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There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
Johnny Joestar knows one of them, as he holds Danny in his hands out in the forest and tells him to escape. The white mouse squeaks, if almost in gratitude, and scampers away. He watches the creature as he finds a new life in the forest. Johnny misses him already, but it is for the best - he knows that.
He returns to the dinner table, and tells a lie for Danny, the deception itself an act of love. He remembers a story from a book his mother had bought him - he is the Huntsman, pretending to kill something innocent to appease the evil monarch. Knowing he has at least protected Danny makes Johnny very happy.
(But when he sees Nicholas on the horse, startled by a white mouse! The horse rearing, and Nick falling, falling, he thinks something else - he wonders if what he did was right. To save one life, and snatch away another.
And from then on, he doesn’t say I love you ever again.)
---
There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
No one uses any of them to speak to rising star Johnny Joestar, though. Everyone falls over him with the fanciest, schmanciest words, the brightest jewels and the hottest girls to catch his eye.
They do, but it’s only jealousy dressed up as admiration. None of the other jockeys, sponsors or team managers love him, especially not the girls who he sees for one night and never again. It’s mutual pleasure, it's lust for each other's bodies, but it's never love.
Johnny knows it's not love, but love is for losers who need stability and comfort and someone to always run back to anyway. Johnny can handle himself. There’ll always be someone chasing after him, as he chases the finish line and the sparkling stars. Everyone falls over him, but he’s still never enough, so he keeps racing, whipping his horse and clenching his jaw tight. Riding is all he has. It’s all he needs. And, he wouldn’t mind a hot girl now and again.
That is, until, when his hubris finally reaches up to him and squeezes him tight, and takes it all away from him.
---
There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
One of them would’ve been to care for Johnny Joestar as he laid, half-naked, on dingy sheets in the middle of a hospital with flickering light bulbs.
The old Johnny Joestar was dead. The new one squirmed in a rickety bed, eyes too tired to cry, waiting for someone, anyone. Helpless, like a baby.
But nobody comes.
They slithered towards him like ants to honey when he was rich, famous, and had it all, and now he has nothing, nothing, and they all ran away like the shot of a starter gun had sounded.
(A shot of a gun had sounded, just the wrong one).
Johnny opens his eyes and thinks he sees Nicholas hovering over his bed, and for a second he wonders if he is dead. The next thought that comes is he wishes he was.
Then it all rushes back to him, thoughts flowing like salt water in his wounds, and Johnny Joestar cries for the first time in a long while. He once had everything, but now he has nothing, nothing, nothing. Nobody to love him and nobody to love either.
It hurts, it hurts, the firey pain in his back, the numbness below, and the dull ache that sits like a lead weight on his chest. The tears keep coming and he’s sobbing until the tears flow off the sides of his face and onto his chest. Thank God no one else is in the hospital ward.
He just wants to hear those three words. He just wants someone to whisper them into his ear just so he knows.
The room is silent, and Johnny Joestar is all alone.
He goes to watch the start of the Steel Ball Run. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe he wants to feel something like from the old days, the adrenaline pumping through him as each jockey waited for the shot of the starter gun to kick off. Maybe he wants to feel anything at all.
His fingers clench white around the metal spokes of his wheelchair. His cell bars. He hates having to sit there, basically useless.
He once loved his horse that he rode. He loved the rush of feelings he got as a racing jockey, blood pumping through his whole body as he went faster and faster. He loved the adrenaline coursing through his body during photo finishes. He loved the thrill of it all.
The racers move around, preparing for the start. The crowds surround the famous ones, the exciting ones, and the wildcards. Theres gasps of awe and excitement as Diego Brando parades around his horse, as the automobile is being given a test drive. Johnny’s so caught up in it all that he doesn’t even notice at first when someone brushes past him.
Hey! he wants to yell because he keeps getting sidelined, he keeps getting ignored and pushed to the side since the incident, and he’s sick and tired of it; but he shuts up when he feels something.
He feels something. Below his spine. In his legs. He hasn’t for three years.
His legs move. It’s a twitch and he didn’t control them, but they moved.
Hey! he does yell at the man who passed him by, and the guy looks at him, eyes wide and green, and grins - his gold teeth gleaming in the desert sun.
It’s the first time someone’s smiled at Johnny in a very long time.
