Chapter Text
You first met Dio Brando when you were eleven years old.
It never occured to you then how significant he would be throughout the course of your life, how he slowly invaded your world, and how unrelenting he was in keeping you close with him.
Just with him.
Back then, you were too young, too naive, to realize the implications of your actions. You suppose nobody could be blamed if they had been in your shoes, after all, you hoped that many would have done the same. It was a cold night, he was huddled in the alleyway, golden hair a stark contrast to the filth and debris that laid around him, and you had too much of a bleeding heart to just leave him be.
You supposed now that this was your fatal flaw, your achilles’ heel: too much love and care for a man whose own love for yourself was–
Twisted.
Dark.
Obsessed.
And horrifyingly endless.
You’ve tried not to dwell on the past too much; it’s painful, and it’s unfair to invite it into the life you were slowly and carefully able to rebuild. It’s not fair for your husband, your children, or yourself to get lost in dreams and nightmares that should be buried as deep in the earth as he hopefully is. But there’ve been moments when you catch that familiar scent of roses, pass by dark alleyways, or even have a glimpse of the raging waves of the ocean that you think about what happened, and how it all started.
Your mother had asked you to fetch the chalkboard that was standing outside of the store. You simply nodded at her request, gently pushing open the front door. The biting wind greeted you and you pressed your shawl closer around your shoulders, savouring its soft material and the sparse warmth it provided.
The wind slammed the door shut behind you, the rusting bell above it rang ominously, and you squeaked, jumping about a meter into the air. You shivered, hands clutched firmly on the edge of your shawl, and scurried over to where the chalkboard was.
It was hard to keep the shawl wrapped around your shoulders while the merciless wind attempted to tear it away, and you needed both hands to carry the board, so you took your shawl off and tucked it under your arm. As you turned to reach for the board, your eyes caught sight of a boy.
He was sitting down in the darkness, his back against the alleyway wall that was adjacent to your family’s store. He seemed to be about your age, but his scowl and furrowed eyebrows betrayed any sign of youth and childishness in him. He was glaring intently at the cobblestone ground, and as if he could sense your curious eyes on him, he snapped his head up.
Amber eyes narrowed and his scowl twisted even deeper. You whipped your head around and fumbled your way back inside.
Your mother had dimmed the lamps and gone upstairs, leaving the room to be veiled by cold shadows. The golden glow from the street lamps outside bled through the large singular window, and from the corner of your eye you could see that boy still crouched down in the alley. You couldn’t see his face anymore, as his head was lowered closer to the ground from before, his blonde locks and soiled clothing the only things you could make out from his form.
Your heart sunk as you remembered how frigid and unforgiving the air was, and you were only out there for a few moments! How long had he been sitting there, shrouded in shadows and as still as a statue? His measly clothing, a simple shirt and a pair of pants, both appearing to have had seen better days, were no match for the ruthless weather raging outside.
The footsteps and murmurs of your mother and older sister from the floor above tore you out of your thoughts. You slowly pulled your eyes away from the boy, prepared to ascend up the stairs, when the feeling of softness pressed between your arm and your ribs: your shawl!
You gathered the familiar red fabric into your arms and your heart stuttered uneasily at the idea that started to form in your mind. Your mother would be furious if she discovered you had given your shawl, one of your best pieces of clothing, away to a complete stranger. Afterall, it was not exactly a cheap find; she had bargained endlessly with the shopkeeper in order to get the shawl at a price that was affordable. But the memory of the harsh wind, and that boy’s pitiful form as he sat on the stoney pavement, induced you to turn around and open the door.
You held onto the handle with a tight grip as the wind yet again tried to slam the door shut. You didn’t want the loud noise it would create to have your mother and sister to come rushing down the stairs to see what you were up to. Slowly easing the door closed, you turned on your heel, shawl pressing against your chest.
A single step from your shoe was all it took for the boy to whip his head up again, and this time he shot you an even colder glare, somehow making eyes the color of the burning sun as cold as an arctic winter.
You froze, heart swiftly pounding in your chest, and resisted the urge to scurry back inside. You resumed your journey but found your gaze shifting towards the crimson bricks of the wall behind him instead of on his face; you could still sense his eyes locked on yours.
You felt like you were approaching a wild animal; though not the tiny mice under your stairs that trembled when you tried to offer them scraps of bread, but an alley cat, or even a bird of prey, with striking eyes that glowed in the darkness and stared at you with an unreadable yet unnerving expression on its face.
You’re about two metres away when you deemed it to be a close enough yet safe distance to have between you two. Somehow, his stare became even more chilling. You were hovering above his crouched form, yet you felt so tiny under his gaze.
“Um...hello,” you greeted softly.
He gave no response. Neither verbally or did any shift in his unwavering eyes hinted at any reaction.
