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They’d stopped at a checkpoint somewhere between Mackinaw City and Philadelphia when the letter arrived.
Johnny and Gyro were checking into the inn specially reserved for racers. While Gyro spoke to the race officiants who were acting as receptionists (among their many other responsibilities), Johnny scoped the place out. The target on their back was bigger than ever after their win in the sixth stage, so they had to be especially careful. Luckily it looked like they were some of the first to arrive here. If anyone was going to attack them, they’d be ready well in advance.
Satisfied, Johnny returned to Gyro’s side. He was still trying to get them a room. Something was keeping him up, judging by the impatient tapping of his foot.
“Coast is clear,” Johnny said. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know,” Gyro said. “One of the officiants said there was something he had to give me.”
As he said that, the officiant in question returned from the back room.
“Here it is,” he said. “Post for you, Mr. Zeppeli.”
He thrust an envelope in Gyro’s direction. Gyro arched a brow suspiciously. Johnny didn’t blame him— at this point, anything could be a potential Stand attack. Although this would be a very strange, roundabout way of doing it.
“I’m not expecting any mail,” Gyro said. “Where’s it from?”
The officiant peered at the envelope. “From… the Kingdom of Naples, sir.”
Gyro’s frown deepened. He looked sideways at Johnny, silently asking his input.
Johnny considered it. The last communication they received from Gyro’s homeland was about the corpse. And before that, they’d gotten instructions on how to find the Zombie Horse. With that in mind, this letter might also be helpful to their journey. He gave Gyro a subtle nod.
Gyro nodded just barely in return and took the letter. “All right.”
He gave the officiant a wide yet vaguely menacing grin, as if to say this better not be a trap, or you’re going to get it.
“And don’t call me sir,” he added.
The officiant’s smile tightened. He slowly pushed the room key across the desk towards Gyro. “Your room is right down the hall… Mr. Zeppeli.”
“Thanks,” Gyro said coolly. “Let’s go, Johnny.”
Johnny gave the officiant one last wary glance before following Gyro to their room. While Gyro unlocked the room, he scouted out the hall for anything strange. Seeing nothing, he followed Gyro into their lodging.
It was just as small as the others they’d stayed at along the road, with two beds that might as well be one with how close they were pushed together. Gyro tossed his baggage down onto one while Johnny deposited his things at the foot of the other.
“Wanna grab something to eat, then?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, but I want to read this letter first,” Gyro said.
“It’s from your homeland, huh?”
“So it says.” Gyro turned the letter over, holding it away from him like it might explode at any moment. “Stick around in case it’s a trap, okay?”
“Sure."
“Here goes nothing,” Gyro said.
He broke the Neapolitan seal and opened the envelope, then paused. No explosion yet. They looked at each other. Gyro shrugged and took the letter out. Still nothing. He unfolded it and read the first few lines with deeply furrowed brows.
To Johnny’s surprise, Gyro suddenly started to grin.
“Nyohoho, all that ado for nothing,” he said. He waved the letter at Johnny. “I recognize this handwriting. It’s gotta be from my sister.”
Johnny relaxed, wheeling closer to take a look for himself. All of the words he could make out were in Italian. “I thought your family didn’t write letters.”
“That’s my father,” Gyro said. “I mean, I’m still pretty amazed that any of them wrote to me, but it’s not too out of character.”
He plopped down on the end of the bed, still smiling. “Guess she just misses me that bad! What a sap.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, and three brothers. All younger.”
“What’d she say?”
“Haven’t read it yet,” Gyro said. “Hey, you want me to read it out loud? I can do a dramatic reading. It’ll be like a gag.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Sure, why not?” If it was anything like the rest of Gyro’s gags, it was bound to be so bad it was good.
“All right, here goes.” Gyro cleared his throat. “Caro Gyro— that means ‘dear Gyro’.”
“Just translate it for me, I don’t need to hear all the pizza mozzarella shit.”
“Wow, hurtful,” Gyro said, although his tone was clearly unperturbed. “Anyway, she says: ‘I hope this letter reaches you. I wasn’t sure where to send it, but I was told that the race officials would find a way to get it to you. If you’re reading this, it means I succeeded.’”
He laughed at that. “Well done, lil' sis!"
Johnny rested his chin on the heel of his hand. Gyro hadn’t mentioned siblings before— but then again, Johnny wasn’t exactly keen on the subject of family himself. He wondered if they were anything like Gyro, in looks or personality. Gyro’s eyes quickly scanned his sister’s lines and he translated as he went.
