Chapter Text
His mother taught him the beauty of language. “There are so many ways you can communicate with other people, Dio. You can speak with them without even using a single word,” she told him once with a smile he always loved (the smile that didn’t try to mask her exhaustion, the smile that didn’t try to hide anything).
“By writing a letter?” he asked.
His mother hummed softly. “You can do that or you can speak through flowers,” she said. “Flowers have their own language. It can differ depending on the type of flowers, its color, and even the number of flowers given to said person.”
“Oh! Like how people give red roses to someone they love? Or how four-leaf clovers mean good luck?”
“Correct,” she said and ruffled his hair, making him beam and snuggle closer to the only woman he (ever) loved. “However, the same flower can sometimes mean different things in other countries and cultures, almost the opposite even. My grandmother gave me this dictionary of the flower language. Do you have any flower in your mind, dear?”
Dio thought very hard before he turned to his mother with a grin on his face, “Your favorite flower! I want to know the meaning of your favorite flower, mother!”
The blinding light and the feel of something that was making him itchy woke him up with incoherent grumbles. Dio didn’t know how he was suddenly awake in the middle of a meadow but he did knew the combination of tall grasses and wind were responsible for the itchiness. He stood up, brushed his pants and jacket, and fixed his tie. He could say that the wind whispered in his ears, telling him where to go, softly nudging him to that direction by the not-so-subtle wind-blowing. However, Dio knew better. Those kind of things were the things that made up a fairy tale and this was not a fairy tale. He still followed the wind though.
Dio was only a little bit surprised when he saw a familiar face under a big tree in the middle of a vast flower field. He looked down at the sleeping boy who seemed so oblivious to everything (then again, he had always been so foolishly, infuriatingly, oblivious… Not that Dio was being obvious in the first place). He wanted to wake him up with a kick (numerous kicks), the burning anger inside his heart diminished the other feelings he might feel in that moment. The corner of his eyes caught something on the tree. It twisted his guts and his mouth suddenly tasted too bitter. He quickly averted his gaze, clenching his fists so tightly that he knew it would draw blood if his nails were sharp.
“What was this? Some kind of joke?!” Dio wanted to scream in frustration but looking back at the sleeping boy under him, he refrained from doing so.
“This is your second chance,” a voice inside him said (was it the wind? Or did he just simply start to lose his mind?) “Do what you always wanted to do. You have nothing to lose.”
Dio would gladly disagree with that, but after looking around him, he realized that he really had nothing to lose now. He just spared a quick glance at the sleeping boy before walking away.
There was a book about the language of flower in the Joestar’s library, exactly the same as the book his mother used to have, the same book his father burnt to keep them warm in winter. Of course, it lacked any personal touch (the name of his mother written on the first page, his own name scribbled quite messily underneath the neat cursive, the yellowed pages, the little notes scribbled on some of the pages) and it didn’t have any bookmarks slipped between the pages (like the pressed crocus he gave his mother for her birthday because it was her favorite flower and wasn’t that just ironic), but it was still the same book and he reread it again and again even though he had already long memorized the book from its first word to its last.
One day, he saw Jonathan read the book (because of course Jonathan always ruined everything) and Dio wanted to snarl and snatched the book away. But the book wasn't his and that book was also never his alone. Why would he want this book anyway?
“Because a fool like Jojo would never understand the language of flowers,” his mind supplied.
But the dark-haired boy did understand and Dio had seen it firsthand. The small flower bouquets he constantly gave to Erina. How the flowers arrangement were not the same every time, but there was always a single red rose in the bouquet. How the foolish boy and the annoying bitch used flowers as, what they must have thought, their secret codes. When Jonathan had mastered the language of flowers, Dio had wanted to tear the pages apart and burn the book.
