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Snow fell softly as the orange glow was blanketing the city. The silhouette of the enemy had disappeared behind the hushed, wintery veil. Johnny gulped down a mouthful of wine, his thoughts lost in the dim light. Under the quiet dance of falling snow, the warm drink Johnny was sharing with his companion brought him to a stroll down the memory lane.
Johnny thought of the winter of his mid-teen years. He never spent any cold nights home, not when he was welcomed by countless so-called friends whose house was much warmer, and more welcoming. They feasted themselves on dishes prepared to entertain Joe Kid, America’s rising horse racing star; after the red wine bottles were drained, they moved on to more intimate fun. Johnny had thought he would never remember the aftertaste on those girls’ red lips, nor the warmth on the back of his neck as the guys approached him from behind. He knew better than anyone that these people were in it for his fame; do not talk about honesty or love here, or you would be laughed at. Well, I don’t mind as long as I’m having fun, Johnny believed, as he let himself sink deeper into illusion.
Not until the high-flyer fell from grace that he knew praises were there for him only to be remembered.
The following winter, Johnny was alone in the best rental that his winnings could afford. He looked down at his hands – those hands once holding the most honourable trophies – now numb and shaking with cold. He turned his eyes to the window to watch the snow fall, only to find the entire scene obscured by the frosted glass. That was how Johnny imagined his future – blurry and bitter.
The soft clink brought him back to reality.
Johnny blinked a few times, heavy eyelids due to tears that had not been wiped away yet got dried by the breeze. He hesitantly looked down to his hands – numb and shaking with cold, but also had never been this warm. He took the last sip from his bottle, then stole a glance at the man sitting in front of him.
Watching Gyro drinking the wine in his mug elegantly, his hand occasionally tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, ultimately sound and safe, Johnny could not believe he had just almost lost him forever less than five minutes ago. Or, more accurately, he could not believe he had just almost thought of abandoning Gyro. For a moment, Johnny had really thought he was so willing to exchange his partner for the corpse parts, for the chance to walk again.
Johnny was startled at that thought. After everything they had been through, he assumed they were more than that. More than an exchange. People exchange something in order to gain something else. In Johnny’s case, he wanted nothing from Gyro. Nothing except Gyro. He, apparently from the beginning, knew that there was nothing more precious than this man he loved.
Johnny was so in love with Gyro Zeppeli.
Guess I’m not that selfish, Johnny thought. After all, he wanted to believe he was no more the cruel, heartless bastard he had once been. Now he got a heart, pounding ever so lively. And once he had for himself something he held dear, he would not let it go. Well, maybe less than before at least, Johnny sighed quietly. He turned to look at the setting sun in the amber sky. If he was really selfish eventually, then he did not mind taking what he wanted – the next corpse parts, and Gyro’s heart.
Johnny found his soul at peace, unable to hold back a smile.
Gyro finished his wine at last. Johnny already got used to his friend’s beverage ritual, whether it was coffee or wine – he would take a slow sip, leaving the aroma of the drink to spread throughout the throat, penetrating into each gap between the cells, then swallowed it, letting the warmth of the drink extend throughout the neck and chest, and take the next sip. If we died today it wouldn’t be because of me, Johnny rolled his eyes, yet amused at this habit of his.
Johnny loved every bit of his partner. The way he grinned mischievously when a rival outran him. The way he frowned at the map and murmured in Italian. The way he grumbled nonstop when there was something annoying him.
The way he reached out to wipe off the snow on Johnny’s nose gently as he said, “Let’s go find some shelter, mia cara. Can’t go any further in this weather or you will freeze to death.”
Johnny felt his face burn. He turned away, hoping Gyro would think the redness on his cheeks was due to the cold.
Gyro stood up and looked around for their horses. When he finally came back with the horses, Gyro was already riding his Valkyrie. Johnny rolled on his wheelchair to Slow Dancer, whispering some loving words to reassure her before mounting. Johnny was able to mount his horse by himself for a while now. He loved the feeling of doing his own work without help. Gyro knew this well, he assumed. From the early days, they kept doing their job without interfering with each other. This understanding just came about naturally and unspoken.
