Chapter Text
Whether they got along better or worse after the incident by the stables was difficult to say. Johnny continued keeping his distance, though when Diego entered the kitchen in the mornings he no longer fled. For his part Diego didn't intentionally seek out his fiance, but occasionally offered a cordial greeting.
After the last disastrous conversation, it seemed mutually understood that topics of discussion between them ought to be limited to the depth of a sugar bowl. So it was that they sat at the same table with a passing comment or two about the front page of the paper serving as their interaction for the day. Perhaps Johnny was getting used to his presence, or perhaps not. Regardless after breakfast they went their separate ways, Diego sequestering himself in his office to review the affairs of the day while his fiance did who-knows-what with his time. Sometimes Diego would remember that George Joestar had instructed his son not be permitted off the property alone, and it would occur to him that whether or not Johnny was wandering off ought to be a concern; then that icy glare would come to mind and Diego figured he had more important matters to attend to.
Since his arrival he'd knocked down the old barn, expanded the corral and stable, laid new track, and begun rebuilding a newer, better farmhouse a ways from the old one. He'd also found a staff manager in Hestia Pucci, and left them in charge of interviews and lower hiring. Now the main project became the renovation of the manor itself.
Though many of his possessions from the house of his old wife had already been transferred, he was still mulling over the question of how much more to invest in the Joestar property. It wasn't as though he intended to live there for the rest of his life; in fact, once he'd convinced Johnny to agree to the marriage ceremony and saw it through, there would be no reason to stick around.
Still, for the sake of the renovation, Diego started using his breaks to begin surveying the multitude of rooms and corridors of the manor. It took three days to carefully inspect every inch of the west wing where he resided; then came time to examine the east wing, a section of the manor he had yet to familiarize himself with.
While larger part of him, for whatever reason, itched to walk briskly through the light-colored halls, he forced himself to maintain an even, unhurried pace. Where the west wing was composed of wide hallways and wider rooms, the east wing seemed in comparison… cramped. Diego walked slowly through room after room after sharp-cornered hallway, observing in silence the peeling wallpaper and chipped baseboards, the scuffed wood floors criss-crossed with divots from heavy furniture or toppling children. The marks were clearly aged, the surrounding wood darkened by time and dirt. Miniature dust storms were stirred with each step, the footfalls of his boots the only sound in this quiet place. A burst of color caught his eye and he paused to look, briefly intrigued by the odd interruption of the decay.
He couldn't quite make it out, so he crouched on his haunches to get a better look. Carefully peeling back the edge of the wallpaper, he craned his neck to peer around the thin sheet. His eyebrows rose as he took in the scribbles, mind quickly filling in the blanks for each part of the doodle that had rubbed away or faded under the light. The doodle appeared to depict two figures, one larger than the other, riding atop what could only be horses. There had been an attempt at conveying an open prairie with furious strokes of green beneath the horses and riders, and a childish sun shone in the corner closest to the failing adhesive. Above the drawing was scrawled, "The Whole World!" in neat, excited writing.
Diego stared for a long moment. When he released the wallpaper it remained curled where he'd been holding it, stiffened. With clumsy fingers he smoothed it back down, pressing the stubborn raised corner with the pad of his thumb to try and force it to stay. Reminding himself this place would be renovated soon anyway, he finally pulled back and let it be.
There was a long, straight hallway from the wall of peeling wallpaper to the next room, notable only because it seemed unusually straightforward for this section of the house. Like with other rooms in the house he reached for the handle - sticky - to crack open the door and peer inside.
A music room greeted him. Pulling the door open a bit wider he hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, taken in by the gleam of the upright piano in the far corner. Couches and chairs surrounded the piano; on the far side of the room was a fire place still coated in soot. Guests wouldn't have been allowed in this room, Diego realized, feeling distinctly out of place among the family relics. And relics they were. A thick coat of dust had sunk atop the stone fireplace and the recliner looked as though it would squeak in protest if he tried to use it. The burgundy couch cushions looked stiff and stale, and the music books beside the piano were similarly dusty. The only item in the room that looked as though it had gotten any use in the past ten years was the piano itself - and even that retained thin, irregular coatings on certain sections and keys.
Aside from the still layer of disuse that blanketed the room, the music room was, in comparison to other areas of the east wing, still in good shape. Despite the fortune he'd inherited, there was no reason to waste it on an unnecessary overhaul. It only made sense.
Diego returned to the hallway and made to shut the door softly behind him. The handle whined in protest as he attempted to tug the door back into its swollen frame; he winced at the unpleasant sound. When finally it shut with a shallow bang he released a shaky exhale, stepping back and straightening his spine, glancing towards one of the large windows to get a sense of how long he had left before he ought to call the staff to prepare for dinner.
"What are you doing, Dio?"
