Chapter Text
you first met Johnny Joestar when you were both five years old and even back then he was already on a horse.
“you’re both the same age so i do hope you can get along” was what your mother told you as the mansion slowly drifted into view. even from within your family’s motor car, a good distance away, his home looked massive.
Johnny looked incredibly tiny on the horse he rode. it had been an impromptu decision by his older brother, to let him have some fun, so the equipment was sorely too large for the five-year-old. the reins were too long and his feet barely reached the stirrups; and yet, even as a child, you had the distinct sense that he was born to ride horses.
it didn’t take long for you to become accustomed to his bright blue eyes and fluffy blond hair. since the very first day you met, you saw him on a near-daily basis and thus shared the entirety of your growing years together.
your childhood had certainly been easier than most others could say about theirs. born to a rather wealthy family, those of your lineage weren’t quite counted as aristocrats but your parents’ money and influence was sufficient to allow them access to social circles in higher society.
it had definitely helped that your family had a long healthy history with the Joestars.
“always choose your friends wisely,” your father regularly reminded your younger brother. “you’ll know you’ve chosen well when their power becomes synonymous with your own.”
to you, he’d say, “there’s nothing more important than becoming a proper lady. when you can become the best wife, you will naturally attract the best husband.” without fail, he would turn to your mother and wink and they would laugh.
when you were smaller you would laugh with them, simply basking in the feeling of your parents’ joy, woefully unaware of the implications. now, as you’re older, his words do little but leave a bitter taste in the back of your mouth.
still, the prospect of romance does appeal to you; and that’s how you find yourself waiting in your living room, in the dead of night, for a boy who said he’d come but never showed.
”Johnny, there’s something important i need to tell you.”
”can it wait? i’m heading over to Mr Sinclair’s mansion this afternoon. Elizabeth invited me a few days ago. i shouldn’t be gone for more than a few hours, though.”
“of course. just make sure to drop by my house when you’re done.”
“definitely.”
laying across your plush couch as the record player loops the same songs over and over, you wonder if this is a sign you shouldn’t tell Johnny Joestar about your feelings after all. the idea had only popped into your head several weeks ago, right after you’d celebrated your 16th birthday.
the party your parents held was grand, with many of your family and friends invited from all over the country to celebrate your special “coming of age”. you’d had an amazing time but the highlight was after the party was long over and most of your guests had left.
you were lingering by the balcony of your bedroom, enjoying the feeling of the cold night breeze brushing against your face. behind you, your room floor was covered in shredded wrapping paper and emptied gift boxes—many of which previously housed pieces of jewelry, beauty products and expensive clothes tailored to your exact measurements, courtesy of your dear mother.
opening them had been fun and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy basking in the attention and presents. once the festivities had ended, though, a familiar hollowness formed in your chest, the numbness inflamed by the reminder of what all the things you received were meant to tell you:
“be a good girl. become a good woman. dedicate your life to being the best wife to a man you haven’t even met yet.”
tightening your grip on the balcony handrails, your arms began to tremble from the overwhelming force having nowhere else to go. inside your mouth, you chomped down on your tongue hard, hoping the sting would snap you out of it.
this was becoming a more regular occurrence, the overthinking. with age came the wisdom to realise and resent what role you were born to play in society.
you were only 16 but even then you dreaded growing older, every year another step closer to being wedded off by your parents to a man who might treat you well only if you clean the house, cook nice enough food and let him have his way with you every night.
“you’re thinking too loud again.” a familiar voice interrupted your self-pity session. you turned around to find Johnny hiding something behind his back. “here, my last present for you.” he revealed a plain box with little fanfare, though there was a wide smile on his face.
opening the flaps slowly, you were greeted by a custom equestrian helmet. sleek and stylish in your favourite colour, it looked pretty enough to catch an eye but not so much that it drew too much attention.
it was perfect.