When Johnny recalled the past few months with Gyro, there seemed to be no obstacles between them. Every time they stopped to rest, Gyro would unload his gear and tie up his horse before scouting around, while Johnny gathered sticks from the ground and started a fire, preparing a snack for them both. When the night fell, Gyro would be the one to go to sleep first for a few hours and Johnny would keep watch around until the next shift change; before falling asleep, Gyro would always jabber a random story that he remembered by chance (or made up) and Johnny would just need to remain a good listener until Gyro was completely beat. There were times when they supposed it was perfectly safe, both of them would go to sleep; especially when it was cold, one of them would move closer to the other to share body heat – Johnny did that unintentionally at first, but gradually found it was a convincing excuse to be so close to Gyro, listening to his steady breathing right next to his ear.
The only thing Johnny thought he was not well in sync with him was their spoken languages. It was not about Gyro’s accent though – his Italian-English accent was confusing at times, but not to Johnny. For him, understanding Gyro was not about hearing only – you had to watch. Johnny always watched Gyro closely to know what he wanted to confess, concluding from his body movements, his blink, his smirk, his everything. There was no language barrier between them since it was not really the language itself that mattered. Johnny actually felt a little proud of himself for that.
However, there were things he could not fathom simply by watching. Sometimes he heard Gyro say some random Italian words, seemingly unconsciously, without showing any specific emotions. Johnny usually noticed this habit and tried to figure out what he meant, but it was obviously not that easy.
As he thought so, he pulled out his journal and pencil and added the fourth line next to the word mya kara. On that page, there were amore ray myo, kara, amore ray, which Johnny was quite sure he terribly misspelled. He ran through the lines, narrowing his eyes, Eighteen times already. Johnny had barely noticed this pattern until he heard Gyro randomly say an Italian phrase (seemingly unconsciously) the third time; since then, he had jotted it down every single time he heard it again. Still, it was very hard to tell how this would explain anything.
After five minutes searching for a shelter, they came across an abandoned barn. Gyro secured the horses before plopping down right next to Johnny, who was feeding sticks to the fire.
“Mio dio, I’m freezing!” Gyro groaned when reaching a bit closer to the fire. “Guess Milwaukee has to wait till tomorrow.”
Johnny glanced at him silently. I know that phrase – he says it when he gets pissed, Johnny thought, nodding to himself. He knew he did his research well.
The wind was howling fiercely outside, sending the chill through the cracks on the wooden walls. Added to the hunger that was already growling in their stomachs, the situation only made them more drained. Silence cast upon them. They definitely had a long day, riding back and forth to spend all the fortune they had acquired from the strange girl by the spring. They had eaten a few meals in just one afternoon, but their worries kept them from enjoying or feeling full. Indeed, the most agreeable meals of the wanderers were the most frugal and makeshift.
The boiling beans made a rattling sound inside the can as Gyro heated them. He was humming a melody that Johnny thought he composed right on the spot. Johnny drew his legs closer to his chest, resting his chin on his knee. The sight and sound of the crackling fire calmed his heart. This tranquil scene brought him back to their first campfires, making his lips curl up. Things were not any easier for them back then, but there were only them together, and Gyro was the only thing he wanted to pursue.
Johnny found himself dozing off before a familiar, deep voice spoke softly.
“Che sollievo capire finalmente quanto ti amo.”
Johnny opened his eyes. He stared blankly at the fire for a moment, then slowly turned to the person who had just spoken.
“What did you say?” Johnny asked.
“Nothing,” Gyro shrugged. “Just said you are a little drunk.”
Gyro fixed his eyes on the beans, using a towel to take them out. Johnny kept gazing at his friend for some seconds, then back to the fire again. He watched Gyro’s hands carefully opening the can, hearing him say something in the background. Johnny did not pay attention at all, as there was another thing worth more minding.
Old memories flashed through his mind. Johnny thought of the girls he had met before. There was this one lady, with short, light brown hair curling into her jaw, and youthful tanned skin turning red every time she pressed against him. She loved to speak in her native language, which Johnny had a long time to realize was Italian. He also remembered asking her what her words meant, to which she answered with a soft giggle.
“That means I love you, sciocco!”