Johnny's voice was soft but laced with caution and displeasure. With a frown Diego turned around to regard him. Johnny's expression was wary, as though he believed Diego would bite him for asking.
"… Just surveying the house," Diego finally replied.
"For what?"
"Renovations."
"Renovations?"
"Renovations."
Diego tilted his head, bemused, when Johnny blinked at him in befuddlement.
"You're doing… renovations?"
"Indeed."
Johnny gave the hallway a slow sweep with his eyes, as though the peeling wallpaper might suggest an ulterior motive. When none presented itself he turned his attention back to Diego, clear blue eyes heavy with suspicion.
"By yourself?" Johnny asked. "Where's the architect?"
"I've only just started," Diego explained, placing a hand on his hip, "I haven't been through the east wing yet."
At that Johnny muttered something under his breath that had Diego raising an eyebrow, but before he could reply Johnny had rolled closer to glare up at him.
"If you're renovating, you should've told me," Johnny said with irritation, "I've lived here my whole life; I can help you."
"You…" Diego blinked, taking in the stubborn set of his brow, "Want to help me renovate?"
At his words Johnny slouched back in his chair and fixed his gaze somewhere behind Diego, seemingly intent on not catching his eye.
"Not you specifically," Johnny clarified quickly, "But I know this place is falling apart. Father refused to change a thing, so now the whole house is rotting."
After taking a moment to gather himself, Johnny abruptly turned around and started down the hallway, continuing to stubbornly avoid Diego's gaze. Diego wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask, but something about the exchange intrigued him. He wanted to talk to Johnny more; but Johnny remained as closed-off as ever, neglecting to even turn and check Diego was following him.
Still, they talked as they traversed the rest of the east wing - in a semi-professional capacity, at least. Johnny pointed out the rooms most affected by damage or neglect and Diego listened, making mental notes of the potential changes he could incorporate.
Just how far did Johnny expect this venture to go? Would he want a say in the reconstruction of the east wing? Did he think he held more sway in the matter than Diego?
If the latter were true, Johnny Joestar certainly had another thing coming. Yet, for all the long-winded descriptions of each respective room and its unique defects, Johnny didn't seem particularly interested in what he was saying, or the changes Diego might have had in mind. Somehow, Diego found he didn't mind that much. It was helpful to have someone familiar with the manor to point out the minor details that escaped him such as a cracked window or bumpy windowsill.
When they reached one particular room, two doors down from the one Johnny inhabited, that Johnny suddenly stopped. Diego nearly walked into the back of his wheelchair but snapped back to himself at the last moment, stumbling back a half-step to see what had startled Johnny. Nothing made itself apparent.
"… Sorry," came Johnny's delayed apology. His voice was so distant Diego was unsure whether walking into him would have made a difference. When he looked back at Diego over his shoulder his usual burning gaze was filled with uncertainty and wariness.
"… Don't mess with that room," Johnny finally requested. It might have been a demand, had his voice not been quite so small. "Please."
Diego's throat ran dry. He swallowed. Licked his lips. Glanced from the closed door down to Johnny.
"I won't touch it," Diego found himself promising. He immediately wanted to take it back, just for the sake of it - who was Johnny Joestar to think he could tell Diego what to do with his own house? - but his throat closed when Johnny's expression softened with relief.
"There's no reason to change anything back here, anyway," he reasoned to himself, though Johnny hesitantly nodded along. "No visitor has any reason to come this far back."
He almost missed it, the small smile that flashed over Johnny's lips, and the quiet, "Thanks," that came with it.
**
Sleep eluded him that night. He woke several times, tossing and turning under hot sheets, debating with himself whether to open the window to let in the cool night air. Occasionally he thought he heard the pleasant ring of music, and the gentle tones would lull him back to sleep - until he woke up again. After the fourth time he finally threw in the towel and stalked over to the window, prying it open. In his direct line of sight stood the yew tree, and for several seconds he simply stared at it's thin-fingered silhouette against the starry sky.
The breeze did it's job and over the next several minutes the room indeed cooled down to something more bearable. The sound of music was lost beneath the rustling leaves and croak of insects, leaving him only to his thoughts and the dark ceiling. It was possible his mind had simply conjured up an old song - perhaps one his mother used to hum - and now he was simply too tired to remember.
Or perhaps the music had only ever been the silly dreams of a foolish boy. At least these days he had a real bed to sleep in.
**
Breakfast became a time for them to discuss contractors and drawing plans. Johnny no longer left at the sight of him, and though he spoke cordially it seemed the cold distance between them was slowly beginning to warm. Soon enough Diego came to associate mornings with light chatter instead of silence and the rising sun with subtle changes in the color of Johnny's hair rather than the play of light against the window. It was different from the solitude he was used to, but he found - surprisingly - that he didn't hate it.