“‘All is well in Napoli,’” he read aloud. “‘The clinic is lively as always. We’re a little short-staffed without you but we make do. Antonio has been doing a good job picking up your slack’— ugh.” Here he rolled his eyes. “Can’t help pushing my buttons, can you, Portia?”
“Who’s Antonio?” Johnny piped up. “And Portia…?”
“Oh, those are my siblings’ names,” Gyro said. “Portia’s my sister, the next oldest after me. And Antonio’s after that.”
“And then there are two more, right?”
“Yeah, but don't worry about them,” Gyro said, waving his hand dismissively as he read ahead. “I’m sure Portia'll mention them later. Okay, so, Antonio's picking up my slack, blah blah blah… she goes on about the clinic a little, it’s kind of boring…”
Johnny didn’t say so, but he still kind of wanted to hear the "boring" parts. Knowing Gyro, it probably wasn’t actually boring in the slightest. And even if it was... Johnny wanted to hear it anyway. It was all a part of Gyro’s life, after all. But again, he didn't say as much.
“Oh, here’s something interesting,” Gyro said. “She says, ’Lorenzo’s in trouble again.’ That’s my second-youngest brother, he’s always doing stupid shit. Let’s see what it was this time…"
He narrowed his eyes at the page. "‘Antonio caught him hanging out with some wannabe camorristi. Needless to say, he straightened him out. Lorenzo was sore about it but I told him, better your brother than the police. Or worse, Father.’ Ha, that’s… That’s very true…”
Gyro laughed, but there was something slightly off about it. It seemed somewhat less genuine than before. Johnny wasn’t going to ask what Portia was talking about or why it seemed to bother Gyro so much, but Gyro offered an explanation anyway. He must’ve sensed that Johnny didn’t fully understand.
“She’s referring to the mafia in Naples,” he said. “Apparently my idiot brother has decided to move onto causing actual trouble.”
“The mafia?” Johnny repeated skeptically. “Like, organized crime?”
“It’s complicated,” Gyro said. “But in any case, it’s… it’s inappropriate for a Zeppeli to get mixed up in those sorts of things.”
He looked back down at the letter, setting his jaw. He jabbed a finger at it like he could convey his message through the inert paper. “Lorenzo… you just wait until I get home. Then someone will really set you straight.”
Harsh, Johnny thought. As if Gyro wasn’t mixed up in some un-Zeppeli-like things himself. Still, it wasn’t his family, so it wasn’t his business.
“She say anything else?” he asked, trying to get Gyro’s mind off his wayward brother.
“Uh— yeah. A couple more paragraphs.” Gyro cleared his throat and kept reading. “‘Dante has been buying the paper every day to read for news about you.’ Oh, that’s sweet. Wonder if news of our stage win has made it overseas?”
“Dante’s your last brother?” Johnny deduced.
“You got it,” Gyro said. “He’s like, the sensitive one.”
“I thought you were the sensitive one,” Johnny deadpanned.
“Ha-ha,” Gyro said dryly. “No, I’m the tough one. I have to be, I’m the oldest.”
The oldest one’s always the toughest, huh? That made sense to Johnny. It always seemed like Nicholas was tougher than him.
He had to wonder: if Nicholas was around, what would he think of Johnny entering the Steel Ball Run? Would he track his progress in the paper, like Gyro’s youngest brother was doing? Would he send letters…?
Stop it, he told himself. If Nicholas was around, you wouldn’t even be in this race.
“I’m sure he’ll read about the sixth stage soon,” Johnny said, somewhat flatly.
If Gyro heard the dispirited tone to his voice, he didn’t let on. He kept reading his sister’s words aloud, the furrow in his brow deepening as he did.
“‘Right now he always looks in the sports announcements for news of you,’” he read. “‘I fear that someday, he will have to look for you in… in the death announcements.’”
Johnny’s brows shot up at that. Apparently Gyro wasn’t the only harsh one in the Zeppeli family. Gyro exhaled forcefully.
“Merda,” he muttered. “I knew she was mad at me.”
He laughed again, but this time it was obviously forced. “She’d like that, I bet. If I bit it out here. She’d write ‘I told you so’ on my gravestone if she could.”
That’s not true, Johnny thought, lowering his eyes. He didn’t know Gyro’s sister, but… he bet she’d be devastated if anything happened to Gyro. His whole family would be. Johnny couldn't imagine anything else, at least from his point of view.