”i know some of your relatives don’t like that you do horseriding which is why i didn’t bring it out earlier—” he began rambling, a habit that surfaced every time he was nervous. it had been that way ever since you were small, and you suspected that it would persist long into adulthood.
it comforted you greatly.
after carefully taking the helmet out, you tried it on to find that it was a near-perfect fit. the inner material was incredibly comfortable—sturdy yet breathable. in the back of your mind, you could faintly hear Johnny continue to speak but in that moment all you could focus on was how your heart fluttered wildly in your chest.
it was that very moment you decided you loved him.
as a warmth began spreading across your face, you lunged into his arms to hide your flustered expression from view. a soft oof escaped his lips as he hugged you back.
”happy birthday,” he murmured, pressing his lips onto the apex of your helmet.
you wake up to the distant sound of birds chirping and porcelain tableware clinking against each other. a groan rumbles from deep within your chest when you try to sit up on the couch where you’d fallen asleep, only for your stiff joints to ache in protest of the sudden movement.
judging by how bright the sunlight looks from outside, you reckon your parents have already left for work and that your brother’s on the way to school. scanning the living room, you catch a glimpse into the kitchen where a maid washes up by the sink.
before you can sheepishly ask if it’s too late for breakfast, there’s a sudden, rapid knocking at the front door. waving to the maid to let her know you’ve got it, you shuffle over and open it only to be greeted by the flustered face of the one and only Johnny Joestar.
an immense wave of disappointment sobers you up when your brain catches up to the chain of events that led you to falling asleep on the couch last night. he smiles sheepishly at the scowl that forms on your face and lets out a yelp when he jams his hand into the gap of the door as you try to slam it shut, only to crush his fingers.
“i’m sorry, okay?” Johnny groans when you give up on trying to shoo him away and just let him in. storming away to your bedroom, he follows you, hot on your heels. “i got caught up in some stuff and totally lost track of time.”
“it’s whatever.” you shrug, plopping your butt down onto your bed where, beside you, he follows suit. the gap between your bodies eventually disappears when he gradually shifts closer to you, stopping only when your thighs touch.
“no,” Johnny shakes his head, “i’m genuinely really sorry. i came here as soon as i woke up. you have something important to tell me right? well… now i do, too, but you can go first.”
he’s speaking so fast, words flying out of his mouth at a rapid-fire pace, as his eyes shine like the sun. you swear, if he had a tail, it would be wagging uncontrollably behind him right now.
“oh, i mean, it’s not really that important,” you ramble, flustered now that you’ve been reminded of what you’d initially planned to do last night. heat floods your face as you struggle to maintain eye contact, periodically glancing down at your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
”it’s okay, you can tell me. mine’s kinda embarrassing, too.” he nudges your shoulder with his. a reddish tint forms on his cheeks and, for a split second, you idly think about how quickly he seems to be losing his baby fat, as hints of strong cheekbones begin to surface.
”it’s super personal… i don’t think i can tell anyone else yet,” he adds.
‘no way.’ you think to yourself, heart pounding so rapidly it threatens to break free from your ribcage. ‘is he gonna say what i think he is?’
”well…”
”hey, why don’t we say our things at the same time? that way it’s less awkward for the both of us,” Johnny suggests, leaning even closer to you; so close that your noses nearly touch.
swallowing thickly, you nod, so lightheaded from your racing heart you can’t think about saying anything aside from your confession.
”i’m in love with you.”
”i had sex with two girls last night.”
oh.
Johnny’s face falls. his skin goes pale and his jaw drops as he jerks away, nearly faling off your bed entirely. an almost… disgusted expression begins to form on his face, like he’d just seen his dog puke before eating its own vomit back up like a tasty snack.
meanwhile your entire body feels like it’s been dunked in the arctic ocean as a bitter taste forms in the back of your throat. an overwhelming numbness spreads from deep within your chest to the tips of your fingers. your eyes start to sting before you can help yourself and it seems the sight of your impending tears only terrifies Johnny even further.
you feel so fucking stupid.
casting your eyes away from his, you rub harshly at your face whilst taking a deep breath. your mind races with all the different things you can say but your throat’s clamped tight and your mouth feels impossibly dry. you clench your hands so hard your nails begin to draw blood.
“i…i…” he flounders. “i’m going on a date with one of them tomorrow.” he reaches a hand out toward you, not unlike someone trying to appease an upset, wild animal.
