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Like most best friends do, Jonathan and Robert have a routine. Once a week, on a Sunday night, Jonathan takes the train to London and treats Robert to dinner and a few drinks at one of Robert’s favorite local pubs. Robert is a city boy, through and through, while Jonathan remains the opposite—it’s funny to see a member of historical nobility get down and dirty on a single day of the week, to make him forget his tasteful and expensive life on the estate up North.
Jonathan’s a scrappy one, and Robert has always liked that. It’s a side of him so far removed from the life of a Joestar heir that Robert feels honored to witness the experience after a few too many pints and a greasy, hearty meal.
Tonight is no different, and Robert polishes off the remnants of lamb at the bottom of his bowl with a deep sigh and an impressive belch to boot. Jonathan’s face is already flushed after only a couple pints—despite his size, the man’s a lightweight, and it’s amusing to no end.
“Good one, eh, Jojo?” Here, in a hole-in-the-wall establishment run (shadily) by some of Robert’s dearest childhood friends, he feels at home. The rich Cockney rips his voice into something most people of Jonathan’s class would find simple or uneducated, but Robert feels a swell of pride when Jonathan answers with a hint of the exact same twist in his own words.
He’s catching on , Robert thinks. Jonathan Joestar is truly the only aristocrat who could ever be one of them.
“Not the best I’ve heard, but your competition is pretty stiff around here when it comes to belching.”
Robert laughs, because it’s true. This pub attracts the whole lot of lawless, classless bastards, but it’s home to Robert nonetheless. “Don’t forget that you’ve got quite the reputation for rippin’ some huge ones,” he guffaws. “When you’re six pints deep, anyways.”
Jonathan leans back into his seat, and Robert mirrors him across the table. It feels good to stretch, relieving his swollen stomach.
“Speakin’ of,” Robert says, “ain’t it ‘bout time we grab another round?” The slam of his palm on the wooden table punctuates his sentence. His ass is halfway out of his seat before Jonathan stops him from waving down the bartender for a couple of ales.
“Wait, wait,” Jonathan says. “Just a second.”
Robert lifts an eyebrow, concerned. “Somethin’ wrong? You ain’t gotta head back early tonight, do ye?”
Jonathan shakes his head—a relief. Robert looks forward to these evenings more than he’d like to admit, and he can never help but feel cheated (and selfish) on the occasions when Jonathan has to cut the meetings short.
“Nah, I just, well…” Jonathan leans forward, his hulking body shadowing the tabletop when he whispers to Robert with his eyes checking out the periphery. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Robert stills while Jonathan pushes into the depths of his trouser pocket. His hand emerges in a fist, wrapped around something that sends Robert’s heart plummeting towards the pit of his stomach. He peeks textured velvet between Jonathan’s thumb and forefinger. Instantly, he knows what’s inside.
Even as Jonathan opens his fist and pulls back the box’s lid, he’s blushing.
Robert lets out a low whistle that’s just long enough to delay another reaction while he gathers his thoughts. “Bloody hell, Joestar,” he muses. “If you liked me so much you shoulda just said somethin’.”
Jonathan laughs, and Robert does, too. He’s known for a long time that this would come eventually, but now that the moment’s here he can bring himself to do little but nudge playfully at Jonathan’s shin beneath the table.
“Aw, come on, Robert. You think she’ll like it?”
With every second that Robert’s eyes drink in the ring and all its opulence, regret drills deeper into his brain.
“It was my grandmother’s,” Jonathan continues through the silence. “It’s not too much, is it? I just thought that—”
“No, no, no.” Finally, Robert manages something. “No, Jojo, it’s damn right perfect. Can’t imagine how pretty it’ll look on her finger.” He forces himself to lift his eyes and meet Jonathan’s gaze, praying that the emotions he’s hiding will go unnoticed. “When’re you gonna ask?”
Jonathan’s smile is soft enough to melt Robert’s heart. “Tomorrow, I think. The very next moment I see her. I just don’t think I can wait anymore, you know? I never wanted to rush her, but I’ve wanted her to be my wife for so long that I’ll explode if I don’t ask her.”
“Damn,” Robert muses. “Look at you, growin’ up all fast.” His palms come down on the table again, both of them this time, as he pushes himself out of his seat and waves over one of the bartenders. “Somethin’ nice over here for the bloke who’s about to get hitched!”
Once the drinks are flowing again and the ring has disappeared back into Jonathan’s pocket, the night continues the same as any other Sunday evening.
Tonight, Robert cherishes all the more each time he reaches up to clap his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan’s warmth and strength is unlike anything Robert has ever experienced, and he relishes it like nothing else in the world—of course the one man he’d finally fallen for had to be a bloody noble, out of reach for a poor East Ender like him and already destined to marry some fair maiden from the moment they met.
