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There were few things Diego hated more than wearing a suit. It was hot and uncomfortable and entirely unnecessary. His regular clothes were perfectly fine, at least when they weren’t dripping with dirt and sweat like they normally were after a day of practice. But no, at important functions society mandated a fucking suit, and it wasn’t like Diego could change society itself. Not yet.
He didn’t like the parties any more than the clothes he was required to wear to them. Parties were part of being famous, but Diego had decided almost immediately that they were the worst part. A whole crowd in one room, half of whom only showed up to watch him for hours? No thanks. It was impossible to hide at a party, not when you were pretty guaranteed to be the guest of honor or something close. Parties were an excuse for reporters to bug him until midnight and to write down his every move in a little notebook, just in case it made a good story. The press were beyond intrusive, with their clunky cameras and their prying questions. It wasn’t like this in England. American journalists were insatiable.
But parties couldn’t be avoided, and Diego knew the rules well enough. Wear this, say that, not a hair out of place. He was a perfect celebrity, a model of British aristocracy in this Godforsaken country. Honestly, most Americans didn’t understand a salad fork, much less how to behave in public without embarrassing themselves, even when it was really important not to do so.
Racing was a weird mix of actual equestrian skill and making friends with the right people, still governed by the old rules of exclusivity. It was a rich man’s sport and Diego hadn’t begun as a rich man, so that made him a curiosity. The other racers had family names and histories to rely on, while Diego only had himself. So he had to forge his own name, and that was a difficult process, one that took a lot parties going well to achieve.
This one was at the house of some important family in the middle of Kentucky, in the name of some cause Diego didn’t remember. Apparently the British thirst for charity work had seized the American upper class as well, and that meant endless balls and concerts for the benefit of one orphanage or another. It was just an excuse for a party thinly veiled under the disguise of goodwill, and that made it all taste sour to Diego. There would be help for a few, but no change. For the world to truly be fixed it needed to be remade, not just given a nice coat of paint so aristocrats could feel good about themselves.
So far, Diego had managed to avoid the press, sequestered in their little corner of the ballroom. He didn’t like giving interviews, too many questions by half, and he knew they’d have plenty. After all, it was the start of the American racing season and he was already the easy favorite for champion. And his usual buffer was conspicuously absent.
Johnny Joestar was useful for exactly one thing, and it was avoiding reporters. The self-absorbed brat would happily talk to them for hours and Diego could just slip out the back door while all eyes were on Johnny. He was the darling of the press, a disaster with the sort of face that always looked good in photos, and he made for an endless source of headlines. That was all the papers were, Johnny with a girl on each arm, with a bottle raised to his lips, with a black eye from picking a fight he couldn’t possibly win. The public loved a bad boy, and they loved a mess even more. America’s cute little wreck.
But now Johnny was missing, and Diego knew he had been invited. He knew the schedules of all his serious competitors, just in case that came in handy at some point. It wasn’t like Johnny to miss a party. Maybe he was just late.
And as if on cue, the door to the ballroom opened and there was Johnny.
He was drunk, no question about that. Diego checked his watch, and it confirmed his suspicions. Just barely nine in the evening. Far too early for Johnny to be this drunk. The boy had a high tolerance and should have spent the day training, since they had a race in a few days. No time to get this drunk. But there he was, his tie undone and his shirt only half-buttoned and not even tucked in. He looked like he had just woken up. It was all Diego could do to keep from laughing at the sight.
Johnny stumbled over the carpet and managed to catch his balance on the doorframe, then headed straight for the drinks table. It was a disaster waiting to happen. Diego had spotted a couple of reporters lurking around the bottles, and Johnny would go make a fool of himself in front of them. Maybe end his whole career. This was worse than usual. Johnny was a mess, but not normally this much of a mess. It was pathetic.
Diego had to stop him.
The idea was only half-formed when he grabbed Johnny’s arm. It would look good for Dio, the prince of the British racing world, to assist a fellow competitor and make sure he didn’t cause too much of a scene. Just a little bit of gentlemanly behavior, and right in front of a couple convenient reporters. And it wouldn’t help Johnny’s reputation, but at the same time, it wouldn’t damage it too bad.
Johnny spun around and nearly fell over. His cheeks were red, but so were his eyes. He had been crying. “Dio?”
“Go home, Joestar.” Diego spoke with force, and Johnny honestly looked like he was listening. Right up until his fist collided with Diego’s jaw.