Johnny sat straight up. He forgot what that girl, or any girls he met, looked like. But he now remembered well what she had said. The last three syllables Gyro had just said did ring a bell, and Johnny was so sure what they meant.
…ti amo.
That means “I love you.”
Johnny let out a long breath he did not realize he was holding. He could not decide which one was more shocking, that their feelings might be mutual, or that he hoped this was not real. He actually felt a bit uneasy, given that it had been ages since he faced his true feelings. He was skilled at pretending, but he knew he could not hide his affection for Gyro forever.
It hurt that he knew.
Johnny knew well he loved Gyro. When he was beside Gyro, he knew he had never felt the same before. Johnny wanted Gyro for sure, but he did not know if he wanted Gyro to know that. And it hurt. It hurt to know this feeling would someday disappear. He knew the ones he loved would also leave him someday, one way or another. Yet, he could not tell if he was overthinking it or just being a coward.
“You hear me?” Gyro handed him the can, annoyed at Johnny’s inattention. “I swear tomorrow will be even more damn intense. Can’t take the route we planned earlier anymore.”
Johnny pursed his lips, then gingerly took the can. He did not look Gyro in the eye. Those forest green eyes made his heart waver. There were hundreds of times when he was determined to do something crazy, and those eyes would soften him, pulling him down a path different from what he had originally planned.
He thought of how those eyes looked at him just about half an hour ago. When Gyro was turning into a part of the tree, he also looked at Johnny with that hopeful, warm shade of green.
If Johnny had not wavered…
He stopped himself – he dared not imagine that.
Well, the worst thing that could happen is that he actually said he doesn’t love me, Johnny thought as he turned to Gyro.
He decided he could not follow the route he planned earlier anymore.
₊ ‧ .°. ⋆✮⋆ .°. ‧ ₊
Gyro thought he could not follow the route he planned earlier anymore.
He looked calm despite the raging storm inside. He never got an opportunity to speak out his feelings before due to his emotionless father; when he finally got one, it was sort of… embarrassing?
The best part of the confession was he did feel safe and comfortable enough to reveal his sentimentality, which he had once believed should be forever hidden. Gyro spent his whole twenty-four years of life being gaslighted that his emotions were not worthy of notice, which he hated the most but had to obey. That was why he decided to leave, to let his wild heart roar out of youth and passion. If he was lucky, he could even find someone who would voluntarily listen to him.
The first time they met, Gyro was stunned by Johnny’s ambition. The young man would rather be covered in injuries than give up what he wanted. Still, he did not beg Gyro to stay and heal him. It was engraved in his mind – the determined look in his eyes as he promised to catch up with Gyro, even though he might never return. That was the first time a person had let him go freely, but still wanted him so eagerly. Gyro wondered if he had fallen in love since then, because Gyro was as enchanted by Johnny as ever.
Gyro remembered one day, he blurted out calling Johnny mia cara. He paused for a few seconds at that, imagining it was hours passing by. He did call Johnny “dear” and sort of, but he had never said it in Italian, which he felt weird about as he would only speak Italian when he was in the most relaxed state. The reason why he felt relaxed when he was with an American boy he had just been acquainted with for less than two weeks had been bothering him since then.
Back then, he did not know how to name the feeling – it was acceptable for him to be confused when it came to love. He never loved anyone properly except for his family, but he was certain he did not love Johnny as a younger brother – brothers normally do not miss the other’s scent when they are apart, dream of kissing the other’s lips, or crave for the other’s body.
Not until Gyro was on the verge of death half an hour ago, as several times before, that he realized his friend would always choose him over his own needs, although Gyro would gladly sacrifice himself for him. Those watery blue eyes of Johnny when he held the corpse parts for dear life with his trembling hands were clinging on Gyro. He could not think of anything else that would haunt him more than those eyes – they made him weak. And being weak was the result of being sentimental. Of loving.
Gyro was so in love with Johnny Joestar.
He was relieved that he got to understand his feelings eventually. Otherwise, he could have died a long time ago unaware that he genuinely wanted to live by Johnny’s side more. Love made him weak, but it helped build him strong enough to protect it at all cost. In Gyro’s case, his love was Johnny only.
What a relief to finally understand how much I love you, he smiled gently looking at his friend’s pretty face flickering in the firelight.