He'd become so consumed with the various projects on the property that the purpose of this whole affair had begun slipping to the back of his mind - not forgotten, certainly, but less present. It wasn't a good sign, and Diego had to remind himself on more than one occasion that this situation was temporary. What mattered was securing his marriage to Johnny for the sake of the property and title. None of the old money families would even pretend to deal with him until there was a proper ceremony. All that delayed his achieving that goal was secondary at best, a distraction at worst.
The idea that he would forget his purpose for this farce of a union returned him to reality, as for as many hours as he spent discussing the manor with Johnny he spent double that time in his office parsing through the oldest, most useless laws in England to try and find a way to bypass this impasse. Despite his best efforts he found nothing, and so was forced to resign himself each evening to another day of lost opportunities.
The slow progress of their relationship didn't deter Diego. Forcing Johnny onto the altar was a fantasy, not a real option; still, one way or another, Johnny would say yes.
The morning gave no indication it would be different from any other. Johnny had cooked eggs on the stove and set out bread and jam, which Diego partook in without complaint. The sunrise colored Johnny's silver-gold hair with streaks of bright yellow and orange, as it usually did, and Diego watched discretely, as he always did.
The only oddity of the morning was that the housemaid came in five minutes earlier than usual with the daily mail. Johnny accepted the stack of letters from her and set them down beside his plate of half-eaten toast, flipping through one-handed while silently reading the return addresses. He paused on on one, prompting Diego to ask, "What is it?"
Johnny glanced up at him with a glint of annoyance.
"… a letter."
"I can see that. Who's it from?"
Johnny looked again at the return address, pursed his lips, and finally offered, "A friend."
Sliding the envelope out of the pile of mail, he flipped it deftly and with a practiced motion slid the mail opener under the sticky lip. He pinched the lacy edge of the paper within and extracted it in one smooth motion, opening the folds of the note to read the contents of the letter.
Diego watched him, examining the expensive stationary from across the table and curious at what it said. He wanted to ask, but he wanted more for Johnny to offer.
Sensing his stare, Johnny's clear gaze darted back up to meet it; they froze on each other for a long moment. Just as quickly, Johnny returned to looking at the paper in his hand, cheeks flushed lightly. Diego tried not to acknowledge that his own face felt warm.
"It's an invitation," Johnny finally told him, setting down the note on the table. From this angle, Diego could read the name emblazoned across the paper: Steel.
"…You're acquainted with them?" Diego asked, trying not to allow excitement to leak into his voice.
"… I know Lucy," Johnny said cautiously. "Why?"
"No reason," Diego said lightly. He took a sip of tea, blocking Johnny's suspicious gaze with the rim of the cup. "So… are we going?"
"We?"
"Don't sound so disgusted. Yes, we. I'm your fiance, it would be odd if I didn't go with you."
Johnny looked at though he'd bitten into a lemon. Diego barely stopped himself from laughing.
"Don't remind me; it's hard enough to deal with you as-is."
"You haven't answered the question."
"Because I'm still deciding."
Diego took another sip of tea. "How long has it been since you've last seen Lucy Steel?"
Johnny shot him a withering look and this time Diego did laugh.
**
Johnny hadn't wanted to go, but Diego had written back for the both of them and accepted without delay. This was an excellent opportunity, and the first real sign that this scheme of his would bear fruit.
When Johnny had found out he'd pitched a fit, and as an act of protest had begun stubbornly ignoring him again. Diego tried not to concern himself with it. Johnny was a means to an end; it was hardly as though Diego valued him for his company.
The date of the Steel's evening party arrived swiftly; or perhaps it was Diego's anticipation that made the days pass by faster. He doubted Johnny had left the manor in quite some time; as such, while he was having his own suit tailored he had one of the maids bring a pair of Johnny's clothes from the laundry so the tailor could take his measurements too. Going by his expression when the outfit was presented to him, Johnny had been less than pleased at the liberties Diego had taken. His irritation, however, was no match for Diego's determination to make them both presentable for whichever elites might be in attendance.
"Can you leave?" Johnny groused, scowling at Diego as he leaned against the door frame to his room. Diego stood tensely, arms crossed over his chest as he observed Johnny lay out the expensive fabric.
"I just want to make sure you don't rip it, that's all."
"I'm not going to rip it; I've done this a thousand times."
"How am I supposed to know you won't sabotage it?"
At Johnny's frown, Diego's own deepened. Had he really intended to ruin the suit? That wouldn't do. Everything had to go according to plan; anything else was unacceptable.
"Do you need help?"
"No I don't fucking need help," Johnny snapped. "Can you go lurk somewhere else? I'll meet you by the front."
"I'm not leaving until you're dressed."
"Don't act like my fucking father, Diego. Get out or I'll make you."
"Are you shy?" Diego suddenly realized. Johnny's cheeks grew red, though he couldn't tell if it was with embarrassment or anger.