It was as if this flower field had all the flowers in existence, but it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it? As Dio walked around, he noticed some flowers he never saw before. At least not in the books he had read. Then again, he was never really interested in botany. However, he did know that snowdrops wouldn’t bloom at the same time as sea asters, yet Dio just saw both flowers in full bloom. It was no wonder, really. If he had to convey his feelings through flowers, wouldn’t he need to be able to choose any flowers, no matter where and when they grew? He walked passed the yellow roses and the purple hyacinths, but he stopped at the deep pink diascia bed. He crouched to pick some up.
“Do you really feel sorry though? Do you really want his forgiveness?” a voice inside his mind asked.
He didn’t. He didn’t feel sorry for what he did because they were necessary. He didn’t doubt that he would be forgiven if he asked for one, because the sleeping boy was a fool with a heart that was too kind. The sleeping boy wasn’t that naïve, Dio would be the foolish one if he thought that, but he could be easily deceived. Dio just simply didn’t need any forgiveness because it didn’t mean anything to him. He had already tried to compromise with the other boy and the boy rejected him. The boy was given a choice and yet he still clung to his stupid moral. Everything that happened was the boy’s fault, not his. Yes, if anything, the boy should be the one who apologized to him. Yes, it was his place, groveling on the ground, begging for Dio to forgive him because Dio was the one that had been wronged, because Dio was the one that got hurt. Dio threw the diascias to the ground, gritting his teeth as he stepped on them, twisting his leg to dig them in. He spat on them before walking away.
Hanakotoba , the Japanese language of flowers that had existed for centuries and found itself its way into art. The way they arranged their flowers supposedly had much more thought and artistic value compared to how Victorians did it. Dio even heard that it wasn’t simply arranging the flowers into a pretty bouquet. Flowers and their meanings were interwoven with the Japanese way of life and that was probably why he was fascinated with it when he first heard about it. It promised more codes and didn’t his mother tell him that in a different culture the same flower could mean the opposite? Was he trying to be better than Jonathan? Oh please, he knew he would always be better than the buffoon. But wouldn’t it be such fun if Dio could tell him how much he hated him while the idiot thought Dio sincerely wanted to befriend him. The oaf wouldn’t even be able to call him a liar!
Sadly, despite the high interest in floriography among the Victorians (and one could even say that besides English, it was the second most spoken and used language in the country), publication of Japanese books about their language of flowers were unheard off. It didn’t mean they weren’t interested, they did. Who could resist the temptation to make their secret codes be harder and more fun to solve? There was simply no single books about it. Dio didn’t know whether there was no such book in Japan itself and the language was taught through spoken words or the British simply didn’t think it was interesting enough to bring back home.
Luckily, Dio also knew who to speak to and had the money to have a book about the language. Dio didn’t ask, maybe the writer compiled it themselves, maybe they smuggled it, Dio didn’t care. It delighted him when he found out just how different the meaning could be when he read the book and the lack of pictures could easily be overcome by a trip to the library. He read it from cover to cover every night, committed it to his memory, and locked the book inside a small chest that he placed inside his bedside table because he didn’t want a certain dumb rich boy to find it.
Subtlety was the key. He knew this was his second chance, his chance to finally tell the truth, but that didn’t mean he had to be so open about it either (because what was the point of being honest now?). He would speak the truth with flowers, but there was no rule which language he should use. If the dark-haired boy misinterpreted him, well, it wasn’t his fault.
Dio stopped at a tree and upon realizing what kind of tree it was, he decided to climb it. As he climbed it, however, he wondered why he needed to put so much effort in this. It was an easy climb but he just got a feeling that one of the branches would break when he tried to pick up some pink flowers that adorned them and if he fell, everything would be over. He got the flowers safely though and put them in his pocket. ‘Peach: I’m obsessed with you’ Even before everything, Dio was obsessed with him. He was obsessed with making him suffer, ruining his life. In a way and to a lesser extent, it made him became obsessed with Dio too. Both of them become the focus on each other’s life, one way or another. Was it simply obsession though, or was it some twisted fate?
