull ache where his nails dig into his flesh. If he's dying, he thinks, then the act is being dragged out far too long.

It wouldn't be the first time.

(Why would he be dying?)

In his head, the woman's droning words don't stop. They catch and repeat like a broken record, looping without end. It takes a moment to realize that there's another noise mixed in, and longer still to recognize that the desperate sound comes from him. He could have believed this wasn't real, that this was only a dream, a fleeting and pointless thought if not for that visceral reaction.

It's a whimper, pathetic and utterly mortifying in its misery, and the first move he makes is to press a palm hard against his lips to ensure that it never happens again. The countermeasure is only half-effective; more noise spills out, muffled now yet still painfully obvious.]

[It's not working. Maybe he shouldn't have expected it to. The damage was already done - throwing away a gun won't get rid of a bullet wound.

But it isn't just not working, it's getting worse. This may be the worst thing Doppio has ever heard, a sound he never wanted to hear coming from the Boss, of all people - not because it's "pathetic," but because it makes his heart feel like it's being torn to shreds. The Boss so afraid, and Doppio isn't doing anything about it--

But he HAS to do something, and there's no room for second thoughts - not now, when the Boss is in so much pain. Before he knows it, he's doing the first and only thing that comes to mind: pulling the Boss into his arms and holding him.]

Boss, I'm here.

[Doppio's hold is firm, driven by impulse. Meanwhile, his voice is low, but he can't stave off his panic entirely; his words run over each other in a rush.]

I-It's okay. Can you hear me? We're-- We're home right now, there's nobody else here. Just... Just you and me. I'm right here.

[The fear that this might not be the best thing to do hits him, small and sudden, and his hold slackens.]

[He doesn't protest. He gives in too easily, reacting to the sudden shift with a gasp but not fighting against it. His breaths come more erratic as the grip tightens around him. He can't begin to process the flurry of words murmured to him, but the voice is gentle, familiar. The arms are warm. If he closes his eyes and allows himself to sink into the feeling, it's almost comforting.

He can't be dying, at least not like he was before. If he was, it would not feel nearly so pleasant. No blood, no ache, just quiet words and racing thoughts. It calls to mind the memory of being tangled in vines, wrapping limbs and wings around Doppio until everything stopped.

Those same soft words, the same tone. It couldn't be anyone else. There is nothing to fear in this room.

It's been weeks, he thinks, if not months, since the last time he sank so low. Plagued by thoughts spiraling out of control until they were indistinguishable from reality, and even then it is rarely something so mundane that sets him off in the first place. Potential danger, something real and tangible in his environment to react to — that he can at least understand. Television. He was watching television, of all things. A recording, yes, real and brutal but entirely harmless to him, and it was enough to ... to ...

The grip around him slackens suddenly. The change in pressure is enough to startle him into movement, the slowly easing tremor in his limbs returning twofold. He lowers his hand from his mouth, releasing another desperate sound.]

D-don't.

[Don't what? That may be too hard to verbalize right now. But acting is different, and, with shaking grip, he finds himself clinging back.]

[Oh. Oh.

No need to verbalize - Doppio gets it. He takes a surprisingly emboldening deep breath and puts his all into the embrace. It's firm, but hopefully not painful. He just... wants the Boss to feel safe.]

O-Okay. I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere.

[He tries to keep his breathing steady. Any nerves he's feeling are nothing compared to what the Boss must be going through, anyway, so he has to do this. He has to be at his best. He can't let go.

(He's never wanted to let go, in any case; not really.)]

[It's a tight grip for someone so small, he thinks. It's strange and it's grounding. Not as soothing as it would be to close his eyes and slip away, to relinquish control and sensation and leave the rest to Doppio.]

You — shouldn't see me like this.

[Those words go muffled into the fabric of Doppio's shirt. Despite the half-hearted protest, he only presses himself closer. He feels the thrum of Doppio's heart and the movement of his chest with every breath, and tries to focus on them.]

[Doppio shakes his head. In the position they're in, it's almost a nuzzle; he may worry about that later, but not now. The Boss needs him, and the way he presses himself closer only makes Doppio want to reciprocate even more, somehow, to curl around him and hold him and stand between him and the world; then he'd close his eyes, and nobody would have to see the Boss like this.]

Nobody's gonna hurt you, Boss. I won't let anybody lay a finger on you.

[If for some reason the wolf girl on the television burst in here and decided she wanted to take the Boss apart, Doppio doesn't know how he would stop her, realistically speaking - but he does know he wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it took, no matter the consequences.

It's not that he shouldn't see the Boss like this. It's that nobody should have made him like this.]

[He comes to rest his head on Doppio's shoulder, his breaths rapid as a flurry of words pour from him.]

I'm... exhausted, Doppio. The past strangles me despite my best attempts. I see it everywhere — in everything. I thought I had triumphed over it. I'd thought it was over, but it still...

[How can he defeat an enemy that only exists in his head? He could leave right now and hunt Giorno Giovanna down for what he did to him, and it wouldn't change a single thing. What hurts him now is memory alone — intangible and insurmountable. It isn't about the werewolf, nor is it about the dead man she sliced into. The broadcast should have been such an inconsequential thing; instead, it is as a reminder.

It happened to him before.

It could happen to him again.]

I want to— to sleep. To put my trust in you fully, to rely on you as I once did, but...

[...but that isn't possible anymore.]

[Doppio still doesn't let go. He only brings a hand to the back of the Boss's head.]

I know everything's different now. We can't just... deal with stuff the way we used to. It's... Passione's over, [and it hurts to say it, and his fingers curl, but he has something he's trying to articulate and he's not sure if this is the right way but he's trying -] so... you're a lot closer to all the stuff that could hurt you, right?

But... even if we can't do things the way we used to, I'm still here for you, okay? That hasn't changed. So... So you can close your eyes.

[At some point, Doppio started to stroke the Boss's hair. He's only noticed it now.

... He doesn't want to stop that, either.]

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give him a moment to recognize doppio; he's bluescreened and is rebooting

i know you said to give him a moment but. this felt Right

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sadboss hours

makes incoherent noises

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