"There's no need to be shy," Diego assured him brusquely, "We're to be married, and besides that-"
Abruptly Johnny threw the fine-threaded suit to the bed and wheeled over to Diego, seizing him by the lapels and dragging him down to eye level in one smooth motion. Diego growled in warning, but Johnny failed to be deterred.
"Listen here, Diego Brando," Johnny warned, eyes blazing brightly, "I already told you once. I may have to go along with this joke of an engagement, but I will never, ever, marry you. You're arrogant, obnoxious and controlling, and I'll be damned to spend the rest of my life with someone like you."
"You're no prize yourself, Johnny Joestar," Diego hissed in return. At this proximity, he felt every quickened breath of Johnny's against his face and wondered if the tickle against his cheek was the flutter of fine lashes. "You've got good breeding and a pretty face, but your attitude leaves much to be desired. Don't forget, I'm only here because you're useful to me. When I'm gone, who will you have left? Your father? I doubt he's coming back."
"You have no right to talk about my father, bastard," Johnny retorted venomously. Then he smirked, and added sweetly, "And don't concern yourself with staying for my sake. It's no great loss to me if you leave. Trust me, I won't make the mistake of thinking well of you again."
He released him with a shove. Diego stumbled back just a step, catching himself on the door frame. Gritting his teeth, he brushed out the wrinkles from his shirt in two quick swipes.
"Make yourself useful and call a coach," Johnny said flatly, back already turned.
"Don't worry," he added after a moment, not bothering to acknowledge Diego's cold gaze on his neck, "I won't ruin your precious night. Lucy doesn't deserve that."
With a dark expression Diego stormed off, slamming the door behind him.
**
The doorman examined their invitation with a raised eyebrow.
"Joestar," he said slowly, glancing between them. "It's been quite some time."
"Yes, it's been," Johnny shot a sideways look at Diego, "…busy."
"And who is this?" the doorman asked, something between suspicion and genuine inquiry leaking into his tone. Diego squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest.
"Diego Brando," he butt in before Johnny could say something damaging. "We're married."
"He meant to say engaged," Johnny corrected sharply, meeting Diego's annoyed look with a glare of his own, "We're only… engaged."
"Ah," the doorman lit up, "Wonderful! It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, welcome in Mr. Joestar, Mr. Brando. Ms. Steel will be pleased."
"I'm sure she will," Johnny muttered under his breath, but before he could say anything else the doorman ushered them through the door.
Placing a one hand on their shoulders, he herded them to face the room of gowns and wigs and bellowed, "Introducing Mr. Joestar and his fiance, Mr. Brando!"
The white-powdered faces of young women and the lined visages of old man turned up to stare at them. The attention of the entire room was on them - on him. A thrill shot down his spine, and a small, childish part of him wanted to rock back excitedly in his boots.
At last, Diego had made it through the gate. This world had been made accessible to him at long last - all thanks to Johnny Joestar. For a brief moment, he almost felt something like gratitude.
"Thank you, Wekapipo," Johnny said through grit teeth. Promptly he rolled his chair towards the ramp on the far side of the entry platform; Diego was certain he swerved to run over the toe of his boot. Surprisingly, he found he didn't care.
Nodding to Wekapipo, he followed more slowly after Johnny, attempting not to appear overly obvious as he took in the grand gathering room. It was a hall that had been rented out, surely - no one but the royal family could own a building so massive, exquisite all the way through.
Diego had intended to stick closely to Johnny and make the introductory rounds, but almost as soon as he stepped foot onto the main floor they were accosted by a tide of giggling ladies and curious men.
"Did the doorman say Mr. Brando?" One of the women was asking her friend, disbelief ripe in her voice, "Certainly not the Mr. Brando of the racing world? Dio?"
"Diego Brando, the famous jockey?"
"Let me see, let me see!"
"The papers don't do him justice, look how handsome he is!"
The undulating pressure of the crowd quickly separated him from Johnny, unknown bodies swarming forward eagerly like eager puppies - and he their promised treat. Whether Johnny had attempted to find him again - which he doubted - or if he had gone off to find Ms. Steel, for the next hour or so Diego found himself among a crowd of babbling socialites and nobility. They poked at him, prodded at him for questions, asked him who he was with and what brought him to a gathering like this, prattled on and on about his recent absence from the track.
Diego put on his most charming smile and assuaged their inquiries with ease, acting the part of the perfectly patient fiance, eager for the approaching wedding but willing to wait however long it took to gain the approval of the protective father. Anyone who knew the Joestars would be aware of the state of the family and know he was lying through his teeth, but it seemed no one did - or they didn't care to speak up. He exchanged names, smiled at the young ladies preparing to debut, schmoozed about business with the stingy old men who guarded their wealth more than their mouths. This was a game he knew well, and as the night drew on he found it only got easier and easier. No one said anything of any importance and so long as he nodded along and drank with them he was wholeheartedly accepted into their ranks. Nothing but mindless pigeons, the lot of them.