”okay.” you nod, head hung low as you pin your eyes to your balled fists, tracking the way the tiny droplets of blood begin to bead along where your nails imbed into your palms.
the conversation dies there but for some godforsaken reason, Johnny sticks around like some kind of sicko who feeds off your shame and embarrassment. at several points, he tries to speak but nothing ever comes out. eventually, he leaves without another word.
that morning marks the moment something fundamentally shifts in your life-long friendship with Johnny Joestar.
after the initial awkward weeks-long phase of being unable to make eye contact with each other, you gradually return to your shared routine from before everything went wrong.
you go to school together every morning and practice riding on his family’s ranch after classes. he comes over to your house for dinner every other night and you regularly visit his parents to drop off freshly baked goods on the behalf of your mother.
things stay the same and yet everything feels different.
neither of you bring up the conversation ever again. after a while, it’s like that morning never even happened—except the memory of it haunts your every waking moment and is the core of all your nightmares.
needless to say, once you’re presented with the opportunity to escape, you cling onto it for dear life.
“imagine how impressed my future husband would be if his wife had studied some medicine before settling down with him,” you’d told your father when he brought up reservations over sending his daughter to university. “he can tell his friends: ‘she’s so clever, isn’t she? i’m so lucky she’s bearing my children.’”
it worked like a charm; your father had always been the duller knife in the kitchen compared to your mother.
by the end of the year, you find yourself enrolled at a prestigious university in England to study medicine—under the condition that regardless of if you graduate, the moment you return home, you’re no longer allowed to continue your studies. you suspect it’s your father’s final attempt to scare you into not going at all.
to your surprise, Johnny accompanies your family to see you off at the airport. when it’s his turn for goodbyes, he pulls you in for a tight hug and says he’ll miss you. you have a feeling you both know it’s a bit of a lie.
he’d become such a famous horseriding prodigy, after all. just within the span of months he’d gone from being the younger son of an aristocrat to a nation-wide celebrity. with all of his adoring fans, rich associates and never-ending cycle of girlfriends, you think he’ll be perfectly fine.
hours later, when you arrive alone to the foreign country, you take solace in the fact that you at least share the same common tongue. from what you’d read in books about England—as well as Johnny’s father’s verbal retelling of his times there—the weather and food certainly will take some getting used to. however when you weigh the cons against the pros of not only being away from your parents but also Johnny, you feel quite alright.
plus, rather generously, the Joestars themselves had offered to take care of your living arrangements once they heard which school you’ll be attending. to your surprise, it’s fairly close to the ranch they own.
“perfect!” George II said as he clapped his hands together. “i’ll arrange for you to stay at the ranch while you study. there’s fresh air, beautiful scenery right outside your window and plenty of horses you can ride whenever you’re free.” he seemed even more excited by the idea than you were.
“we have a reliable stable boy still working there, as well. he’s not the most sociable but he should be able to help you settle in just fine.”
Johnny’s father’s words echo in your head as you arrive at the Joestar British Ranch. much like when you first saw their mansion as a child, you find yourself intimidated by the sheer scale of the land.
atop a vast green field with no end in sight sits a massive stable where, beside it, a large portion of land is cordoned off by pristinely-maintained wooden fencing. within the fences, a few well-groomed horses roam around, occasionally nipping at some hay or grass. a short distance away stands a beautiful home that, while it dwarfs in comparison to their house in Kentucky, is still rather grand for a place they don’t regularly visit anymore.
a large metal gate stands between you and the house that will be your residence for the next few years (hopefully). to your surprise, it’s unlocked. with a light push, the entrance swings open and you make your way in.
following the pebbled path that leads to the main house, you scan the horizon for the man you were told would be looking after you during your stay. however, there’s not a single person in sight. just as you begin to wonder if the stable boy even exists to begin with, a smooth voice calls out from right behind you.
startled, you let out a yelp as you spin around to discover exactly who you’d been searching for: a man with blond hair and golden eyes, about a head and a half taller than you in height with a constant unimpressed look on his face.
”are you Diego Brando?” you ask sheepishly despite already being pretty certain it is him.