Maybe this was a bad idea, he thought. Clearly Portia had mixed feelings at best about Gyro leaving for the race. Who was to say that she wouldn't say even worse things as the letter continued? Johnny had a bad feeling about it.
“You don’t have to read the rest,” he said.
“Fuck it, we’re almost finished,” Gyro said. “This is the last part: ‘As for Father…’”
He paused, then gave Johnny a crooked grin. “Oh, this’ll be good.”
Johnny wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t say anything as Gyro read on.
“‘As for Father, you already know how he feels about this whole race thing,’” he read, putting sarcastic emphasis on the last part. “‘He’s losing patience with you, Gyro. He says if you’re not back before your twenty-fifth birthday, he’s going to… he’ll…’”
Gyro hesitated. His jaw clenched. Johnny bit the inside of his cheek.
“‘Disown you,’” he finished quietly. “‘So just come home already. Portia.’”
With that, the letter was finally over. Gyro pressed his lips tightly together and folded the letter back up. Johnny watched with his mouth sealed shut. He didn’t know what to say. Disown him? But Gyro was the eldest son, the heir to the Zeppeli line. The way he spoke about it made it clear even to Johnny that it was a big deal. Gyro was so proud of his position. Johnny never imagined that his father would threaten to take it away.
Gyro looked like he hadn't imagined it either. His face had lost a lot of color after reading his father’s ultimatum. He blinked rapidly.
“Shit,” he said softly, dragging his hand over his face. He finally seemed to notice that Johnny was still sitting there and gave him a mirthless smile. “Didn’t end up being very funny, did it?”
Johnny winced. “Gyro…”
“That’s my fucking family for you,” Gyro said, holding up the envelope like some sort of damning proof. “All they know how to do is make me feel bad about everything I do. I come here to try and—“
Gyro stopped himself and got to his feet in a swift motion. He walked purposefully towards the door like he was going to leave the room, but then stopped just short. It was like he was suddenly frozen in place. Frozen except for the slight tremble to his shoulders.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Johnny looked down, like this was something that he shouldn’t be witness to. He’d never seen Gyro in such a state before. On one hand clearly bothered, but on the other completely powerless to do anything about it. It didn’t seem right that a little piece of paper could do this to him.
He knew he’d probably feel the same way if he was in Gyro’s position, but Johnny— well, Johnny was used to getting emotional like this. But he wasn’t used to seeing it from Gyro.
“He doesn’t mean that,” Johnny said. “Your father.”
Johnny didn’t know that for certain, of course, but how could Gyro’s father have meant it? How could he threaten something like that from an ocean away? Even Johnny’s father, who was surely not even a fraction as principled as Gyro’s, had at least disowned him to his face.
Hearing Johnny’s voice seemed to bring Gyro back to his body. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, then shook his head.
“My father never says things that he doesn’t mean,” he said. His voice was low and soft. “He doesn’t make idle threats.”
“Then maybe your sister—“
“Portia wouldn’t have written it if she wasn’t certain it was true.”
Johnny went quiet for a moment. So the Zeppelis were serious, then. They were really prepared to… to throw Gyro away over something like this. Gyro, the most devoted eldest son that Johnny had ever met. What a bunch of fools.
Gyro took out the letter out of its envelope again and stared at it. His back was still to Johnny, but Johnny just knew that he was rereading that last paragraph over and over again. Memorizing it, whether he wanted to or not.
“I don’t fucking get it,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “This is the first time I’ve ever done something against his wishes. And it’s not like I’m doing it for nothing.”
He turned to Johnny then. His expression was one of anger, but his eyes had a sort of unmistakable shine to them.
“I’m not doing it for nothing,” he repeated. “For fuck’s sake, I’m doing it for them! For my old man, even!”
Gyro shook the letter emphatically, as if it was essential that he convince Johnny of his point. “So that we can all have pride and honor in our family name! Am I the only one who gives a shit about pride and honor? About understanding? About doing the right thing?!”
He came back to the bed and sat down with an exasperated huff. He put his head in his hands, still clutching the paper. He looked like he was in pain.
“I’m just… trying to do the right thing,” he muttered. “I want to do the right thing.”
Seeing and hearing Gyro like this felt... wrong. It caused Johnny a sort of discomfort and pain that he'd thought he'd forgotten how to feel: that of empathy. He'd spent so long only focusing on himself, and yet... Gyro's pain was his. He knew he had to do something.