After sometime he found himself standing near the wall, a champagne glass half-drained in his hand as he spoke to a nattering woman and her intoxicated husband twenty years her senior.
"It's a shame, about your wife," the powdered socialite simpered, "You lost her so young!"
"Indeed," Diego agreed, adding a weary sigh for sympathy. He made a show of pulling himself back together, and gave the woman a pained smile. "I think of her often. I'm very lucky to have found Johnny; being with him eases the pain greatly, though of course I'll never forget it entirely…"
The woman leaned her head in, glancing to the side conspiratorially. Her cheeks were flushed, symptomatic of her high intake of wine - along with her loose tongue.
"Tell me, Mr. Brando," she attempted to whisper. Her breasts swung forward, barely held back by the low hem of her dress. Diego hummed appreciatively before drawing his eyes back to her unfocused ones. She blinked at him, dark eyes dewy, like a deer, and asked, "… what's someone like you doing with someone like that Johnny Joestar?"
Diego smiled down at her with a tilt of the head. "Why do you ask, Mrs. Roplow?"
Surprised, she immediately straightened, swaying to the side before righting herself. Around them the din of the crowd droned on; behind her, her husband grumbled something under his breath.
"Well, it's just, a man like you- you're very accomplished, and there's plenty of candidates… you needn't have gone for someone like him, you know…?"
"Do you think yourself more suitable?" Diego interjected, with more irritation than was probably due.
"Heaven's no!" She dismissed with a too-loud laugh, "I'm only speaking of your position, Dio - Mr. Brando, that is. Looking out for your future, that's all. You know, my husband made quite a lot of money betting on your races. I told him at first- I told him, 'Don't waste your money on that no-name amateur!', but then you went and never lost a race! It was incredible! That I have the chance to meet you now- no less impressive." She tittered to herself and took another sip of wine. "You really do have the most perfect manners, Mr. Brando. Such a gentleman."
"I do try," Diego said lightly, offering a polite chuckle. From the corner of his eye he noticed his knuckles had turned white around the stem of the glass. A glimpse of light hair caught his attention and he craned his neck- indeed, it was Johnny.
"If you'll excuse me," he murmured, nodding over to Johnny to clarify his excuse before turning sharply on his heel.
As he approached and his blurry vision came into focus he realized Johnny was speaking to someone - a young-looking girl with a round face and large eyes.
"Diego," Johnny greeted coolly when Diego stepped in to stand beside him. Diego blinked down at him, inconspicuously placing a hand on the back of the wheelchair to steady himself.
Johnny stared up at him several seconds. Slowly, disbelievingly, he asked, "Are you drunk?"
"No," Diego said. Unconvincingly, if Johnny's expression was anything to go by.
"Johnny, is this…?"
"My fiance, Diego Brando," Johnny answered. Diego thought he would sound more unhappy; or perhaps he really had drunk more than he thought. "Diego, this is Lucy Steel."
"A pleasure," Diego offered, extending his hand. They stared at him for a minute. Johnny pushed down his left hand and pulled up his right. Lucy dainty hand was much smaller than his own; she really couldn't have been older than fourteen.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Brando," Lucy said with a curtsy. She straightened, sweeping over him with her eyes - the only part of her that seemed older than her years.
"Johnny's been worrying himself silly about the manor since his father decided to sell," Lucy said lightly, ignoring Johnny's hissed protest. "I think he's glad it's you he's ended up with, at least."
"… He is?" Diego glanced down at Johnny, eyebrows high with surprise. Johnny looked down, slowly releasing his wrist. Neither of them had realized he'd still been grasping it.
"I wouldn't say glad," Johnny interjected. Diego and Lucy turned to him and his mouth worked for a moment, as though he hadn't expected to speak further. Eventually, he huffed, "Just… relieved it's not some wrinkled old man or shriveled up hag."
"I can understand that," Diego acknowledged. "I married a shriveled up hag myself."
"I've been meaning to ask about that," Johnny said, craning his neck to squint at Diego suspiciously. "She died shortly after you two got married, didn't she?"
"Not soon enough," Diego muttered, finishing his champagne glass in a long swig. "I still had to-"
"Never mind, we can talk about it later," Johnny interrupted, glancing at Lucy who was regarding the conversation with bemusement.
"Why do you ask?" Diego pressed, suddenly curious.
Face still red, either from embarrassment or the alcohol, Johnny coughed into his hand.
"There were rumors. I was curious, that's all."
"Rumors?"
"Yeah. Rumors."
"About what?"
"About you and that old women."
"About what?"
"Well, they just… some people said that, well… that you might've had something to do with her passing away and all."
Briefly, Diego sobered. "You're serious."
Frowning, Johnny looked away from his prying eyes. "Yes."
