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Gyro whistled while thumping his boots along to a rhythm only he could hear in his head, walkin’ up the steps of the patio to the front door. He fumbled with the bag of herbs he bought and dropped his keys. Gyro cursed and bent down to pick them up, careful to move slowly so that nothing fell out. Johnny would kill him.
The key turned easy in the lock. Gyro made his way inside, taking a left toward the kitchen where he set his stuff down on the table. Remembering his manners—only ‘cause Johnny told him so often to “get that big ugly hat off in this house!”—he took his hat off and hung it on a rack in the corner, wiping his damp brow with the back of his hand. The summers were wicked here; it was never like this in Italy.
As he retrieved half-empty jars from one of the cabinets, Gyro reminisced about the ocean. How he loved and missed it so—but whenever he started thinking about that, he started thinking about Johnny. “Nyoho,” he breathed quietly. “Johnny Joestar.” The name rolled off his grill like molten lava, hot and unforgiving. Both of which Johnny were. He chuckled to himself again and unscrewed the caps, filling up one jar of herbs, then moving on to the next.
But he paused and glanced around. “Where is Johnny?” he asked himself, abandoning the task at hand. He made his way back out toward the door, locking it as he passed, then walked straight into the living room.
By now Johnny should’ve shouted down the stairs or called out sarcastically, “Welcome back, Gyro.” The unusual silence left Gyro worried.
However, as he rounded the couch he laughed louder than he meant to and crossed his arms. One hand covered his mouth to stifle his amusement; for there on the couch, lying on his back with a tiny Tusk on his chest, was none other than Johnny Joestar. The sight was laughable because Gyro had never seen Johnny this quiet before. No loud mouthing, no nagging, no witty or cruel sarcastic remarks. Just a tired blond boy with his tight brows finally loose and his sharp nose unscrunched.
Gyro sat cross-legged on the floor by Johnny’s shoulder, laying his head next to him. He sighed and placed a hand on Johnny’s arm, squeezing gently, then rubbing up and down his bicep. “You look like an angel,” he mumbled. Tusk arose at the sound of his voice, its pointed nose twitching before droopy eyes opened. The tiny Stand climbed up Johnny’s chest to get closer to him, covering Gyro’s hand with its body. “Deceiving, isn’t it?” he whispered. “How can someone as bitter as Johnny have such a cute, sweet little Stand?”
Tusk perked up at the praise and nuzzled Gyro’s fingers, wrapping around one of them with its arms. Gyro grinned as it hugged his forefinger, letting out a huff of chumimin! “Such a cutie,” he said again, yawning. Gyro closed his eyes and rested his head against Johnny’s shoulder, faintly feeling him stir as he drifted off.
When he awoke, Johnny was facing him and had his eyes open. Gyro jerked back, surprised at how close Johnny was to him. “Christ, Johnny!” he cursed.
“Relax, you’re the one who fell asleep next to me. Did you get the herbs?”
“No shit I got the herbs,” Gyro replied, patting his rapidly beating heart.
“Good. I guess they’re not put away though, since you took yourself a little nap.”
“Hey! Don’t go yelling at me about being lazy!” Gyro exclaimed, crossing his arms. “You’re the one who was napping! I’m innocent. I’m the one who went out to get your things. And—and besides! I just came to say hi to Tusk! And then I, uh, I was so comfy I just fell asleep.”
“Uh huh.” Johnny sat up and patted the spot next to him. Gyro was reluctant but moved up to the couch anyway. “So you think I’m like an angel? And cute?”
“—what?! Hold on, now—“
“Tusk told me so.”
“Tusk—!” Gyro grabbed Johnny’s left arm where he knew Tusk liked to hide and squeezed until a high-pitched chumi–! sounded and the small Stand appeared, hiding behind Johnny’s elbow. “Tusk—that’s just—I was saying that Tusk was cute.”
“But by association you think I’m cute, too.”
“No! That’s not how that works!” Gyro flushed, completely unaware that he was still holding onto Johnny’s arm.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind it, honestly. You didn’t even refute the angel comment so I know it’s true no matter what you say.”
Gyro opened his mouth but he couldn’t deny that he did indeed say Johnny looked like an angel. With a frustrated grumble he said, “Yeah maybe, but only when you’re asleep.”
Johnny grinned that kinda grin that made Gyro want to punch him in the teeth, but he didn’t. He sat facing forward, moping, until Johnny’s fingers took his chin and turned his head. Then Johnny’s soft, pink lips were on his with a quick, gentle kiss. He didn’t even have enough time to savor the taste of his partner before he pulled away.
“I think you’re cute too,” Johnny said. He patted Gyro’s rosy cheek before scooting to the other end where his wheelchair was and getting back into it. Without looking back to gauge Gyro’s reaction, he wheeled off to the kitchen to continue the job of putting away all his refills.
“J-Johnny!” Gyro shouted from down the hall.
The American in the kitchen merely laughed. All that could be heard was the sound of another jar popping open and Gyro’s cowboy boots clacking quickly over the wooden floor.