The quiet fire got him impatient. Therefore when Gyro felt the weakest (and strongest), he spoke his heart out. Inside him was a storm, which was so intense that he thought the snowstorm outside could be named after him. Yet, he expressed his love with serenity, which he thanked his father for training him to acquire.
He closed his eyes, rubbing his eyebrows. The worst part, however, of the confession was that it was in Italian. Gyro surely did not feel ashamed for speaking in his native language. The matter was that he spoke to an American with supposedly no knowledge of foreign languages, which would lead to him translating it later if Johnny insisted, and that was what embarrassed him. Gyro did not mind how Johnny would respond to his love confession; he just felt odd to confess twice in a row, and that was it.
As he finished his beans, Gyro looked up at Johnny. He seemed unpredictable as usual, which now worried Gyro more. He understood Johnny had abandoned his only hope in this race, but the silence did not feel right. He looked like he was calculating something, which Gyro was concerned about – Johnny always calculated everything with him.
“You good?” Gyro asked softly. “You didn't say anything either when I told you about changing the route. Wanna rest now?”
Gyro waited a few seconds for his friend’s reply, but he seemingly would not like to open his mouth now, which distressed him terribly.
As he thought of a way to lift Johnny’s spirit, he changed the topic. “I mean, you seem strained. Want any caffè?”
Gyro knew his coffee always softened his companion’s bad mood. Johnny looked hesitant for a moment, as if he was about to refuse anything part of the offer; then he nodded. Not hearing him speak was low-key terrifying, but Gyro was glad he at least responded to him.
Gyro rummaged through his luggage to find the kettle, then filled it with water and placed it on the fire; when the water boiled, he poured it into the coffee grounds. Throughout the process, he tried to think of something to talk about with Johnny, but if he received silence for the fourth time in a row, that could be too much for him to tolerate. He decided to shut his mouth for a while.
When the coffee was ready, he handed Johnny a cup. Then, he lifted his cup to his nose, taking a lungful of the aroma. He loved his homeland’s coffee – always the richest in flavour and the most abundant of sweetness. He took a small sip, the soothing warmth immediately embracing his throat tenderly. Gyro exhaled quietly as he shut his eyes, unaware his companion slowly moving a little closer.
“Gyro,” Johnny’s soft sweet voice chimed. “There’s this thing…”
Gyro opened his eyes, still drinking his coffee. He looked at Johnny, relieved that he finally got to hear his voice again. Still, he was tense wondering what Johnny wanted to discuss.
He saw Johnny pursing his lips, then noticed a movement of them. “I asked you about the thing you said…” Johnny cleared his throat. “It’s not that I don’t understand it.”
Gyro choked, spitting the drink out. He immediately covered his mouth, trying to stop himself from screaming, but his pounding heart betrayed him – he swore his anxiety was so audible now to Johnny.
What the hell does he mean, the question repeated over and over in his ragged breathing. How much did he understand? What did he understand anyway? Gyro wanted to know, but surely he could not ask directly. He did not even dare to look up. He was so frightened that he thought he would explode if he let Johnny see his burning face.
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he heard Johnny again. “I need you to clarify it, though.”
Gyro’s cheeks got hotter. He was still staring blankly at the dirt. Because he did not look, he had no idea how determined Johnny was, until his next words. “Look up and face me, Gyro.”
His heart raced at Johnny’s cold demand. He swallowed hard, slowly raising his head while trying to put on what he hoped was the most neutral and calm face. Then he spoke, feeling his voice crack.
“Y-yeah? You mean, my Italian earlier?”
“Yeah. How should I put this…” Johnny rubbed his neck. “I know that phrase, tee a more or something.”
Gyro shuddered at Johnny’s broken Italian. But more importantly, Gyro was more strained than ever, as if he was playing an adrenaline-rush game where the price for his lack of reason was a precious partner for the entire race, or even the rest of his life.
He held his breath when Johnny continued his speech.
“I know that means you love someone,” Johnny paused for a second as if searching for the right words. “I just don’t know what the rest of your speech means.”
Gyro’s heart dropped. It felt like eternity had passed even though Johnny had only stopped talking for a few seconds to look at him with a truly serious gaze.