---
There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
Johnny didn’t mean to yell at Gyro about how the reason he lost was because he never had to struggle for anything in his life before, because he was so privileged, because he didn’t want it enough. But he did, he shouted those words right out and watched the other man’s face fall.
There’s silence, like the world had stopped, the cold of the desert night drawing closer and enveloping them both.
Why did he do that? It wasn’t like he himself was really in a position to tell anyone anything about how they should be acting. Hell, Gyro could’ve spit his words right back at him, argue that the reason Johnny’s legs still didn’t properly work was because he didn’t want it enough.
He’s going to get abandoned again. He can feel it in his bones, the way Gyro seemed to be bringing himself up to say something. Johnny bites the inside of the cheek and waits for the fateful blow to strike, or for Gyro to just turn around and leave Johnny in some no-name town in the middle of the desert.
For a few more seconds, nothing moves, until Gyro lets out a long sigh.
“Okay. Sorry. Let’s get going.”
Johnny’s stunned into silence, and he can only crawl back to his horse and follow Gyro as Valkeryie trots along. It was like Gyro actually, really, valued what he had to say.
But that wasn’t it, right? Johnny and Gyro were just a team. Racing together. Giving each other support and carrying supplies. Two people would always be better than one in the dangerous conditions of the race, filled with stand users and environmental hazards. It was for safety and efficiency, not any sort of emotional bond. After the race ended, the two would part, never to see each other again.
Still, as Johnny holds on to Slow Dancer’s mane, it feels good to be racing together after all.
---
There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
Johnny knows that he’s prone to bouts of silence. Everyone around him also quickly learns the same and eventually stop trying to talk to him. He’s long convinced himself he prefers it that way.
Yet, whenever he’s in one of his moods or tantrums, Gyro keeps on chattering on to him about the most inane thing Johnny could ever imagine. He thought it would be annoying. But it’s not. Its rather like the drone of a radio in the background, reminding him that no matter where he travels, the world’s still there, and there’ll always be someone who wants to talk to him.
As he watches Gyro sing his insane tune: pizza mozzarella, pizza mozzarella, rella rella rella, Johnny thinks. The notes are clunky, Gyro’s slightly out of tune (if there even was a tune in the first place) and the lyrics are two words.
But when Gyro asks if he wants to hear the second verse, his answer is a Yes. After all, riding with human chatter in the background is better than suffocating, stifling silence for miles and miles of flat yellow land. He lets Gyro sing to his heart’s content, and it feels nice. It feels normal. It feels like it’s where he’s meant to be.
---
There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
Gyro breaks out Lesson 4, to tell Johnny that he can only say I can’t so many times, to the point where Johnny almost cries.
It’s hopeless. It has to be. He surely can’t beat Norisuke - he’s just some stupid cripple who cries at every opportunity, who can’t even get anywhere himself.
But Gyro believes - believes so deeply that Johnny can, that Johnny will, even as Norisuke falls to Soundman’s blade and Gyro falls unconscious in the whirlpool that he gets it. He sees the golden rectangle form itself in his mind and understands what it all means.
And he pulls through, shooting down Soundman to his very last nail, finally slicing through his throat, and he breathes out a sigh of momentary relief.
Because for once since he was shot and left to rot, someone cares about helping him again.
They drift down the river, healed, all and no thanks to Hot Pants. Johnny pulls the larger man out of the river and they spend several minutes lying there on the bank, gulping down air and panting. Even though they’re back to nearly square one, they’ve made it.
For the first time since the start of his new life, Johnny breathes in with his whole chest, and he feels happy to be alive.
---
There are fifteen million ways to say I love you.
Sugar Mountain’s offerings weren’t gifts, but curses. They both should have known that nothing good would’ve been free, especially not in this race. The sun is going down fast, and Gyro’s skin is being gnarled and twisted into bark. Johnny, by some divine intervention, is saved.
He sits there in the snow, blizzard falling around him, the numb ghost ache in his legs ever apparent in this moment, clutching the Corpse Parts close to him. Gyro is screaming out his name, voice vanishing into the howling winds. Johnny wants to look away, to hold the Corpse Parts and to pray for something to happen. For someone else to save Gyro like they spared him. For God above to answer his prayers. But Johnny can’t look away, and no one is going to save them, and Gyro twists ever closer into branches and twigs. He is alone.
In that moment, Johnny feels his heart go ice cold.
He’s so close to everything he ever wanted, but he can’t. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. It’d be like those first few horrible days after the incident, when he had lost everything near and dear to him. He’s only barely clawed it back.