Red roses were too obvious, too cliché (yet Jonathan didn’t even realize it when it was practically rubbed on his face, so why should Dio used it again?). Subtlety was the key, he reminded himself. He hadn’t even seen the flower he chose before in his life, not even its pictures. However, just like the wind that could whisper things to them, he seemed to be able to know every species of the flowers here. It wasn’t as ridiculous as the flowers telling Dio what they were, but his feet just seemed to take him to the flowers after he thought of what message he wanted to convey. ‘Moth orchid: I love you’ Dio guessed his feet brought him to this particular species of the genus because the light purple flowers would complement nicely with the peach flowers.
‘Linaria: Please acknowledge my love; Gentian: Lonely love’ Dio looked at the blue and purple flowers he just picked up, briefly considered to throw them away too. Why should he need to state the obvious? Of course he wanted him to acknowledge Dio’s feelings toward him because now, the love just made him felt lonely. How could he not when the one he loved had feelings for another. Dio doubted that his feelings would only change things that weren’t good between them. He would be too much of a gentleman to outright avoid Dio, but it would make things awkward between them. Dio enjoyed their arrangement now, the small things he could take advantage of by being his friends. But he wanted more, didn’t he? The traitorous spark of hope reignited at the thought that once Jonathan knew, he would be Dio’s. It was enough for Dio to keep both of the flowers.
If the previous flowers seemed to be in the colors that could describe the boy (it didn’t escape him that the blue hues somewhat reminded him of his eyes), the flower he chose next could also be used to describe Dio in a way. It suited both of them, Dio realized. Not just its color but also its names. Torch lily. The fiery red reminded Dio of the other’s passion, just like the fire that he saw burning in the other’s eyes so brightly and passionately that Dio felt like it alone could burn him (and it had always delighted Dio when he looked at him with those eyes). However, Dio did hope that when the boy saw this flower he chose, he would be reminded of Dio because Dio was red and he was blue. Dio, for once, wanted the boy to understand the meaning of this flower because maybe it would make the boy felt guilty (but not pity, because he didn’t want it out of pity). The guilt would gnaw the boy so much that Dio could easily make him his. ‘Torch lily: Love that makes my chest ache’ It didn’t matter that the meaning of the flower held true in the past (the hurt from the longing, the yearning, the dreams, the foolish hope, the jealousy), because they were in the past. If Dio could be given a second chance, surely Dio could give the boy another chance and maybe he would realize that they were meant for each other.
The first time Dio realized his feelings toward Jonathan, to acknowledge his lingering gaze wasn’t entirely because he was thinking how to ruin the Joestar, to acknowledge that it wouldn’t just lust, Dio felt so disgusted to the point he felt sick. He tried to deny it, asking himself why. Who would he even like Jonathan? Why would he, Dio, fell for someone so stupid, so naïve, and too kind for his own good? Who still agreed to befriend someone who killed his dirty mutt (Dio knew Jonathan knew about the mutt and yet the most he did was glaring at Dio with anger burning in his blue eyes) and quite literally ruining his life? Why would Dio even like someone that pathetic?
“Because he reminded you of her,”
It made Dio laughed hysterically when he made the connection. In a twisted way, he understood. He loved his mother dearly, don’t get him wrong. But nobody could deny that she was pathetic, a fool who still stayed with someone who hurt her. It reminded Dio to the nights when he asked why she stayed, the nights when she said she loved him and believed he would go back to the way he was.
“Your father loves us. It might not look like it now, but you do remember how he loves you so so much when you are younger, right? How he always brings me flowers?” his mother said (and as Dio grew older, he came to realize that his mother sounded like she tried to convince both of them)
His younger self could only nod, burying his face in his mother’s chest and hugged her, because he did remember them, he did remember how he loved his father as much as he loved his mother. He did remember how happy they used to be.