"Johnny, I didn't kill her."
"I didn't say that-"
"You thought it, obviously."
"It was just suspicious, alright?"
"She was old. That's all there was too it."
Impulsively, he crouched next to Johnny, elbow leaned against the armrest of his wheelchair. Diego pressed his cheek against his palm and tried to catch Johnny's avoidant gaze.
"Is that what you've been worried about? That I'm going to marry you just to kill you?"
"No, that's not-" Johnny protested, but the argument trailed off into silence. Diego pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he reached out and tugged at Johnny's chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes.
"I wouldn't do something like that," Diego told him softly. "You're in no danger from me, Johnny Joestar."
A plush bottom lip, chewed to shreds. Diego had missed it, these past few days. He'd thought it all boiled down to simple dislike, just a rich brat pitching a fit. Johnny blinked at him, the movements slow - or perhaps his perception of time was simply screwed by all the alcohol.
"Don't say something like that," Johnny said quietly. "Don't make promises against your nature. What will I do when you break them?"
"I'm sorry, I'm interrupting, I should go," Lucy squeaked.
Pulling out of Diego's grip, Johnny rubbed his cheek and hurriedly said, "No, wait, Lucy, hold on. Sorry about that. He's just drunk, ignore him."
"Um… right," Lucy nodded, glancing to Diego awkwardly. "Anyway. Congratulations on the engagement, you two."
"Speaking of engagement, where's Stephen?" Johnny asked, quicker than Diego could speak. Hefting a sigh he rose back up, shaking his head to dissuade the lightheadedness from the consequent rush of blood.
"Oh, he's just over there," Lucy replied, glancing over her shoulder to spy him. "He's dressed in the green, talking with Councilor Valentine."
"Councilor Valentine?" Diego repeated, snapping to attention. "Councilor Valentine is here?"
"Yes," Johnny said, "And we're not going near him."
"Johnny, I don't want to speak to him alone," Lucy confessed. She turned her eyes to them pleadingly, "Won't you and Mr. Brando come with me?"
"Of course," Diego told her. Councilor Valentine was sure to have connections accessible to neither the Steels nor the Joestars; it was perfect.
"Diego-" Johnny started, but Diego was already moving to follow Lucy's retreating back.
Stephen Steel's friendly grimace broke into a smile of relief at the sight of Lucy.
"Lucy, dear, there you are. Ah- Mr. Joestar, I didn't see you there. And," his eyes jumped to Diego, curious but cautious, "Who is this?"
"Diego Brando," he introduced himself smoothly. "Mr. Joestar is my fiance. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Steel. In fact, I just had the privilege of meeting Ms. Steel. She's a charming girl."
Stephen smoothed his hair back with a trembling hand. "No, no. The pleasure is all mine."
Diego's gaze flicked to the man standing beside him: Councilor Valentine. He was a haughty-looking man, with a sharp nose and beady eyes, overlooking the room as though observing bugs through a microscope and determining which needed extermination. Exactly the kind of pompous fool Diego detested.
"Mr. Joestar," Valentine was saying, smooth as oil, "It's been some time. After the injury you suffered I wouldn't have expected to see you out again."
False sympathy simmered in his voice. Diego was glad when Johnny kept his head raised.
"Councilor Valentine," he greeted politely, "I see you're doing well. The papers were saying the election this year would be tough."
Valentine waved a hand dismissively. "Even without the contribution of your family the campaign was a success. Tell me, is your father here?"
"No," Johnny replied coldly, "He's returned to States."
Valentine's eyebrows rose, the first indication of an emotion behind his suave mask. "I see. And left you here all alone?"
"Not so," Diego interjected, stepped forward and casually nudging Johnny behind him. Valentine's expression dropped and his eyes were lidded as he swept Diego up and down.
"Dio Brando. The racer?"
"Indeed, and fiance of Mr. Joestar."
"Truly?" Valentine looked to Johnny for confirmation.
Johnny nodded once, stiffly.
"I see. I suppose you met on the track, then? Back in Mr. Joestar's racing days?"
Johnny hand crept up his back, gripping tightly into his coat.
"Perhaps it was fate," Diego suggested lightly. A tug at his coat.
Valentine's gaze bore into him like a judge passing sentence, stripping away his tailored suit and countless successes to plunge him back into the life of the poor bastard farmboy.
Diego fought very hard to keep his posture casual.
"… Indeed. Fate works in mysterious ways. I suppose we'll be seeing each other, then. You do intend to continue the work of the Joestars?" The question dangled like a fish hook. "The Joestar family has always contributed generously to the work we do in the county."
Considering his answer carefully, Diego said, "Unfortunately, Mr. Joestar left before we could discuss such matters. However, I'm sure that-"
The punch to his back forced out a wheeze, which Diego hurriedly turned into a cough. He hurriedly flashed an apologetic smile to Valentine, then turned to glower over his shoulder- but his anger was stopped short by the sight of Johnny subtly shaking his head.