Johnny wheeled over to where Gyro was sitting. He transferred himself from his chair to the bed next to Gyro. He tried to catch Gyro’s eyes, but he was looking firmly downward. Johnny sighed softly, putting his hands on his knees. He kept trying to think of a good thing to say, but each time it seemed to fall just short.
This is… really fucking hard, he thought. Comforting someone, that was. How was Gyro so good at it? He always seemed to know exactly what to say (or what not to say) to bolster Johnny’s spirits. So many times had he reaffirmed Johnny’s hopes, dispelled his uncertainties, given him the courage to carry on… if anything, that meant that Johnny owed it to him all the more to return the favor.
Clearly Johnny couldn’t speak to what Gyro’s family felt and thought about him. But he could speak to what he felt about Gyro.
“Take this with a grain of salt,” he said. “But in my opinion, you’re the only person in this whole damn race who’s doing the right thing.”
Gyro lifted his head slightly. He looked askance at Johnny.
“That can’t be true,” he said.
“I said in my opinion,” Johnny said with a slight bristle. Leave it to Gyro to argue with him on this! He inhaled to recollect himself and tried again. “What I mean is— everyone else is out here for themselves somehow. For the money, or the power of the corpse, or whatever… they want it for their own benefit. But you ain’t like that. Everything that you’re doin’ here, you’re doin’ for someone else’s sake.”
Gyro looked away again. His grip was starting to crumple the letter between his fingers.
“How do you know I’m not in it for me, too?” he asked gruffly. “That I’m not doing this all just to… to make myself feel better, or some shit like that?”
“Because I’m in it for me,” Johnny replied. “And I know you ain’t like me.”
Unlike Johnny, Gyro had a compass inside his heart that steered him towards right and away from wrong. He’d seen it countless times, even when Gyro tried to play it off. Even way back at the start— why else would Gyro have helped him get on Slow Dancer’s back? He said he wasn’t a “nice guy,” but Johnny saw through that like paper mâché. Maybe he wasn’t nice, but he was good.
Gyro seemed taken aback by Johnny’s answer. He stared at Johnny for a long moment, brows furrowed. Then he looked down at the letter again. He smoothed it out on his lap with a grimace.
“You’re not a bad person, Johnny,” he said.
“Neither are you,” Johnny shot back. “Whatever your dad or your siblings think or say about you, Gyro— you got nothing to apologize for, or feel bad about. If your old man's really gonna do something as stupid as disown you, it’s only ‘cause he doesn’t understand how important this all is. I mean, think about it— if he knew you were tryna bring together the parts of a saint’s corpse, would he be so fuckin’ critical?”
Johnny was getting worked up as he spoke. Shitty fathers was his area of expertise, after all. By the end, he was so caught up in his speech that he didn’t even think twice before putting his hand on Gyro’s arm.
“When this is done, he'll see,” he declared. “You’re the best damn son any father could ever ask for, Gyro. In fact, you— you might just be the best damn person I’ve ever met.”
Gyro looked at him then, his brows raised. Johnny cringed inwardly, realizing that he’d gotten carried away. He’d touched just a little too close to something just a little too vulnerable and—
Gyro put his hand over Johnny’s on his arm, surprising him. He’d pressed his lips so tightly together that his lipstick almost disappeared, but they still trembled. His face was lined with tension in a way that Johnny rarely ever saw from him: brows twitching, jaw locked. Even when they fought life-threatening enemies, Gyro looked focused but calm. Stoic, even. He never let himself appear overwhelmed.
But now, Johnny saw something different. He could see Gyro fighting extra hard to keep something inside, but what it was Johnny couldn’t say.
“Thank you, Johnny,” he said eventually. His voice was tight, like that was the only thing he could get out.
Then, he did something that surprised Johnny even more: he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. His hug was so fierce and enveloping that Johnny had no choice but to be pressed chest-to-chest with him.
Johnny hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. But as Gyro held on, Johnny’s arms slowly crept up to return his embrace. Johnny hardly even willed it to happen— it was simply what felt right.
Gyro rested his chin on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny felt him shudder, felt his fingers curl into his sweatshirt. Johnny tightened his grip in return, even pulling Gyro closer. Although Gyro made no sound, Johnny could feel what he was feeling. He was holding onto Johnny so tightly because he didn’t know who else in the world he could hold onto.
Maybe Johnny was the only one he could hold onto. God knew that Gyro was the only one Johnny had.