His denial didn’t last long though. It didn’t mean he was obvious about his feelings. In fact, he buried his feelings and made sure nobody knew. Even if there were times where his touch could linger without anybody being suspicious, but it was too dangerous. His feelings threatened the plan he had made carefully, and yet he wanted to make Jonathan his. He had even tried to make a new plan, but he wasn’t a fool. He was almost certain that Jonathan wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, wouldn’t even think about it. Sure, he could seduce him, could take advantage with the hormones of young men, but it wouldn’t be enough. Dio had seen others who tried to win Jonathan’s heart but nobody succeeds. He didn’t even think Jonathan ever fancied someone, not after Erina. It was as if he kept that place in his heart for her, the bitch he proclaimed as his first love. Jonathan never talked about her but he could read Jonathan like an open book. Dio was glad though. If he couldn’t have him, no one should be able to have him. But hey, maybe, after his plan went accordingly and with the aid of time (and Jonathan finally realized that she would never come back to him), Dio could take over that place and Jonathan would be his alone.
His heart felt like it stopped when he heard the familiar tune that was carried by the wind. He froze on his track and he wanted to throw everything away and ran. But where? He could only see flowers around him. He had the thought to burn everything down (everything, including the boy, especially the boy) and maybe then, he could go back. He knew it would be useless though. He sighed and continued walking.
“Jojo,” he greeted, trying not to clench his fist too tightly because he didn’t want the flowers he had collected got ruined for nothing.
The singing stopped abruptly but Jonathan didn’t seem to be surprised when he saw Dio. If anything, his smile only became wider. “Dio,” Jonathan greeted back and his voice was so infuriatingly gentle, “you’re finally back.”
Dio sat down across Jonathan, carefully placing the flowers on his lap. He wanted to hide them away at first, but he reassured himself that Jonathan wouldn’t understand the meaning of these flowers. Jonathan beamed at him before humming his lullaby and continued with whatever he was doing before Dio came back (but Dio actually knew what the other boy was doing. How could he not when he too once taught by his mother how to do it). Dio had many questions that he wanted to ask (scream at) Jonathan, demanded answers from him (and he would use violence if he had to) because the whole thing must have been his doing. Instead, he just stayed still and watched, wondering silently when Jonathan ever learned how to braid.
When his mother got really sick to the point she could barely move from her bed, he had no time to go to the meadow to pick fresh flowers for her. He had to work for both of them, because he was no longer a foolish boy who once had hope that the bastard his mother married would be sober enough to realize that his wife was sick and stop spending their money on the gambles he could never win and the alcohol that killed the man he knew as his father and now a monster just used his body to do despicable things (or maybe it just simply showed how his father was actually like, an unforgiving monster).
Dio could easily steal them, and unlike money or food, stealing a couple of flowers probably wouldn’t get him beaten up too badly if he was caught. He once did just that but the look on his mother’s face washed away the hopefulness and giddiness he previously and filled him with guilt and shame instead. They were so overwhelming that he had to look away, but her mother gently asked Dio to look at her and explained how a good boy like him shouldn’t steal and stolen flowers would never be as beautiful and they would lose their meaning. Dio didn’t agree because if his mother told him that there was no difference in the meaning of a flower even if that flower was an artificial flower, why was the way he procured it would change the meaning? But Dio was a good boy and so he promised he wouldn’t do it again (but what his mother didn’t know wouldn’t harm her).
However, soon, they couldn’t even have the privilege to have even a single flower inside the house, no matter it was real or artificial, or even if it was only drawn on a piece of paper. The bastard would tear everything apart and threw them away, screaming how the money could be used for better use, how they should stock up bottles full of alcohol, screaming at them to give him more money, screaming at his mother and told her that even someone as sick as her could gain some money because all she needed to do was lying there.
Dio had wanted to scream back, even had the mind to buy a bottle of alcohol to smash it to the bastard’s head and used the shards to stab him over and over and over again until he was sure the monster would never disturb him and his mother again. He didn’t though. All he could do was clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, looking away so his father had no reason to hit him (it wasn’t like the reasons he used were ever be legitimate reasons, they were simply excuses). He didn’t mind getting beaten up as long as he could harm the bastard too, but his mother minded. His mother, who loved her son so much, would act like his shield and begged the monster to hit her instead because Dio (her sweet, sweet boy) didn’t do anything wrong and it was all her fault. From the sneer on the bastard’s face, Dio knew he would be happy to beat up any of them. The monster never cared about reasons. All he cared was booze, getting drunk, money to buy more booze, booze, beating his ‘family’ up until he felt bored or needed more booze, and more booze.
His mother was crying but she hugged him so tightly. His mother was crying but she still tried to smile. His mother was crying and she was in pain, yet she still ran her fingers through his hair as if she was soothing him (even though he could feel the flinch of her body, heard the choked painful sob). His mother was crying and she told him everything would be fine in between the useless apologies that were spoken like litanies. His mother was crying, his father was still kicking her back relentlessly even though she was already lying on the ground because she never told him to stop out of fear he would hurt him instead, and he couldn’t do anything but promised himself he wouldn’t give any reason for his father to ever hurt his mother again. It still happened anyway, because a mother would always protect her children. Dio then promised himself to be strong and protected his mother, to kill his father so then the two of them could live happily together, but he was too late.
“Dio,” a soft voice was calling him, shaking his body gently just like his mother used to do, “wake up. It’s going to be dark soon.”
Dio grunted and slapped the hand away because it has been awhile since he slept like this. Although he couldn’t remember it, his dream was, sadly, felt like it was highly unpleasant. He heard the laughter and somehow, it was enough to snap him awake. Dio jerked up so fast that it made him a little bit dizzy, his head wildly looked around before glaring at the boy in front of him. “Since when did I fell asleep?” Because he certainly didn’t remember falling asleep, he didn’t even feel sleepy!
“You sat down and after a few minutes, you fell asleep” Jonathan snapped his finger with a cheeky grin, “just like that.”
“And I didn’t wake up when my head hit the ground?”
Jonathan shrugged, “You must have been really tired after walking around.”
That answer turned on another signal inside his head. He quickly darted his eyes to his lap and as he predicted, the flowers weren’t there. He looked around wildly before something caught his eyes. Jonathan’s head was adorned with a flower crown. A flower crown that was made by the flowers Dio picked, the flowers he had intended to give Jonathan. He could feel his anger bubbled up again (and wasn’t this just how things with Jonathan always had? His hatred and anger toward Jonathan were as deep as his… love, his illogical stupid love that he let gone too far that it ruined everything he had planned). Yes, he would give it to Jonathan (eventually), but this was just outright stealing and Dio didn’t like anybody stealing what was his. He was trying to yank away the flower crown. He should have known that everything was a big bad idea, the flowers were a bad idea, Jonathan Joestar was a mistake, and he should have thrown away his feelings when he-
“Here, Dio,” Jonathan said cheerily, cutting his train of thought, “I also make one for you. I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission to use your flowers, but you looked like you really need a good sleep and I didn’t want to wake you up.”
Dio was going to throw away the flower crown that Jonathan gave to him (who probably thinking that his reaching hands meant Dio was asking the buffoon to give him one as well), but then his eyes caught a particular baby blue-colored flower on the flower crown. Nemophila. Dio knew Jonathan didn’t work with this flower before. The oaf was still smiling at him and Dio frowned, his mind recited the sentences from the book, ‘Nemophila symbolizes prosperity. This flower can also be given if you want to congratulate someone on their success’. Dio knew Jonathan could be so infuriatingly nice, but surely nobody would say that after what Dio did to him. If anything, Jonathan was mocking him, just like why Dio was here, to ultimately mock him. Dio looked at the other flowers on the flower crown and realized there were only two types of flowers, nemophila and azalea. This was a flower crown and not a black vase, so Jonathan didn’t send him a death threat. ‘Azalea is the symbol of temperance. Carrying a bloom show the support for prohibition of liquor. It also means abundance, especially of intelligence or beauty’. His frown grew deeper. It didn’t make any sense. There was no way Jonathan knew about the alcoholic Dario and Dio never drink excessively in front of him. “He was mocking you, again. Are you so blinded that you can’t see?” his mind angrily supplied.