Gyro is only a couple of feet away. And yet there’s an insurmountable distance between them, like reality is tearing itself apart just to keep them further and further away from each other. Gyro reaches out, his arm already half wooden, and he grasps at nothing. Johnny’s free. He’s innocent, his hands are washed of any crime. He could just crawl away and never look back.
In his mind he’s trying to reason with himself, tell himself this is for the best, that he needs to be selfish to survive, that no one else has ever, ever looked out for him. And his mind is screaming back at him, telling that that’s a lie, that he’s had one person there for him all along, and his heart is in his hands at this very second.
So he gives it all up, gives his last chance away for Gyro. He hands salvation away for a cheap bottle of sour wine, straight into the hands of his enemy. Johnny wishes so hard, wishes with his face to the heavens that he’d never met Sugar Mountain, never been tempted by the easy riches that she offered. But somewhere, on a trail long passed, she’s free, and Johnny and Gyro can’t go back.
Gyro’s skin contorts back into something normal and he’s released from his bonds, collapsing next to Johnny in the snow. There’s a few seconds of silence before Johnny cries, tears streaming down his face and blubbering like a baby. Gyro says nothing, and holds him instead, as the ball has fallen on the right side of the tennis court, two bodies pressed together like they’re each other's tethers to humanity. Johnny Joestar told himself he wouldn’t ever say I love you after Nicholas died, but he just did.
They don’t talk about Sugar Mountain ever again. But sometimes the day will stretch on, and they will trek on their horses, Gyro eyeing Johnny, and they’ll both know.
They both know the things unsaid.
---
There are 15 million ways to say I love you.
“We should tell each other a secret.”
It’s like he’s that teen jockey again, listening to the stupid gossip shit that everyone used to say about everyone else, playing truth or dare or something.
“Why?”
Gyro smirks. “Well, if one of us dies, then at least the other one will be assured that they can never tell anyone.”
”And if both of us die?”
“Well, then we’d be doubly sure, wouldn’t we?”
Johnny doesn’t want to think about them dying. They’ve come so far already. There’s only one more stage, one more sprint ahead of them in the race. But there’s still one more enemy to defeat.
“Fine.” He pulls himself apart for Gyro, as they play another silly game. Tells him a secret he’s never told anyone before, the stupidest, most embarrassing thing about him. It tears him apart, but it also feels like a relief - he wouldn’t rather anyone else knowing. Gyro actually told him something important, and Johnny’s secret almost pales in comparison. But hey, at least someone knows, right? He’s surprised Gyro didn’t immediately start teasing him.
“My real name is Julius Caesar Zeppeli. At least, that’s the name I was born with.”
The way Gyro pronounces the words makes Johnny think that it’s something he rarely, if ever, says. Either way, he’s glad he knows.
“It’s a nice name.” The comfort sounds weak, but at least he’s trying. Gyro smiles.
“Maybe. But ‘Gyro’ is a lot easier for the ladies to moan out.”
Johnny chuckles. It’s funny, - not the joke, rather because he’s pretty sure a couple months ago he would have gotten annoyed or made some mean comment. But that line is so Gyro, whose golden grills gleam at Johnny’s reaction to his joke.
“Besides, isn’t it better for you to choose your own name? At least then, you can choose who you want to be.”
Johnny considers that statement. “I guess you could see it that way. But I like ‘Johnny’. It’s alright. If I really had to change something, I’d change my surname. It feels like there’s a curse over my bloodline or something.”
“Why’s that?” Gyro tilts his head, hat flopping over to one side.
“Well, you know how I ended up. And besides that…” His mind circles back to Nicholas, to Danny, to his father.
God took the wrong son.
“I dunno.” Johnny tries to say dismissively. “Shit’s happened.”
“Nyo-ho, another secret?”
“Naw, you gotta tell me one first. Fair trade.”
Gyro tilts his head back the other way. “But you already know everything about me. I’ve been rambling to you for months on end now. There’s not much else to say.”
“Fine, then when you come up with something else interesting, you can tell me.” Johnny has never told anyone else about Nicholas, the white mouse, how he never killed Danny and killed his brother instead. He tries not to let his mind swirl into dark thoughts about the last few years. He’s somewhere happy now - he wishes the race could continue forever, and he and Gyro could continue riding under the sun and stars without end.