"Mr. Brando?" Stephen Steel asked, stepping forward with a look of concern, "Are you alright? Shall I get some water?"
"No thank you, I'm alright," he assured him, before turning back to Valentine with an apology on his lips-
"I'm feeling sick, dear," Johnny promptly broke in, staring up at Diego with hard eyes. "I think we should return home. Now."
Diego inhaled, plastering on a polite smile. "Are you sure, darling? The night is still young."
"Yes. Very sure," Johnny said sharply. "Come on, let's call a coach."
"Ah," Stephen Steel broke in with a pained laugh, "You'd best listen to him, Mr. Brando. A husband's duty is never done."
At his words Johnny's expression soured, but Valentine's presence seemed to compel him to bite his tongue. Johnny looked to Lucy apologetically, but apparently whatever was the matter with him was something she understood, as she merely wished them a safe return.
Conflicted, Diego nodded politely to Valentine - who, at the very least, returned a slight incline of the head - and allowed Johnny to grasp him by the wrist and pull him along towards the exit.
"What's the matter with you?" Diego asked irately once they were outside and waiting for the coach. "You'd better have a damn good reason. You're not actually sick are you?"
"Of course not," Johnny muttered, glancing at him in exasperation.
He said nothing further until the coach arrived. It was only once they were safely within the cushioned interior that Johnny sunk back against the cushions, resting his elbow against the curtained window, hand halfway tangled into his hair.
"Valentine is a dangerous man, Diego," he finally said wearily. "It's best you don't get involved with him."
"Your father was," Diego pointed out. "What's there to fear? He's only a politician."
Dark eyes flicked to him, a fine brow raised disbelievingly. "Is that really what you think?"
"His help could be useful," Diego insisted stubbornly. "I've been considering running for the county council, you know."
"You have?" Johnny sat up, turning to face him more fully. Diego hummed affirmatively.
"Well, I don't care either way," Johnny said, nonchalant voice not quite matching his tense frame, "Do what you want. Not that you asked, but I never liked him. My father never liked him either, but he supported him all the same."
"Perhaps I should run against him," Diego mused, leaning back against the cushions. When Johnny's sharp eyes glared at him, he shrugged carelessly. "What? It's just an idea."
"… You're not from this world, Diego," Johnny replied softly, leaning in, gaze holding steady. "You don't know the kind of games these people play."
"I learn fast." Daring to tease, Diego tilted his head to smirk at Johnny, and asked, "Want to be my teacher?"
Scoffing, Johnny pulled away and looked out the window. The carriage continued to bump along the path.
"Like hell."
"Hah. Thought you'd say that."
"It's not like I care what happens to you. Just don't bring it back to me, got it?"
"Of course, Mr. Joestar," Diego drawled, sprawling comfortably against the cushions. "As your husband, it would be rude of me to bring work home."
Johnny narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, Brando."
**
After returning to the manor Johnny promptly retired to his side of the house. Diego did the same.
He had fine sleeping clothes now, after all these years, and silk sheets on a soft, downy mattress. And yet, despite how drained he was sleep continued to elude him. After falling in and out of sleep for what seemed like hours he woke with enough awareness to realize the room had grown stuffy again. Flipping back the sheets he attempted to cool down; straining his ears, he thought he could hear that imagined lullaby again, and tried to relax into it's tranquil melody. He must have fallen asleep again, as when he woke the next time he had a crick in his neck. Somehow, the room had grown even more unbearably stagnant. Gathering his patience and fighting off exhaustion, he stumbled out of bed and over to the window, prying it open to let in the night breeze. For once, the bugs were quiet. The hour was probably so odd that even they had decided to seek rest.
Rustling leaves failed to overwhelm the constant refrain of the piano. A gust of wind brushed by, teasing his hair back as it swept through the bedroom, like a gentle brush against the flank of a horse. When the sound of the wind quieted, Diego was surprised to find the melody hadn't stopped.
He was only imagining it. Wasn't he?
Now thoroughly awakened by the touch cool air to his cheeks, Diego moved away from the window and towards the door to the bedroom. On the way he pulled down a robe from the closet and shrugged it on before stepping softly into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. The music rose, then fell, cycling again and again. Following the sound, he found himself soon enough in the entryway of the manor. The entrance to the east wing loomed before him, the lullaby emanating sweetly from it's dark entrance.
Quietly, he moved toward it. Time seemed to blur into the night; only the mellow song was constant, leading him as much as he was chasing it. He soon found himself at the door of the music room, the one he had stumbled upon weeks ago. Inside was Johnny, seated at the piano. Somehow, he was unsurprised. Perhaps he had known all along what he would find.
The song flowed from the keys like water down a stream, silvery smooth and pleasing to the ear. No sheet music guided the lullaby. Johnny had probably memorized it long ago.