“S’ okay,” Johnny said softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”
Gyro shuddered again. He lowered his face to Johnny’s shoulder, completely quiet. Johnny gingerly brought a hand up to cradle the back of Gyro’s head. His hair was still soft despite weeks of unreliable bathing. He worried that perhaps the gesture was too tender, but then he heard Gyro sigh heavily, as if in much-needed relief.
They stayed like that for a while, way longer than a normal hug. But then again, Johnny figured that these weren’t normal circumstances anyway. Gyro was leaning hard on Johnny— figuratively and literally. He was kind of heavy, too. Johnny was strong, but the longer that Gyro held onto him, the harder it became to stay upright.
“Hey,” Johnny said, running his fingers through Gyro’s hair. “Y’wanna lay down?”
Gyro hesitated for a moment, but then nodded silently. He didn’t lift his head. Johnny untangled himself from the embrace just long enough to scoot up onto the bed and stretch out. He couldn’t see Gyro’s face through the curtain of his hair, so he didn’t get to see his expression even as he moved right in to Johnny’s side. Gyro wrapped his arms around Johnny’s midsection, laying his head on Johnny’s chest. His face was still turned away when they were settled, concealed.
Is he… hiding? Johnny wondered. But… why?
“You doin’ okay down there?” he asked.
Gyro nodded. Still not speaking.
“…will you look at me?”
A pause. Then, Gyro shook his head.
Johnny suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Just like a kid. Gyro never ceased to surprise him. There were times when he acted all wise and mature, and then there were times like these— when he wouldn’t even show his face because he didn’t want to betray his emotions, no matter how obvious they already were. There was a part of him that was still determined to hold something inside, apparently.
Johnny didn't understand— he'd let just about everything out in front of Gyro many times. So why was Gyro scared?
“You know… it’s just the two of us,” Johnny said. “You can cry if you need to.”
Gyro stiffened a bit at that, so Johnny quickly added: “God knows I do it enough around you.”
“I’m not crying,” Gyro said brusquely. “I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s—“ Gyro stopped himself for a moment. “It’s just not how I was raised.”
He corrected himself, but Johnny was pretty sure he knew what Gyro was going to say: because crying is for the weak, or men don’t cry, or something like that. He must’ve rethought his words because of who he was talking to.
Neither spoke for a time. Gyro was still holding onto him real tight. Maybe even tighter now that he had his arms fully around Johnny’s waist. Johnny wasn’t sure he was planning on letting go any time soon. This must be what it’s like to be his bear. Not that Johnny minded. He was always a little jealous of Gyro’s bear. If that little toy could provide Gyro with some comfort, Johnny should be able to do the same.
“You wanna know something?” Johnny asked. “When I was little, the other kids used to tease me ‘cause I cried a lot. Called me a crybaby and a wuss and all that. I tried to stop it, but I just... couldn’t help it, y’know?
Still can’t help it. Johnny was fully aware that he hadn’t really outgrown that particular aspect of his personality. He sighed. “After a while I got fed up with the teasing, so I went to my older brother n’ asked him how to quit crying. You know what he said?”
Gyro didn’t say anything, but Johnny sensed from his stillness that he was listening. He continued:
“He said, ‘those kids don’t get it. The truth is that real men can cry, because they ain’t afraid of having feelings. And they ain’t afraid of what anyone else thinks of them, either.’”
He gave a short, dry laugh. “Knowing Nicholas, he was probably just saying that to make me feel better. But… it stuck with me.”
Gyro seemed thoughtful. He drummed his fingers slowly on Johnny’s abdomen. His face was still turned enough away from Johnny that his expression couldn’t be seen.
“Your brother… sounds like a good man,” he said eventually.
Johnny swallowed thickly. “He was.”
He suspected that Nicholas had something to do with the reason that Johnny still cried so much. It was like his brother’s love, the advice he’d given Johnny, had lodged itself so deeply in his heart that it acted like a spigot for tears. Johnny was usually embarrassed by his emotional outbursts but… right now, he felt kind of thankful for them. At the very least, he felt thankful for Nicholas.
That was how Johnny knew that Gyro's siblings could never truly hate him: because he could never truly hate Nicholas. Not for being a better rider than him, not for being their father's favorite, not even for dying and leaving Johnny alone. At the end of the day, Johnny loved his brother, and he could feel that Portia loved hers. She wouldn't have sent that letter at all if she didn't.
Gyro stopped drumming his fingers and lay his hand flat on Johnny.
