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In some universes, their story ends in tragedy. In others, fate allows them to be together. In all, they find each other when they’re not even looking…
…
“Together?”
The strange Italian fellow adjusts his wide-brimmed hat and flashes a golden grin. “Better chance of winning,” he says. “I come first, you come second. And I can teach you the secrets of the spin.”
Johnny takes only a moment to consider. “Gyro Zeppeli, you have yourself a deal,” he says, leaning across and firmly shaking the other man’s hand.
…
The universes rotate. They spin around each other, caught in an eternal cosmic dance, each with a new rhythm, new beat, new lyrics…
…
The metallic jingle of a pouch filled with coins hits the table.
“I bet you all the gold I found in that last dungeon you can’t eat this entire rock,” Gyro says plonking a fist-sized stone onto the table beside the coins.
Johnny snorts as Diego’s yellow eyes narrow upon the offending rock.
“You’re challenging me,” the dragonborn remarks. “You’re going to lose.”
“Eat the rock,” Gyro says.
“Johnny, don’t you think this is a stupid request?” Diego asks.
“This morning you were bragging about how you used to eat rocks for breakfast,” Johnny says. “And then you didn’t even show us. Eat the rock.”
Diego frowns and glances over to their last party member. “Hot Pants…?” he begins.
The cleric seems one hundred leagues away, spellbound in a book recovered earlier in the day. However… “Eat the rock, Brando,” she commands.
Diego glances from one end of the table to the other as they begin chanting a mantra of ‘eat the rock!’, and realises there’s no going back.
Hours later on the dark side of dawn, Johnny lays unable to sleep but pretending.
Gyro might be a sorcerer, but he sure plays a mean lute. Even when he’s just strumming lightly. Moonlight reflects, bringing out the human in his elf-features. Johnny’s only known him two weeks, but has suspected as much. His breathing evens as the lute luls him to sleep.
…
There are worlds where they’ve known each other all their lives. There are worlds in which their paths don’t cross before their youths are long behind them. Sometimes they fall hard and fast, others as gradual as the wearing of a mountain.
…
Space is lonely. That’s just an objective fact; the vast majority of all existence is so huge, so empty, such a vacant expanse of space, that we call it just that. Space. Johnny has always found not terror, but comfort in the loneliness of the universe.
But it doesn’t feel so lonely when confined to a 2x4 escape pod in the company of an infamous galactic outlaw, having somehow managed to team up to escape from the most notorious prison this side of the galaxy. Johnny hasn’t made any plans beyond this, and it’s been two days and counting.
“Hey Johnny,” Gyro says, across from him.
“Hm?”
He’s more obnoxious than the reports ever suggested (though one did mention the singing), and Johnny feels it’s only a matter of time before the other man’s antics drive him to voluntarily eject himself into the vacuum of space.
“What did one fugitive say to the other after blasting through space two days and then finally coming across a planet.”
“What?” Johnny asks.
Gyro winks in response. “This.”
Johnny glances out the window to see that sure enough, a habitable planet has emerged. He involuntarily exhales into a smile. Space is not so lonely anymore, but Johnny thinks maybe he could get used to it.
He'll need to; he and this infamous galactic outlaw are soon-to-be inseparable.
…
Different planets, kingdoms, languages, ideologies, classes, allegiances… Messages in bottles, misplaced laundry, airports, roadhouses at 3am, accidentally stealing the same car…
…
Shockingly, being a doctor doesn’t immunize him from sickness any more than being a funeral director makes one incapable of death. And he just might sooner accept the cold embrace of death than this.
Gyro coughs and shockwaves of pain ripple through the rest of his body. His lungs are on the verge of tearing, razors are sawing from the inside of his throat, his stomach doesn’t know which way is up, and he’s shivering even though he knows he’s burning like a furnace.
A cool cloth is draped across his forehead, and Gyro opens his eyes.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Johnny says to him in his broad Kentucky accent. “You’re gonna shut up, and you’re gonna let me take care of you.”
“I need to go to work,” Gyro tries to argue. It’s a weak protest.
“You need to learn when to put yourself first,” says Johnny. “Not doing so is what got you sick to begin with. So right now, you need to put yourself first.”