You cleared your throat awkwardly and nodded your head at the garment bundled in your arms.
“T-this is for you,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t need it, s-so you can have it...if you want.”
Silence passed between the two of you for what seemed like an eternity. The goosebumps dotting your skin from the freezing cold and his equally chilling glare made you consider giving up and turning away, but the idea was shattered when he finally spoke:
“Do I look like a street urchin to you?”
You blinked, shocked at his scathing words.
“W-what?” was all that you could muster out. Your heart skipped and your stomach churned at the possible implication that you had somehow deeply insulted him with your offer. You truly did not have any ill intent towards him!
“I’m sorry I just thought–”
“I don’t need your pity, you stupid girl!” He stood up so fast that you stumbled over your feet to create space between the two of you. “And I don’t want whatever leftovers you want to give me!”
You could feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes as you stared, transfixed and frightened, at the fuming boy. Shock, embarrassment, and even fear swirled through your mind and coursed through your frozen blood. Why was he reacting in such an intense way? Perhaps you did unknowingly step on a nerve! This was a mistake. You should have never come out here and approached him. You should have locked up the store as was expected of you, slipped on your nightgown, and rested your head on your pillow, slowly drifting off to sleep with no visage of cold furious eyes to haunt your dreams.
The boy scoffed when your tears, to your everlasting dismay, started to stream down your cheeks and he turned around, stuffing his fists into his pockets. He remained in that position, glaring off into the distance with his tense back turned towards you.
The two of you remained that way for a long moment: a boy, with his golden hair and his equally golden pride, glaring fiercely at the streets of London, and a girl, cowering behind him, shakily wiping away the tears staining her red cheeks.
You attempted to compose yourself, begging your heart to cease its unsettling pounding and clutching your shawl tighter towards your stomach to stave off the chill that crawled up your spine. He wasn’t making a move and neither were you. You knew that you just couldn’t stand there for the rest of the night, but you found it difficult to turn away.
There comes a time in your life when you make a decision. During the moment, it’s seemingly insignificant; a simple path you chose to tread upon out of all the others you could have possibly chosen. But this path, basked by the warmth of the sun and lined with sweet flowers, misled you into believing there would be no consequences, that it would be an easy journey. You’d leisurely walk down that path, distracted by the beautiful flora and endless expanse of the sky, not realizing you were being led to a steep cliff, where you would be pushed off by a pair of familiar hands, and you’d fall, fall, fall down into an endless void of darkness.
But right now, you were not thinking about falling. You’re thinking about him , and how you’re heart had ached at the thought of him spending the rest of the night in a cold and lonely alleyway, how he had scorned your innocent offer, and how you were foolishly still standing there after he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you.
Rationality urged you to leave, but compassion urged you to stay. The freezing cold wind tempted you into escaping back into the warmth of your home, but the presence of another person, someone like you , someone who was clearly cold and alone and lost, was what caused you to slowly set the shawl down on a clean patch of the ground.
You stood back up, already mourning the loss of its gentle softness and warmth, and cleared your throat awkwardly.
“Um…” You prayed that he could hear you over the fierce howl of the wind. “I’ll just leave it here...in case you do want it.”
He didn’t turn around, but you did, scampering back into the store, drawing the curtains on the window closed and locking the door like you did every night, and ascending up the stairs.
Your mother greeted you at the top, a stern expression on her weathered face.
“What took you so long?” she asked. She scrutinized the empty space around your shoulders. “And what happened to your shawl?”
Head lowered, you mumbled something about how “the wind blew it away” and after a hefty scolding from your mother she wished you a good night and headed to her bedroom.
You slowly crept into the one you shared with your sister, gently closing the door and making your way in the darkness towards your bed. Changing into your nightgown, you quietly slipped under the covers, joining her for another night of a peaceful sleep.
But you found it hard to leave the land of consciousness. Your mind constantly replayed that strange encounter you had and your heart continued to beat as if it would burst out of your chest.
Despite his stony glares and venomous words, despite the fact that he had reduced you to tears, you just couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be alright, if your measly shawl would provide enough warmth and comfort to last throughout London’s unforgiving autumn nights. The slums of London, as frail as they were, could be deadly if you were caught out there on your lonesome, so you silently hoped that he’d steer far away from its more hazardous areas, and that he’d find a safe place to sleep tonight. Hearing the soft snores of your sister beside you, you implored yourself to cease your endless thoughts and worries about this strange boy, and you curled up further in bed, finally feeling the effects of sleep as your eyes started to droop. As you were beckoned to let yourself rest after a long day and a bizarre encounter, your mind grew light and hazy, but the image of eyes, flickering between gold and crimson, and one single thought slipped through your weary head before you passed out.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again...