“It seems you were raised very differently from me,” he said. “My father eschews sentiment of any kind, positive or negative. He says it causes… cracks, in the heart.”
Gyro’s hand curled into a fist. “And if sentiment ever caused us to fail in our duty, it would mean the end of our family.”
How dramatic, Johnny thought. Execution was a serious business, evidently. And yet… Gyro was an executioner too, wasn’t he? Yet he never struck Johnny as emotionless. From the very beginning, Gyro had always shone with righteous anger— with humor— with compassion.
“Did he teach that to you?” Johnny asked.
It was Gyro’s turn to laugh dryly. “He sure tried.”
He sighed, pressing his head closer to Johnny like the other man was a pillow he was trying to get comfortable on. Johnny wished that he could see his face. Rather, he wished Gyro would show him his face.
Again, there was silence. Johnny didn’t find it awkward, though, but comfortable. Like they were both alone with their thoughts, but together at the same time. Then Gyro spoke:
“I don’t think I can cry anymore.”
His voice was low and soft, but not particularly grave. He sounded almost contemplative. Johnny watched him carefully. “Do you… wish that you could?”
Gyro shrugged. “Sometimes… sometimes it seems like it might be easier. To let things out from time to time. Otherwise it just… builds up, you know? I really don’t know how my dad does it… I’ve never seen him crack. Not once.”
“Just because you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it never happened.”
“You’re right, but… I can’t even imagine it,” Gyro said. “He talks about sentiment like it’s something you can choose to feel, and he’s just… made his choice. And I’ve tried again and again to turn it off the way he has, but… I just can’t.”
“You’re not your father,” Johnny said.
“But I am,” Gyro said. His voice got strained again. “I’m the eldest son, just like he was. I’m going to be the head executioner, the head doctor, the head of the family, just like he is. I’m the future of the Zeppeli line, I’m— I’m—“
He stopped. When he exhaled, Johnny felt him deflate.
“I’m a failure,” he said finally, quietly. “I had my whole life to prepare for these things, and I still can’t do them.”
Johnny couldn’t help but feel like Gyro wasn’t listening to him. Didn’t he tell him earlier that Gyro had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to apologize for?
“Gyro,” Johnny said sternly. “Look at me.”
Gyro did so, but more out of shock than actual desire to obey. Johnny saw that he had been telling the truth: he wasn’t crying, didn’t look like he had been, but he had the sort of crumpled, doubtful look on his face that accompanied grief. The absence of tears didn’t mean the absence of pain.
Johnny’s own face softened a bit. He should’ve known: it wasn’t that Gyro wasn’t listening. It was just that it was difficult to become unconvinced of something that you’ve carried in your heart for so long. Even when it hurts you, it becomes a sort of comfort if only in its constancy. Telling Gyro that his father’s opinion didn’t matter wasn’t going to undo years and years of Gyro telling himself the exact opposite.
That just means I’ll have to tell him again, Johnny thought. And again, and again, and again, until Gyro believed it. Even if it took years. Johnny was willing to do it.
“You’re not a failure to me,” he said. “And even if you were, I’d still love you.”
He didn’t even realize what he’d said until Gyro blinked in surprise. Johnny’s eyes widened and his face flushed crimson, and he was about to take it back when Gyro spoke:
“I love you too, Johnny,” he said. “I really do.”
He moved forward, then, up towards Johnny’s face. Johnny pulled back slightly as he felt Gyro’s breath on his face, and Gyro stopped. He looked Johnny in the eyes, silently asking for permission. Johnny’s heart was beating so hard it drowned out all other noise.
Why am I afraid? he asked himself. He is all I have left to lose.
In the end, Johnny didn’t say anything. He just leaned forward slowly, his eyes sliding shut until his lips touched Gyro’s. He felt Gyro sigh in relief before kissing him back.
Their first kiss was tender and chaste. Johnny didn’t need it to be anything more. After a minute, Gyro broke away to press his face into the crook of Johnny’s shoulder. He was silent, and so was Johnny.
Johnny felt a single wet drop on his neck— no more, no less. He put his arms around Gyro and hugged him tighter than ever.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Your family, the race, the two of us— it’ll all be okay.”
He said it for Gyro’s sake, but he wanted to believe it too. He wanted it so badly that it made his heart ache and his voice shake. Gyro nodded.
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
Eventually Gyro moved to lie at Johnny’s side in a slightly more comfortable position. As he did so, he knocked the letter from Naples off the bed. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten.