Chapter Text
The other door opened with an eerie screech. The pieces that held it together looked about to fall apart, but the rusty hinges managed to survive. They had to be the first living creatures to open it in a couple of years.
While Johnny observed the scene from afar—still pondering if it really was safe to get so close to his rival—Diego finally stepped inside the room. It was more decadent than the previous local and an unpleasant smell of festering wood and food immediately attacked his senses. Fortunately, it didn’t come from the walls, but from a wrecked, small pantry.
He didn’t dare to come close, aware that the drawers probably hid nothing but rotting substances. Whoever had owned that place had probably forgot a handful of meat, probably the result of his latest hunt, judging by the putrid scent. Thankfully, the closed walls of furniture prevented most of the small to infest the environment. But for him it was still better to not near it at all.
As useful as his stand was, during moments like that some of its abilities ended up being damaging rather than the opposite. Right now, he could barely bear to breath there. It was suffocating for him, though a normal human would have probably been only mildly bothered.
Waving a hand in front of his face in an attempt to give himself something fresh air to breath, the British looked toward the other man. “We can cook here,” he announced in a slightly disgusted tone, “unless we do something stupid, it should be safe.”
Johnny eyed him for a moment, lips pressed in a hard expression. After a brief hesitation, he began to drag himself over the woody floor, slowly sliding toward the rival. His right hand was closed over a small sack that emitted metallic sounds every time it hit the pavement. It was easy to assume it contained the pot and similar items.
Diego waited for him, impatiently tapping the tip of his boot on the ground; the temptation to rush over and grab the bag growing stronger, only silenced by his weak will to collaborate and get what they both needed.
Once the odd duo was finally together, it didn’t take long to make a fire, as the broken chair offered them enough combustible. It warmed the room a bit, though it was hard to fight the chilly currents that infiltrated through every single crack the building had. Yet, staying near the flames was still highly pleasant.
They were sitting around the solitary fire, waiting for it to grow hot enough to allow them to cook. Of the two, the British appeared to be the more uneasy. Unlike his accidental partner, he was sensible to the suffocating colt of smell, meaning he was more willing than unusual to talk. Any distraction, no matter how slim, would have been a relief.
“You haven’t raced since the accident,” Diego commented suddenly. His tone wasn’t as sharp as usual, almost interested, which prevented Johnny from immediately snapping at him. A chance the blonde man did no waste, immediately adding something.
“Why this race, then? You barely made it to the beginning. Something smaller would have been more fitting.” He knew that sounded like a provocation, but he did not care. A part of him was indeed genuinely curious. Hadn’t they been rivals, the British might have gone as far as admiring his stubborn and proud temper. In a similar situation, he would have probably tried something similar. But of course, that admission would never leave his mouth.
Afterwards, the silence was broken only by the crippling fire. Johnny was avoiding eye contact, but it was not hard to notice his expression had darkened. The flames caused shadows to dance upon his face, somehow adding a mysterious solemnity to the moment.
“I don't want to continue like this, that’s not how I want to live. The Steel Ball Run looked like a good chance to give myself a name again. I was determined; I was ready to drag myself to the finishing line.” He spoke slowly, eyes fixed on the fire.
Dio didn’t say anything at first, his silence a sign of respect. He had never felt something like that for him before. “I understand,” was his only reply, little but full at the same time. Understanding was already a huge step.
The American boy blinked few times, surprised. He turned toward his rival, silently wondering what that meant, exactly. Was it a show of respect? Hard to believe. It would have challenged everything he knew true about that man. Despite this, a part of him did not mind the idea at all; that place was lonely, even an illusion of company was better than dying by himself.
The conversation continued, much to their own unspoken surprise. Of course, it wasn’t easy—each word was wary, calculated to not expose too much all at once—yet, they eventually managed to open. “I would have done that too,” Diego had admitted, before moving on, vaguely mentioning some part of his past. The most questionable and private parts had been omitted, but it gave an idea. The other’s story was no news, but hearing it from him was different.
The following quiet was unusual. As soon as Johnny was done speaking, none of them said anything else, but the British had the neat sensation the other saw him differently. That was true for him as well, though it was hard to say of it had changed exactly. Was their rivalry gone? Probably not. Was it less disrespectful? Probably yes.
Shaking off those thoughts, not wanting to get lost in it, Diego got up and walked by his belongings, kneeling to inspect his sacks. His gloved hand closed around a small one, which contained a modest portion of meat. It wasn’t a huge meal, but it was enough to make a decent meal for two people. Considering they didn’t know how long the storm would last or what awaited them afterwards, it was better to not waste food.
He let the sac fall on the floor with a morbid sound. “We should start cooking.” It was better than a dangerous silence; they had already said too much.
The meat smelled delicious. It helped making the stay in the room more pleasant as well. The pieces soon began to lose their typical red coloration, gaining a much more appealing one. Diego took the small frying pot with a quick movement, glad the glove provided him an extra protection from the flames, and handed one of slices of meat to the other.
They ended up eating without a word, but the silence wasn’t as tense as first. Eventually, the fire died and they had to take care of the burnt piece of wood, in order to prevent dangerous accidents, both involving smoke and flames. When that was done, there was nothing else to do. None of them had enough energy to argue.
The two jockeys silently slid into the other room, where the presence of the horses would guarantee more warmth.
Diego sat in a corner, one of old blankets he had carried along in his hands, and tried to arrange himself to sleep, resting his back against the wall. It wasn’t the most luxurious arrangements, but it prevented the cold from biting as harshly. Once he was satisfied, the blond gave himself some time to look at his rival.
Johnny was actually coming closer than he had originally planned. “I don’t want to freeze to death,” was all the American added.
The light was almost completely gone, but even so, Dio tried to observe the other’s expression. It was almost unrecognizable, but it wasn’t threatening. He continued to watch him with the corner of an eye until his mind finally drifted to sleep.
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A loud sound woke him up—the wind had probably taken down a tree or something like that—and Diego opened his eyes to a think, silent darkness. Still not completely awake, he slowly came to the realization something was different. He could not see, but he could feel.
Warmth...
Johnny was closer, basically fallen over his shoulder in his sleep. They had probably never been that close in such a peaceful manner. The American even looked serene, blissfully unaware of how close he was too his rival.
Diego, on the other hand, knew it too well. But as much as his pride wanted to think otherwise, he couldn’t bring himself to be outraged. It didn’t feel too bad, either.
“I can live with this...” He almost unconsciously thought. On the following morning he might have regretted it, but it didn’t matter now.
The regular breath of the other made him company as he fell asleep again.