"Beautiful," Giorno murmurs, reaching out to trace a finger along the edge of the ring on your finger. His touch is featherlight, lingering just long enough to make you aware of it.

He’s always like this. Giving you things—gifts, jewelry, gestures that feel too thoughtful for something that’s meant to be a transaction. As if he enjoys seeing you adorned with what he’s chosen for you. As if he wants you to wear proof of him.

"Does it suit you?" he asks, head tilting slightly. It’s a test, you realize. He’s waiting for your answer, watching you with those piercing emerald eyes.