You’re lucky he even calls you his friend, Speedwagon, he thinks. Get over yourself and get on with it. If he’d really wanted to do something about it, he should have spoken up sooner. It’s his own damned fault and no one else’s. If Robert has bottled up these feelings for over a year now, it won’t kill him to keep it up.
The ales start to hit them, and Jonathan’s powerful laughter bellows from him in a way that gets the whole pub riled. Of course it does. Everyone loves Jonathan Joestar, and he loves everyone right back. The Sunday night regulars are too busy spewing congratulations to notice Robert’s silence.
Out of respect, he lets Jojo live in the moment of celebration while shuffling out the back door into a narrow alley and losing himself in memories.
Robert should have known from the first time he saw Erina that he was doomed. He recalls with such clarity the look in her eyes as she watched over Jonathan, rubbing cool cloths across his fevered forehead and wiping the soot from his wounds until the tips of her fingers wrinkled with moisture. He remembers how something tugged at his heartstrings, how he thought that for the first time in his troubled life he was witnessing the purest kind of love.
Now, he knows better. Now, he knows that it was little more than pining. He longed to be in Erina’s place, and he still does.
He hates himself for it.
Fists slam against one of the alley’s stone walls that box him in and make him feel so small. “God damn it all to hell,” he murmurs. The tear that slides down his cheek and drips from the cleft in his chin is hot against his clammy skin.
He’s still lost, circling in thought until any confidence and sureness is beaten out of him entirely, when the alley door opens. Jonathan ducks to pass through it, a flush on the tips of his ears and a dopey smile spreading from cheek to ruddy cheek. “Thought I might find you out here,” Jonathan says. “Having a smoke?”
Robert fumbles the half-burned cigarette between his fingers and watches as ash falls to the damp pavement below. Right. That’s what he’s doing. Having a smoke.
Maybe it’s the booze, or maybe it’s the way that a black hole has seemed to open in his chest and swallow up all the hope and happiness he’s ever had, but Robert clings to his cigarette as he sets free whatever dignity he’s got left. It’s wrong to keep this from Jonathan, isn’t it? And unless he speaks up now, it’ll only be worse, right?
Robert’s learned his lesson by now.
“Jojo, I shoulda said somethin’ earlier.”
Jonathan blinks. Damn it, he’s just as innocent as always, to the point of making him clueless. He’s the most charming man Robert’s ever known. “Huh? What?”
An automobile’s headlights illuminate the alleyway just long enough for Robert to catch a glimpse of Jonathan’s flushed cheekbones and neck. He withholds a bitter chuckle—so the ales have gotten to Jonathan, too. Robert’s not sure if that will make this better or worse. It doesn’t matter. He just wants it finished.
“You and your gal are the best friends I ever had, you know?”
That’s all it takes for Jonathan to stoop and wrap a massive arm around Robert’s shoulders. “Aww, you, too. There’s a reason you’re the first one I told about my plans for Erina. She’d want you to know first, too.”
That’s sweet and all, Robert thinks, but Jonathan has no idea that he’s making this even more difficult. “Thanks, Jojo.” Robert leans into Jonathan’s side and savors the warmth. If this goes poorly, it may be one of Robert’s last chances for contact like this. “I’m happy for ya. Ain’t no other girl who’d do you right.”
There’s some silence, just lengthy enough to hint at the beginnings of discomfort.
“‘Ave you really never noticed, Jojo?”
A momentary flash of something warm, something sad and regretful, lights in Jonathan’s eyes. Is it possible? Has he known?
Robert clenches his jaw and stomps on his cigarette even though there’s still a third of it left. Putting some force down onto his heel is a good release of energy, and he twists his foot around until whatever’s left is crushed to shreds and ash.
“I love you, y’know. Like, as a friend an’ all, but more than that, too. And Erina. Never felt this way about anyone else but you two. There’s just a—a spark of something. You make me better. I—”
Robert pauses and hopes for the best, crafting a finishing line that may soften the blow if Jonathan is tempted to end a friendship.
“I hope I’ll be in your life for a long, long time. You two’re gonna be real happy together.”
The following moments seem like nothing less than an eternity, but Robert thinks it’s a good sign that Jojo hasn’t let go of him. He waits with bated breath for the moment that Jonathan’s grip around him will release, replaced instead with emptiness and a silent, permanent return to the countryside.
Instead, Robert gets the opposite—a second arm surrounding him to join the first and a firm embrace.
“Love you, too, you old bastard.”