“Did you really say you love me?” Johnny gave the final verdict on Gyro’s ability to think straight.
Gyro was speechless. The momentary awkwardness made Gyro wish it was all just a caffeine-induced hallucination. But deep down, he wanted this to go further, to the joyful ending he saw in Johnny’s eyes. They were almost teary now, yearning for the truth. Yet, somewhere inside his heart Gyro was sure he already knew the answer, and now he was just waiting for him to take a step forward himself.
“D-dude, you were really drunk…” Gyro waved his hand in a last-ditch effort to shield his weak side, looking away at the fire.
And now, he felt worse than ever. Gyro tried not to deny anything, but the situation made it seem like evasion was more awful than a lie. Blame my insensitive father, he gritted his teeth. His heart clenched, painfully realizing that he still could not escape his father’s invisible control – first his freedom of choice, and now his happiness of a lifetime.
Just like Johnny had said, he needed to hunger more. He was hungry for love, and that was why he confessed to him in the first place. But that would not be enough. Gyro knew he could not go any further if all he wanted to do was just confess.
He felt guilty towards Johnny. When Gyro looked into his eyes earlier, he saw a mutual affection – that fiery, passionate look could not be misunderstood. Words could not convey how glad he felt when he recognized that. He loved those deep blue eyes so much, and even adored them more when there were ripples on their surface. He swore to God he would die for Johnny’s tears, as he felt it was a waste for them to fall for anyone else.
Gyro let out a heavy sigh, then plucked up his courage to glance at Johnny. He decided to say something to soothe the atmosphere. I need some time to calm down first, just a little more time, he reassured himself.
As he turned to Johnny, a powerful pull made him dizzy.
“Oh fuck that, Gyro,” Johnny grabbed his collar more tightly, fire in his eyes. “Don't mess with me. You gotta be honest and admit that was what you said!”
The last words got fiercer as Johnny pulled him so close that he could sense the breath from his friend’s nose, which startled him. Gyro widened his eyes, unbelieving. He knew Johnny was a serious person, he just did not anticipate how serious he could be.
Gyro tried to defend himself. “You dare not yell at me like this, you bas—”
Right at the moment Gyro was about to finish his sentence, he was shut by Johnny’s lips. It was only a slight kiss, but its unquestionable warmth on Gyro’s was great, especially in this bitterly freezing winter. When their lips were parted a few seconds alter, Gyro could tell Johnny noticed his lips trembling out of both excitement and desire for more.
His mind went blank. He felt like knowing everything and knowing nothing at the same time. He swore he had never experienced such sweetness – not even his favourite coffee, not even… whatever sweet on Earth. The heat lingering on his lips was much more scorching than his blushing cheeks. Gyro did not bother hiding his emotions anymore – he doubted he had been able to hide them from Johnny at all.
“Now say it again with honesty,” Johnny looked him in the eye now, his tears of crystal streaming down. He then took a shuddering breath before continuing. “Say you love me.”
As if by habit, Gyro raised his hand to his partner’s cheek, gently wiping away the warm tears. He held his hand on that flushed face for a moment before slowly placing on it a kiss which he hoped was more expressive than any spoken confirmation.
Gyro wished he had done this sooner, as Johnny’s tears were fresher than anything. As the fragrance of Johnny’s hair was sweeter than anything. As Johnny’s skin was warmer than anything.
As to him, Johnny was more treasured than anything.
“Ti amo, mio caro,” Gyro spoke softly, but more loudly than ever. “I love you, Johnny. I love you.”
Gyro raised his hand again to wipe away another flow from Johnny’s eyes, but he quickly felt a warmth on his lips. Johnny reached behind Gyro’s head to pull him deeper into the kiss, while Gyro slid his arms around his muscular back to embrace him tightly. This time, the kiss was more intense, more eager, as if they had both waited a lifetime for this moment.
If I am this fragile, it is an honor to be fragile for Johnny, the thought crossed Gyro’s mind. For this moment and since, he was all devoted to Johnny.
The snow outside continued its relentless dance, its end far from coming anytime soon. Who cares anymore? They would face the winter night, and more upcoming winter nights, together and ever so differently.