Johnny was small, but he hit hard and Diego tasted blood. Probably his lip splitting. The reporters looked up in interest. This wasn’t going exactly as he’d planned.
“Fuck off!” Johnny drew back another punch. He was way too loud, and Diego could practically feel the people staring at them. “Fucking Dio!”
Diego took ahold of his wrist and twisted Johnny’s arm behind his back, making the boy cry out a string of expletives, each more improper than the last. He held Johnny like that, locked in place. “Joestar, listen to me. You’re drunk. Go home before you make a fool of yourself.”
There were tears in Johnny’s eyes, whether from the way Diego pulled on his arm or whatever had made him like this in the first place. “No!”
Now it wasn’t even trying to look good. Now it was about pride. Johnny had shown up a drunken mess and he didn’t even have the courtesy to pay attention to Diego. That just wasn’t going to happen. He jerked the boy’s arm backwards, forcing him to take a few stumbling steps back. “Either you come with me or I break your arm,” Diego said, quiet enough that only Johnny could hear. “Understand?”
Fortunately Johnny still had enough sense to let himself be led out of the ballroom with a minimal amount of protest. The hallway outside was empty for the time being, but as Diego dragged Johnny towards the front door, the boy suddenly clamped his free hand over his mouth. So Diego pulled him into the nearby bathroom instead.
As soon as he let go, Johnny fell to his hands and knees in front of the toilet and vomited. Diego made sure the door was locked, fewer explanations that way, and then turned to face Johnny.
He looked pathetic like that, small and shaking. There wasn’t much in his stomach, and Diego wondered how long he’d been drinking. Long enough that he’d probably missed lunch. That would only make the alcohol harder on his body. Johnny didn’t weigh much to begin with, came with being a jockey, but it took a lot to get him drunk. And Diego had never seen him like this.
Johnny finally stopped retching, and then Diego realized just how fast his heart was beating. He was worried. Johnny could easily hurt himself, or at least cause enough damage to his reputation that he’d have to stop racing, and then he’d just be out of Diego’s life. And losing Johnny would be like losing a part of himself. Not a particularly nice part, but a part nonetheless.
It was clear Johnny needed a minute to recover. Diego sat on the floor next to him, wondering what to do. This was his chance to leave. All he had do was walk out the door and rejoin the party. Johnny could probably get himself home from here, or just find somewhere to sleep it off for a while. He didn’t need Diego, hadn’t needed him in the first place if he was being honest, and by all logic this wasn’t Diego’s problem to solve. So what if Johnny drank too much. It only made him a worse jockey. If anything, it was good. Less competition.
But just as Diego decided to go, Johnny let out a sob and that was like a rope tying him to the spot. He couldn’t leave, not when Johnny sounded like that. The boy was crying and not even trying to hold back, just sobbing like a little kid.
It was like Johnny wasn’t even there, the way everyone acted.
This wasn’t the sort of thing kids were supposed to see. They weren’t supposed to know how death looked this young. But Diego had been younger when he’d watched his mother waste away and now Johnny stared as his brother’s body was carried off on a stretcher.
Diego found him hiding in one of the tool sheds next to the stables later that day. He was crying, had been for a while, and he just wouldn’t stop. And even as afternoon faded into evening, no one came to comfort him.
It was like both sons had died.
Diego didn’t know how to be comforting. He figured he should rub Johnny’s back or something, since he’d been throwing up. That was the sort of thing you were supposed to do in this situation. But when he touched Johnny on the shoulder, the boy turned to look at him.
Something had happened, Diego was sure of that, and it was something bad. Johnny didn’t cry like this for nothing.
“Dio?” Johnny’s voice shook, like the rest of him. The alcohol made his accent even thicker and if Diego hadn’t known any better, he would have called it cute.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Diego did his best to sound friendly, which admittedly wasn’t great. “You done being sick?”
Johnny didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything, just crawled closer and leaned against Diego’s body like an insistent cat. It was almost cute. Diego reached out and touched him again and this time Johnny nuzzled against his hand. He was desperate to be touched.
“Johnny,” Diego said, stroking his hair softly. Johnny spelled like alcohol and vomit, but he didn’t mind. Not even when Johnny snuggled against his chest, all curled up in his lap. “How much did you drink?”