Jonathan’s words rumble against Robert’s ear, but the meaning is far from clear. Is there nothing else Jonathan can say? Is he at a loss for words? Is he only emphasizing his platonic love as a gesture of pity? Whatever is happening, Robert finds himself grateful that Jonathan hasn’t demonstrated any signs of disgust.
His nose hasn’t wrinkled, his brows haven’t furrowed, and his gaze is as warm and enticing as it’s always been.
That’s a good sign, right?
With a force likely stronger than Jonathan intends, he links his arm beneath Robert’s elbow and pulls him back into the humid, bustling heat of the pub.
Jonathan calls into the crowd, “Next round’s on me! And a toast to London’s most handsome man!”
The following Sunday, Jonathan doesn’t take the train to London alone. Robert is surprised (pleasantly) to see Jonathan’s arm linked with Erina’s when he meets them at the usual spot near the station.
He bends in a mock little bow, removing his hat and giving it a twirl along the way. “Long time no see, Miss Erina.”
Just the way she always does, Erina giggles at his antics. It’s a good sign amidst Robert’s building anxiety. Then, she speaks up in that firm, proud voice he’s always admired. “Soon to be Mrs. Joestar , actually.”
Robert ignores the pang in his chest, and his smile spreads. “I never doubted for a minute you’d say yes.”
The three of them take to the streets like they own them, hopping from pub to pub and laughing in cheerful celebration until they land at Robert and Jonathan’s usual destination.
It takes some time for them to find a moment alone—it’s the first instance of Erina visiting, and the regulars are eager to see the real thing in place of a photo album on Jonathan’s phone. She manages the whole affair with incredible patience and gratitude, despite the rowdy crew who have already had a few.
Strongest woman I ever knew , Robert thinks, and he smiles.
At last, they settle down, crowded into the corner of the same pub where Robert made a fool of himself the previous week. It’s a tight fit, but Robert doesn’t mind the closeness as long as they don’t. By now, he’s wondering if Jonathan so much as remembers the whole debacle. They’re not the kind of mates to speak daily, or even every other day, but the week’s worth of silence has been eating at Robert’s nerves.
“Will you be our best man, Robert?” The question comes so sweetly and suddenly from Erina’s glossed lips that Robert wonders if it was an angel who asked it.
“O-of course.” Damn, even after my sloppy mess of a night last week? Jonathan and his girl are too kind and generous for their own good.
Jonathan’s massive hand covers Robert’s where it lies, shaking, on the table beside his pint. “We have another question, too, if it’s not too much at once.”
Robert blinks. He can’t imagine what the question might be. It can’t be too horrid, at least, given they’ve already asked him to be in their wedding. He has to admit he’s still a mite confused by the fact that Erina invited him to be the best man, rather than Jonathan. And she said “our” rather than “his.” Perhaps it’s nothing, but nothing is progressing the way that Robert imagined it would, and it’s driving his brain to conjure the most ridiculous of scenarios.
After a silence too lengthy for social acceptance, Erina’s delicate hand comes to rest on top of Jonathan’s. Fifteen fingers and three palms tangle together into something much less sweaty and awkward as a panicked Robert perceives.
“W-what is it?”
Jonathan and Erina crowd in on either side of him, and it’s warm. Too warm? No, not too bad. Cozy. Comfortable. Robert could get used to this.
He snaps himself out of whatever reverie he’s begun to lose himself in.
Erina settles gently into Robert’s side, though it’s Jonathan who continues to speak. “We’d like you to be our best man beyond the wedding, too. Our, well, ‘man.’” Jonathan laughs, and the hearty sound rumbles against Robert’s ribs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make a joke of something so serious!”
Robert can’t place the last time he’s felt so daft. The pause betrays his confusion.
“We’re asking, Robert,” Erina begins quite intentionally, with a sly little glance towards Jonathan that both teases and chastises him at once, “If you will be a part of our lives after the ceremony as well.”
Her clarification means little. Robert’s mind curls so tightly into confusion and shock that he can process nothing more than the most basic of sentiments.
Jonathan and Erina laugh in unison—could there be a more perfect couple? Then, they turn to Robert, flanking him on both sides, and press their lips gently against each of his stubbled cheeks.
“We like you, silly.” They speak the confession nearly in unison, and Robert feels as if he might faint.
A warm ale’s buzz is nothing compared to the way he feels now, nearly vibrating from his seat as his ears ring so loudly that he’s worried they’ve stayed past final call.
“I-I like the both o’ ya, too.”
The answer seems positively asinine given the circumstances, but it’s all Robert can manage.
Luckily, it’s enough, and this Sunday is only the first of many, many more to come.