“Flowers can speak more than one language,” Jonathan kindly reminded him, but his voice was deeper now.
The change made Dio looked at Jonathan again and the sight of the older Jonathan greeted him. He dressed, of course, like a proper gentleman. Just like how he always dressed himself during the 7 years of their ‘friendship’. Dio didn’t say anything and looked at the flower crown on his hands (how could he not realize that his hands were also bigger). He was sure that Jonathan only knew the language of the flowers from that book. “Then again…” he thought before he mentally shook his head.
‘Nemophila: I forgive you’ Dio’s breath hitched and his mind started to ask why. Why did Jonathan gave him this when he never ask for forgiveness? Was this just some gentlemanly act? Was this just another thing Jonathan did to mock him? Showing Dio that he was better than him (and Dio would never be good enough for him)? Yet, Jonathan still looked at him with no malice in his eyes. He smiled encouragingly at him even. At that moment, he realized that both the Victorians and the Japanese interpreted nemophila as a flower for forgiveness. That realization, of course, actually made things worse. He felt the familiar clench on his heart, filling him with dread. ‘Azalea: Thank you for loving me’.
“He knew he knew he knew! He never supposed to know!” Dio thought. He wanted to run away but he couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried to.
When Jonathan moved closer toward him, Dio wanted to tell him to back off, but no voice could come out from his mouth. Jonathan took back the flower crown and placed it on Dio’s head. From the inner pocket of his suit, Jonathan took out a single rose that no longer had its stem. He slipped the flower behind Dio’s ears, his hand then caressed Dio’s cheek softly before kissing him gently. The kiss was too soft and too chaste for Dio’s taste. The kiss tasted bitter though, with only a lingering hint of sweetness near the end (but even the sweetness felt painful, making him sick). Jonathan looked directly at his eyes now. The open forgiveness in his azure eyes, the uncensored love, terrified Dio so much. Jonathan then suddenly stood up (and Dio just realized Jonathan was now wearing the clothes he wore on his honeymoon with the blonde bitch). He smiled at Dio, who still couldn’t move his limbs, sadly before turning his back and walked away.
“Jojo!” Dio screamed, his hand (that could finally move) was reaching toward the retreating figure as he tried to chase the other. “Come back here, Jojo!”
His eyes caught the carving on the tree once again, his name was the one that was carved tree, not Erina’s. “Jojo!” he snarled, running as fast as he could (how could Jonathan walk so fast?). The flower crown and the rose fell down during the chase, but Dio didn’t care because he didn’t need (want) some stupid symbolization like that. Just as he thought he could finally reach Jonathan and grab his shoulder, Jonathan disappeared into thin air, leaving Dio with only the heaviness that once again set in his heart along with the bitterness on his lips that still lingered from their first and last kiss.
Dio woke up with a gasp. He blinked a few times and realized the only thing he could see around him was the red-colored velvet of the coffin’s inner lining. “Not exactly the only thing,” he thought as he closed his eyes briefly before opening it again to look at the severed head beside him. Jonathan still looked as peaceful as he was when he died, the small serene smile still intact on his ashen face. There was only so much he could to preserve Jonathan in the midst of the explosion and getting himself and the Joestar inside the coffin.
His hand slowly reached toward the head. What exactly was he trying to do? Ran his fingertips through the brunet’s hair to see how soft it was? To softly caress his cheek like he always longed to? To hold him like he always wanted to? Or to just simply return the kiss and whispered the three words he always wanted to tell him out loud? His hand flinched and he dropped his hand, as if he was afraid to touch Jonathan. He covered his face with the unfamiliar rough hands (yet it was his now) instead and not knowing what else to do, Dio laughed mirthlessly.