“and you’re the girl here to study medicine, i presume? unless you’re an intruder, in which case i’m allowed to physically remove you from the property.” he cracks his knuckles, as though already looking forward to doing the latter.
“well, the first one is correct.” in spite of his cold attitude, you reach out for a handshake. “my name’s—”
”i couldn’t care less what your name is.” he brushes past you to make his way to the house. “just follow me and i’ll show you your room.”
after a handful of minutes of silent walking and two flights of stairs, you’re led to a hallway with one door on either side.
”my room’s on the left and yours is on the right,” Diego states matter-of-factly. “i don’t care what you do here, just don’t ever enter my room and we won’t have any problems.”
you nod even though he isn’t even looking at you. still though, as if on cue, he turns around to leave.
by nightfall you’ve unpacked all your belongings. clothes folded nicely in the closet, textbooks arranged neatly on your desk and equestrian helmet sitting in the centre of your bed. a part of you had debated not bringing it along since it’s so deeply tied with Johnny but you’ve used it so much by now that you don’t feel like trying on new helmets.
just as your thoughts continue to drone on in your head, your attention is captured by the familiar sound of hooves trotting along a grassy dirt path. opening your window, you lean out of it to see Diego Brando riding one of the horses, doing laps around the field.
you’d heard a little bit about him before when you were younger. something about how he was the only one who ever beat Johnny in a race. now that you’re witnessing him riding live, you can kind of see why.
he commands the gentle creature with such natural ease, his every muscle in sync with the equine as though the pieces of manmade equipment are merely extensions of his four limbs. the complete opposite of how he’s presented himself to you thus far, Diego Brando is so clearly fond of the horse beneath him. his facial expression, while not exactly screaming happy, is focused yet relaxed at the same time, like he was born to do this exact thing.
”had your fill of gawking yet?” his voice snaps you out of your reverie. it’s only then you realise how close he’s gotten without you noticing. just beneath where you lean out of your window, Diego stares up at you, unimpressed yet again.
”i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude.” you back up, the opened window now feeling more like a solid barrier between you and him. “you just kind of reminded me of someone.”
he simply huffs before riding away.
“goodnight, Diego,” you call out before you can help yourself. you catch the way his shoulders tense for a second, as though hearing the greeting was a foreign concept to the young man. just as you think he’s about to ignore you entirely, he raises a hand and waves it half-heartedly.
as the weeks pass by and you settle into your routine of attending school and practicing your riding, you come to find that Diego’s company isn’t all too bad. true to his word, he doesn’t care about what you do as long as it doesn’t bother him and yet he silently adapts when needed. the fridge is constantly stocked with fresh ingredients, the home is meticulously maintained and the horses are carefully taken care of.
the most interaction you’ve had with him thus far is the dinners you have whilst sitting across from him at the large dining table. you often have breakfast and lunch at the university but dinners are always at the house and it seems he coincidentally shares the same habit.
the first few nights, you refrain from speaking with him entirely, not wanting to come off as a bother. after a week, however, you muster the courage to offer to cook dinner every now and then.
”where’s this coming from?” Diego replies with a quirked eyebrow. you’re honestly just amazed he’s acknowledging your existence.
”well, you’ve been cooking everything every night,” you reply and he shrugs. “i don’t mind helping out to share some of the load.”
”you do know i’m being paid to do all this, right?” he responds sharply. “by no means am i providing for you out of the kindness of my heart.” the harshness of his tone stings a little but you persist,—the guilt of being taken care of overriding the desire to just give up on the conversation for the sake of your feelings.
”of course i know that.” you make a pointed effort to frown at him. “i’m just saying i’d like to cook sometimes, how about that?”
Diego scoffs, lips curled into a snarl.
“like hell i’d believe that someone like you would want to do any housework in her entire life.” he tilts his head, as though the gesture enables him to see you better under the light of the dining room chandelier.
“little miss wanted to study medicine and the entire Joestar family bent to her will.” he slams his hands onto the table. “you brats born with silver spoons in your mouths make me fucking sick.”