Eventually, his fingers pressed down to draw out the final chord.
As was proper, Diego clapped softly. Johnny whirled around, eyes wide.
"What are you doing here?"
"Please. Don't stop on my account."
For several seconds Johnny simply observed him, expression torn. Then he turned back to the piano, offering a one-shouldered shrug.
"Fine. But if you're going to stay, sit down."
Diego acquiesced without complaint, sinking into the dusty recliner beside the piano. Like this he could see Johnny's profile as he stared down at the keys in consideration. He tested a few scales, ones Diego didn't know, then seemed to settle.
"… I used to play this one with Nick," Johnny finally murmured, hands resting in position. "It's supposed to be a duet. It'll probably sound a little off."
"I don't mind," Diego told him softly. "I can't read music, so I'll hardly be able to criticize."
Johnny didn't respond, focused on the memory of the song. Then, he started to play. He had predicted correctly - it didn't sound quite right, not without the accompanying harmony. To Diego, though, it sounded beautiful all the same.
"You're quite good," Diego complimented when he finished. "You must have had a tutor."
Surprisingly, Johnny laughed. It was short and choppy, as though it had taken him too by surprise.
"I guess you could say that. Nick taught me; he had the tutor. Not that he needed her. He seemed to be good at everything."
As he finished speaking, his eyes flicked to Diego, then back to the piano.
"He was talented," Diego offered after a moment, "I remember that much. I would have liked to race against him."
"Diego."
Johnny's voice, jagged and torn, pulled Diego to meet his pained eyes.
He asked, "Why did you come back here?"
No answer came to mind but the blue eyes before him.
"… I don't know," Diego finally replied, dully surprised at the confusion in his voice, at the ache his chest. "Maybe… just to see if I could."
At his words Johnny curled in on himself, shoulders pulled tight.
"Of course you'd say something like that," he said hollowly, almost to himself.
"Tell me," Johnny continued, an edge to his soft tone, "Were you there that day? When he died?"
There was no need to clarify.
"Yes," Diego told him truthfully, "I was."
"You were the one who saw the white mouse, weren't you?"
It took a long, silent moment for the memory to return to him.
"Yes. I saw a white mouse that day," he confirmed slowly. "It ran in front of the horse and frightened it."
He startled when Johnny let out a broken laugh, then another, until all at once Diego realized he was crying. Hunched over the piano, head buried in his hands, Johnny was sobbing.
Unsure what to do, Diego sat up, and made to rise to his feet.
"No, stay there!" Johnny barked, turning to glare at him through his tears. "Fuck! Fuck you, Diego Brando! Why the hell did you have to come back? I never wanted to see you again. All you do is ruin my goddamn life!"
"And now," he spat, hands balled into fists against his lap, "And now you're back, and I can't even hate you."
Undeterred by Johnny's words, Diego stood, approached him on the bench - ignoring Johnny's confused glare - and nudged him over before sitting down beside him.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Playing piano."
With that, he pressed carelessly against the keys - and winced at the discord that wailed up at them.
"Hey, hey!" Johnny pulled his hands back from the keys, his tear-stained face morphing into one of confused annoyance, "I thought you couldn't read music."
"I can't. It's something I've always wanted to learn, though."
"… you can't just pick it up," Johnny warned, "You have to actually practice."
"That's doable."
"What is your problem?" Johnny demanded with a frown. "How can you just- just not care?"
Diego hesitated. Considered his words.
Decided he was tired of keeping track of so many masks. Johnny said he'd never liked him - good. There was no need for lies between them.
"I don't regret anything that's happened. But I am sorry you never had a choice in this engagement. For the record, I had many options. I found you the most favorable one. Whatever you've felt towards me in the past, I want us to get along. I like you, Johnny Joestar. That's the simple truth of it."
For several minutes Johnny didn't reply. Eventually he pressed a few keys, pieces to a melody, filling the silence with sweet bursts of sound. Wordlessly, Diego copied him. Johnny's eyes flickered to his face, then back to the keys.
"I can teach you," Johnny finally offered, voice hoarse. "If you really want to learn."
He scrubbed at the tear tracks clinging to his cheeks.
"I do want to," Diego assured him, before standing up in a stretch. "But I think for tonight, I'd just like to listen to you."
Johnny tracked him as he returned to the recliner, falling back into it with a sigh. Sleep tugged at him insistently.
"… If you're sure," Johnny replied softly.
When he struck the opening chord it was bright like starlight and clear as church bells in the morning.
**
Diego woke to another crick in his neck. Grunting, he tried to turn over, only to find himself much more constricted than he'd bargained for. Groggily he opened his eyes to find himself still in the music room, curled awkwardly in the recliner. A blanket had been tossed over his lap haphazardly, and Johnny lay asleep on the couch beside him.