The answer was muffled by Diego’s shirt. “Don’t remember.” Johnny liked strong liquor, bourbon, whiskey, the sort of thing he was too young to be drinking in the first place.
He was too young for any of it. Only seventeen and this fucked up. No wonder he’d ended up a total mess that evening, immature brat that he was. People didn’t stop Johnny, even when he’d had more than enough; they were all too busy watching the whole disaster unfold.
But that was nothing new. The world was full of people who didn’t even think to help. Worthless pigeons, the lot of them. They hadn’t saved Diego’s mother and they sure as shit wouldn’t save Johnny.
All he had was Diego, and that wasn’t much.
“I’ll take you home.” It was the least he could do. Johnny needed to sleep, and spending the night on the bathroom floor wouldn’t do him much good.
Johnny only clutched at Diego tighter. “I can’t. I- I fucked up. Got kicked out.”
So that was why. His father had finally given up. “Do you have a place to stay?”
Johnny shook his head. Of course he didn’t. That was Johnny all over, spend the day getting drunk instead of renting a room he could definitely afford. He was such a mess.
There was really only one thing for it. Diego had booked a hotel room for a few days, and sleeping there would be better than whatever plan Johnny didn’t have. And it would just be one night. Once he was sober, he could take care of himself.
Diego grabbed Johnny around the waist and hauled him to his unsteady feet. He was a good bit shorter and that make holding him up difficult, but Diego managed. Johnny was pretty much falling asleep on his feet. Better than trying to fight again.
This time they made it out the front door and into the night air. Kentucky never got really cold, just an uncomfortable lukewarm like old bathwater. Diego hated it, hated the way it made the air itself feel used.
There were several hansom cabs waiting around outside, and Diego flagged down one of the drivers and promised twice the usual rate if he forgot seeing either of the pair. The press would never drop it if they got wind of him going home with Johnny. Two bitter rivals spending a night together. The headlines wrote themselves.
It took a bit of care to get Johnny into the cab, but by this point he was done fighting back. Just tired. And as the carriage creaked into motion, Johnny slumped over on Diego’s shoulder, fast asleep.
—
The ride wasn’t a long one. By the time they reached the hotel, Diego had managed to wake Johnny up, but he was in no state to actually walk to the room. So he ended up in Diego’s arms, and that wasn’t too much of a problem. Johnny barely weighed anything. Just another way the world had failed him.
Anger, that’s what it was. Diego was angry that Johnny was in this mess in the first place, that he needed alcohol to handle it, that the only person he could rely on was his sworn rival.
The room wasn’t the best Diego could afford. He didn’t spend too much on his own accommodations. Money wasn’t as tight as it had been, but he still kept personal expenses low. Old habits die hard. So all he looked for was a bed, and that was pretty much all the room had.
The bed was for Johnny. Sleeping on the floor was nothing new to Diego, and at least this one had a carpet. But Johnny would wake up with one hell of a hangover, and Diego would never hear the end of it if he didn’t let him at least sleep in a bed.
Johnny smiled as Diego set him down on top of the sheets, but his arms didn’t untangle from around Diego’s neck. And if Diego was being entirely honest, he didn’t want to let go either. Johnny was… well, pretty. An all-American sweetheart if Diego had ever seen one, messy blond hair and the sort of eyes that were so blue they didn’t look real. And he looked his best this way, when he so desperately needed someone to hold him.
So Diego didn’t let go.
It was stupid and reckless. Johnny hated him, would always hate him. But Diego lay down and pulled the blanket over them both and Johnny didn’t even flinch, just sighed happily as he settled into the embrace. His breath was warm on Diego’s neck and his touch felt like drinking moonshine.
Diego wanted to stay like this forever. And that wasn’t impossible.
Johnny didn’t have a home anymore, nothing tying him to this country. Maybe he’d agree to return to England with Diego, maybe they could take whatever this was as far as it could go. Maybe it was love, plain and simple. Diego was no good at fixing people, but maybe he didn’t have to be. Maybe he could learn.
But before that, he had work to do. His fortune wasn’t solid enough to quit racing. There were still debts to settle and glory to win. And he owed Johnny his full attention, didn’t he? So maybe once it was all done, things could be like that. Johnny deserved a world where he’d be taken care of, and creating that would take time. And maybe Johnny could wait until then.
When Johnny woke up the next morning, he was alone. And a few months later, Diego realized he’d made the wrong choice.