“don’t pretend like you know anything about me,” you hiss through gritted teeth, heart palpitating wildly in your chest from the sheer audacity of this British man. “i’ve been nothing but polite to you despite your shitty fucking attitude. i don’t care if you don’t want to be nice back but if you’re not going to make an effort to try then just keep your goddamn mouth shut.”
you mirror his actions and slam your own hands onto the table as well, causing your utensils to clatter against the mahogany wood. you then proceed to stand up from your seat abruptly, the sound of your chair dragging across the floor grating your ears, before you storm away without another word.
’how ironic,’ you think to yourself, stewing in your rage, ‘i offer to help with household duties and get told by a man i’m a spoiled brat? the fucking audacity.’
you go to bed pissed and you wake up still pissed. seeing as there’s still quite a bit of time before your first class, you get ready for the day quickly before heading down to the kitchen. without a second thought, still seething with anger, you aggressively prepare two servings of breakfast. by the time you’re done washing up, your housemate descends the stairs and sees what you’ve made.
”eat it or throw it away, i don’t care.” you brush past him to head to your room with your own serving in a lunchbox for later.
when you return to the ground floor, schoolbag in hand, you find Diego sitting at the dining table, halfway through his meal as he reads the morning newspaper. he ignores you as you make your way to the front door and right as you think he’s just going to pretend he doesn’t see you entirely, he speaks.
“it tastes good.”
you leave the house still enraged but now for a completely separate reason: you hate that his single compliment made your heart skip a beat.
from then on, a routine wordlessly forms between you and Diego. every morning you’ll make breakfast for him and yourself, and every night, he prepares dinner for two.
conversations while you eat together are still few and far between but every once in a while, he’ll make a subtle request about what he wants for breakfast the next day. after you inevitably prepare it the following morning, you mention offhandedly a dish you’ve been craving, only to come home from classes to the smell of said dish being silently prepared.
you become so used to the routine, in fact, that the first night you return to an empty house, alarm bells immediately start going off in your head. despite not talking much at all, you’re so certain that Diego would’ve told you if he wasn’t making dinner today that something bad must’ve happened to him.
without much thought, you leave the house armed with a single oil lamp and a crowbar you found lying around somewhere a few days ago, for protection, of course. you wander rather aimlessly in the dark along the perimeter of the fields where endless trees mark the point the Joestar estate ends and the wilderness begins.
you call out his name repeatedly, hoping that he’ll either respond or approach you himself, but to no avail. what you do hear, however, is the distressed whining of a horse that, once it spots you, instantly starts guiding you deeper into the woods where you eventually find who you’re looking for.
Diego’s in bad shape. initially, all you can see is his pale and sweaty face but as your eyes travel down his body, you notice the rudimentary bear trap clamped around his ankle—and the immense amount of blood that’s been soaked into the dirt ground. the sharp metal teeth look like they’re dug so deeply into his flesh that you fear they may have hit his bones.
rushing over to him, you drop to your knees and immediately start using the crowbar to pry the stupid thing open. his hand darts out to grab your wrist tightly as a pained groan forces its way out of his mouth. his eyes are half-lidded and his skin feels cold to the touch.
“i’m so sorry, Dio,” you hush as comfortingly as you can in your frazzled state, “this is gonna hurt quite a bit.” his furrowed eyebrows twitch as he bites onto his bottom lip before giving you a slight nod and loosening his hold on your arm.
taking a single deep breath to brace yourself, you give the crowbar a swift push and the bear trap breaks open cleanly. Diego lets out a shaky sigh as his head falls back onto the forest floor, shoulders relaxing as the initial wave of agony gives way to utter relief.
“wh… why’re you here?” he asks breathlessly, much to your utter confusion.
“because you went missing?” you scoff matter-of-factly as you toss the trap away before crouching in front of him with your back turned his way. “c’mon, put your arms around me, i’ll carry you back.”
“i… don’t need your help,” he hisses through gritted teeth as his attempt to stand on his own does nothing but cause sharp pain to shoot through his entire right leg.