Arguing is pointless. If Gyro knows anything about his husband, it’s that he’s stubborn. Gyro allows his eyes to shut and gives in to sleep. Johnny’s always taken care of him after all, more than he gives himself credit.
…
No matter what, they find each other.
…
Johnny’s eyes sting and his chest hurts.
“Please tell me you remember,” he begs.
Gyro stares back at him as though looking at a stranger. “I don’t know who you are,” he says, in a voice so familiar, but so full of mistrust.
“Johnny, we have to get out of here,” says the man with his same name, but different face, different build, different everything else.
Johnny wants to stay with Gyro, but he knows Jonathan’s right. Tears run down his cheeks and he begins to sob, as Jonathan hoists him over one of his tree branch shoulders and begins to run from enemy territory before they can be outnumbered.
It feels so wrong to leave Gyro here. But Johnny will come back for him, he promises.
Gyro will remember him one day, but it will take time. And Johnny will fight for that day until it comes.
…
The universes rotate in their infinite dance. Very rarely, they overlap. Sometimes there’s a second chance.
…
He hadn’t meant to stowaway. Gyro Zeppeli is an honest man, who’s just gotten on the wrong ship.
“This is all a misunderstanding,” he rehearses from his place in the holding cell. “Your ship was in the harbour. I assumed it was the one I was meant to be on, so I climbed aboard, found a nice corner below deck, promptly fell asleep, and wasn’t discovered until you were far out at sea. If anything, you should really do something about your security system, Captain sir.”
“What’d you say about my security?”
Gyro freezes up and wheels around, to see that none other than the fearsome pirate Captain Joestar in his midst.
He’s smaller than Gyro expected based on illustrations and reports, and younger. Younger than himself, by the look. But those eyes… that dark determination looks just the way he expected.
Gyro explains the situation at hand.
“Fine.”
He has no idea how or why the Captain believes him.
“We’re not heading back to port over your stupid mistake, but I’ll let you off at the next one if you pull your weight around here.”
He hadn’t meant to stowaway, and he hadn’t expected to be let off so lightly. Nor does he expect to save a crew member the following day from illness, nor to banter with the Captain about a dumb opera they’ve both seen, nor does he expect to decline permanently disembarking at the next port a few days later as originally planned.
“I’ll disembark at the next one,” he says.
He doesn’t expect to say this again and again (at least at first). He doesn’t expect he’ll dive into the ocean to rescue his captain (whom he now just calls ‘Johnny’) after he’s knocked overboard in an enemy attack, he doesn’t expect Johnny to remain by him and support him when his past inevitably catches up, nor to lay awake with Johnny deep into the night in the captains’ quarters as they both whisper their secrets to each other. He doesn’t expect Johnny’s body to be as smooth, firm, and warm as it is. He doesn’t expect to take a bullet for Johnny, but he has no regrets in doing so.
…
No one ever expects to fall in love. Even when they’ve done it a thousand times already.
…
They move in the quietness of the night, Johnny’s feet atop Gyro’s as the Neapolitan man slowly waltzes them across the ground. They’ve been swept away in this effortless dance for a while now, and Johnny’s eyelids grow heavy with Gyro’s soft humming. He tightens his arms around Gyro’s middle and feels the pull of Gyro’s embrace deepening, his chin resting atop Johnny’s head. Eventually they stop and simply stand together, breathing with the universe.
They’re several feet from the camp. Gyro positions one arm across Johnny’s shoulders and bends down, hooking the other beneath his knees, and lifts him into his arms. Johnny’s eyes are transfixed on Gyro’s, and he knows that even if he were to live a thousand lifetimes, he’d never find the words to describe exactly how he feels. So he cups Gyro’s face with one hand, allowing his fingers to brush against his strange beard pattern and places his other hand on Gyro’s shoulder. When their lips meet, it’s chaste at first, but the kiss deepens as Johnny drapes both his arms around Gyro’s shoulders.
Eventually, they part. Gyro walks back to their campsite and sits by the fire, lowering Johnny into his lap.
They spend the rest of the night surrounded by each other’s embrace.
…
And they will do so again, a thousand lifetimes more.