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At eighteen, Diego thought he knew how to deal with loss. He had lost Five, one seemingly normal morning when they were thirteen. He had lost Ben, on a cold winter day the year before. He had lost his innocence, too, along the way. The chance to live a normal life. That was until the day he heard you’d left the city.
He knew things were not the same between you after both of you left the Academy - him, the day after Ben’s funeral, and you, the less impulsive of the two, a couple of months later. For two people who spent their whole lives together, it was sure strange to be apart. While he got busy studying to get into the Police Academy, you got a job at a record store, not too far from where you were living then. At that time, he made sure to visit you at work whenever he could, walk you home when your shift was over, make sure you were okay - as he always did.
Diego wasn’t surprised when you’d told him you had gotten a job selling records. You’d always loved music, smuggling longplays into the house and listening to them in Luther's room, the only place in the house where father wouldn’t suspect. He remembers hating seeing you spend time with Luther, even though there was no reason to be jealous, and going into his brother’s room anytime you were in there with an excuse for you to be with him instead.
The day he lost you for the first time was a day like any other. A late afternoon in the end of June found him going into your workplace, pushing past the front door, the small silver bell above it ringing, announcing his arrival. He waited for you to greet him, as was usual, with a warm smile and a hug. You would tell him his hugs were the best in the world, but Diego had to disagree - yours were better.
Among the aisles of stacked vinyl records, cassette tapes and cardboard boxes on the floor, you were nowhere to be found. The only person there was your boss, Daisy, an older lady who was certainly Woodstock material in her youth.
“Hey, Daisy. Where's Y/N?” Diego greeted her casually, after being scolded enough times about how “ma’am” sounded like he was talking to her grandmother. He would never argue, of course, he didn’t know much about grandmothers, anyway.
The woman looked at him with concealed bewilderment, tilting her head to the side, her long white hair tumbling across her shoulder. “You don’t know where she is?”
He shaked his head, signaling a no. Where else would you be?
“She quit. Hargreeves turned in her apartment yesterday. Left the city.” The older woman must have seen the confused look on his face, because she promptly justified it. “I thought she’d told her family. She told me she had, at least. I’m sorry, Diego.”
His first instinct was to ask if you’d told her where you went, she said you didn’t and apologized again. Not that he was listening to anything after he heard the words “left the city”. His heart shrunk inside his chest, suddenly it became hard to breathe. That whole conversation made him dizzy. Why would you leave? Why would you leave without telling him? Why would you leave him?
Leaving the store was a blur. His feet carried him while his mind raced. He could not help but wonder if you were planning it all this time and never told him, or if something happened and you had to leave in a hurry. If that was the case, were you alright? Hurt? Worse, dead?
By the time he got to the Umbrella Academy’s front steps, his legs were shaking.
Panting, he found his mom in the kitchen, calmly putting away the dishes. Grace’s presence was always calming, practically floating around the room in her light blue dress.
“Mom?” He called.
“Hello, Diego, dear.” The endearment made his heart slow for only a second, the way only a mother’s voice could. A smile painted her red lips. “What brings you home?”
“Did you… did you hear from Y/N? Today, yesterday? Lately?” He tried not to sound too desperate, but holding onto hope was the only thing keeping him from crying.
“Oh, honey, Y/N is in San Francisco, apparently. We received a letter two days ago addressed to your father, letting us know where she was going. He didn’t have the time to read, but Pogo did, this morning. She said she’s good, not to worry about her. You know how she always wanted to see the world, don’t you?”
He didn’t have the time to read it. Of course he didn’t.
Diego wanted to feel angry. He wanted to find you and ask you what the fuck were you thinking, leaving everything behind like this. What were going to do on the other side of the country? Instead, all he felt was empty. Like someone cut out his heart out and left him to bleed out while it beat outside of his chest.
“S-she… S-she didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe she was just busy. I’m sure she’ll be home in no time! You won’t even have the time to miss her, silly.”
He wouldn’t expect Grace to know that he was already missing you - but he was.
“Will you, or Pogo, let me know if she calls? If she says anything at all?”
“Of course, dear.”
Diego could only stare at his mother while she returned to the task at hand. He wanted to believe her, that you would be back soon and this would be all a great misunderstanding. A story to tell. Little did he know, he would have to wait a little longer. Give or take twelve years.
He would also have to learn how to be without you. How to not have you to back him up against dad, against Luther, against the world. How to not have his best friend. There was never Two without Eight, even before you had proper, given names. Never one without the other, as if you had always been one.
It never stopped hurting, but he never stopped waiting.