”is dying in the woods due to blood loss manly or something?” you snap your head around to glare at him, feeling a tiny bit bad when you’re reminded of how pale and tired he looks. “just shut up and let me carry you. i’m not gonna let you die on me like this.”
relenting to his fate, he does as you say and after a few adjustments, you figure out a way to piggyback the grown man while aggravating his wound as little as possible. the journey home takes a while, no thanks to your empty stomach and his immense muscle mass. for someone who looks so lean, he sure is heavy.
halfway through your tiresome expedition, Diego gives in to his exhaustion and rests his chin on your shoulder. leaning his temple against yours, his steady breaths makes you wonder if he’s starting to doze off.
you end up spending the entire night tending to his wounds and helping him wash up as much as possible without getting his bandages wet. by the time he’s properly fallen asleep in his bed, the morning sun casts its golden light into the room, illuminating his relaxed face as he rests.
‘he looks quite handsome when he’s not being annoying,’ you think to yourself before you leave to pass out in your own bed.
later in the day, after getting a doctor to come check on his wounds, you take it upon yourself to make sure he recovers properly, no matter how much he resists. what starts out as an endless barrage of insults and complaints slowly melt away over the weeks into the occasional soft ‘thank you’.
after an entire month, Diego finally recovers enough to walk without much discomfort and things slowly return to normal; except now his attitude towards you has drastically changed.
he greets you good morning and good night, unprompted. he reminds you to bring your coat before you leave to attend classes. he invites you to practice riding with him after dinner.
the switch up is so dramatic it honestly scares you a little… but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.
slowly, over time, you learn more about Diego Brando—the suffering he had endured as a child, his admiration for his long deceased mother and his aspiration to climb the social ladder no matter what it takes.
”i’m sharing too much,” he says one day, out of the blue, as if just realising he’s been talking about himself over the past few weeks—like it’s a foreign concept to him, the idea of sharing how he feels to another person.
“i like it, though,” you reply truthfully. “i like learning about you.” he quickly turns his head away but it’s not fast enough as you catch a glimpse of the blush forming on his face.
in turn, he learns about you, as well. how your father has been preparing you for marriage ever since you were born; and all your efforts to delay the inevitable as much as possible—which includes how you ended up in England to begin with. you sometimes talk about Johnny, failing to notice how Diego’s jaw tightens every time you say something positive about your childhood friend.
”what did you call me that day? in the forest?” he asks out of nowhere one random evening.
”didn’t i call you by your name?” you reply, unable to recall saying anything otherwise. it’s been such a long time ago by now, plus you were pretty stressed throughout the whole thing.
”no, i think you called me ‘Dio’,” Diego responds so quickly you wonder why he even asked as if he didn’t remember.
“do you hate it?”
”no.” he doesn’t miss a beat. “i like it. you can keep calling me that.”
”okay, Dio.” the ends of his lips twitch into a subtle smile when he hears the nickname in your voice, and the sight causes a funny feeling in your chest.
before you know it, half a year has passed since you first arrived. your studies are going fairly well and your friendship with Diego grows stronger by the day. your horseback riding has improved drastically since you started doing it alongside him and every now and then you get a letter from either parent, telling you that all is well on their end.
today, though, the handwriting on the envelope looks different.
“who’s that from?” Diego asks, peering curiously over your shoulder as you tear it open.
”i think it’s my brother,” you reply as you unfold the paper.
dearest sister,
i hope you’re well. i’ve heard from mother and father that your studies are going smoothly and that you’ve befriended the stable boy. i’m genuinely happy to hear all the good news.
unfortunately, the reason i write to you today is to reveal something which has been kept secret from you for four months now. i’ve been told not to let you know since it might prove to be too big of a distraction but i can no longer harbour the guilt of lying to you via omission. i think you, of all people, deserve to know this.
around two months after you left for England, Johnny was shot in the back outside a theatre and has thus lost the ability to walk. he’s been abandoned by his family at a hospital where, to my knowledge, the staff regularly abuse him.
i’ve tried to convince our parents to help but they’ve been so swamped with work that his wellbeing is barely a priority to them.
i hope you can somehow convince them, perhaps through a letter or a telephone call, to finally take action. i’m his only visitor and it saddens me to see him in such a state, especially since i know he’s dear to you.
i wish i could help myself but the hospital staff don’t take me seriously since i’m still a child in their eyes.
please help him.
your brother,
James