But this is the last lap, and he knows he has to end it somehow. He only hopes Gyro will stay by his side forever.
When he opens his eyes again, Gyro is happily humming.
“What is it now? Another new song?”
“Well, maybe.” Gyro grins. “Joe-knee Joestar, Joe-knee Joestar.”
“Why the fuck are you saying my name so weirdly?”
“It’s a nice name. Rolls on your tongue. Joe-knee Joestar…”
“It’s off your tongue, idiot.”
“English is a stupid language. You’re using your tongue to say it, so why would it be going off your tongue?”
And they’re back to bickering, as they always do.
---
There are 15 million ways to say I love you.
And then Valentine is there. Flipping in and out, changing selves like he’s changing clothes. He dances from one universe to another, pulling in other versions of himself, swapping partners.
It happens too fast, like it hasn’t happened at all. One second Gyro’s on Valkyrie, head raised high, this green thingzipping around him, and the next he isn’t. Only a splash tells Johnny where he’s fallen. He’s been lost to the waves, blood seeping into salt and pain.
For a single second Johnny thinks that Gyro isn’t dead. How could he be? They had both been invincible so far, against all odds and enemies. It doesn’t seem real. The crashing waves, the smell of sea salt stinging his face, it has to be a dream.
Gyro can’t be dead. Gyro has always been the stronger one of the two, the one who’s mastered Spin, the one who got them out of most of the sticky situations they got in. Gyro was always the one who was meant to live. Not Johnny. It was never Johnny; not with Nicholas, and not now. Gyro wasn’t meant to die.
But he has, and there's no turning back. Valentine lowers his revolver, smoke rising and dissipating into the heat. There’s complete silence; the crash of the waves and whip of the wind disappearing into the background.
Once again, Johnny’s life has been ended with the single shot of a gun.
And something inside him ignites. Something begins to burn. Unlike Sugar Mountain, where he sat there almost helplessly watching Gyro be consumed by the branches, now he can do something. The rage inside him shoots up, and then solidifies into solid, unflinching, ruthlessness.
The spin cuts through Valentine, ripping him into multidimensional ribbons. His scream cuts through the air and whipping wind, as he desperately tries to escape his fate, but Johnny doesn’t stop. He keeps on shooting and shooting until he’s got no more nails to shoot, until Tusk manifests and takes over as the release of his anger and pain.
Gyro’s gone.
So when Valentine pleads, Johnny listens. He listens to someone else pleading for the first time in his goddamn life, because for the first time in a long time, he’s in power; and someone else has something (or someone) he wants. He wants to believe.
He listens, and his heart tears itself apart imagining the life he could have had. If they had both just finished the race together, even if they hadn’t found all the parts of Jesus, even if Johnny hadn’t got his legs back, even if he couldn’t master Spin, he would have found someone he could have lived for.
Wasn’t that worth it?
Johnny doesn’t understand. Valentine could have won if he had just given him back Gyro - fuck the Johnny from the other universe, this Johnny wanted Gyro now. But Valentine had to try to break his end of the bargain, try to win it all by killing Johnny too. But what would the president have to lose from pulling another Gyro out of nowhere? - the pair would have vanished, and Valentine could have had his corpse. Johnny didn’t have to walk anymore, all he wanted was Gyro. All he wanted was the man who’d said I love you to him a thousand times over.
As he sits there, watching Valentine compress and twist from the force of the spin, there’s a whisper in his ear.
“See ya, Johnny.”
Yes, Johnny thinks, I’ll see you soon.
He takes the final shot, and it slices clean through Valentine’s skull, and the president vanishes, crushed under the dirt and the collapsing, entangled dimensions.
And then there’s nothing. Silence. Only him, Lucy, and the corpse lie on the beach. Valkeryie and Slow Dancer stand with their heads lowered, mourning the occasion.
Maybe it was almost relief that washed over him when Valentine tried to pull out a gun and shoot him. Maybe it was gratitude that at the end, he didn’t have to choose between Gyro and the fate of America - no, the world.
He wouldn’t have made the good choice. But he would have made the right choice - at least to him.
He sits there, in the sands of a lonely beach, and cries.
(I love you, I love you, I love you)
---
There are 15 million ways to say I love you.
Johnny thinks this as he stands on the ship, looking out into the sea. It’s a nice day, really; refreshing breeze, cool air, beautiful waves.
He’s bringing Gyro home.