Lamprio

The gust of wind blew against your hair as you pivoted from atop your horse, keeping your pace towards the never-ending finish line. You were holding on for dear life as you dashed forward through the desert. Your hands clamped onto the firm grip on leather, the friction burning your skin. Windchime gallops just behind, trying to keep up with the other horses ahead.

Newspapers began to swoop past you all from the crowd that lined the fences, cheering their praises for their favorite racer. 

One of the newspapers aimed directly at you almost hit you straight in the face. You flinch, bracing for its impact before Johnny outstretches himself over and grips onto the newspaper before the impact hits you.

You nod at Johnny gratefully, a bit embarrassed that he had to help you. In the commotion of it all, Johnny manages to catch a glimpse of the picture printed on the paper.

"Y/n, Gyro! Look, holy shit!" Johnny held up the crumpled newspaper to his face, looking closely at the image that had seized all of his attention. 

Gyro ignores Johnny's words and persists in focusing on the race, determined to get first place. "We can win, Johnny! We can win this stage, keep it up at full speed!"

Johnny kept prattling on about what was in the newspaper. You concentrate on trying not to fall behind, as you're already barely able to keep up with the two of them. Windchimed huffed as she slowed down her pace. "Come on, girl, just a little push!" You urged her forward, tightening your legs on her midriff as Windchime gives it her final all.

"DEIGO BRANDO FINISHES IN FIRST PLACE! JOHNNY JOESTAR COMES IN SECOND, THIRD IS SANDMAN, AND Y/N L/N IS FOURTH!"

You couldn't believe it; you'd just beaten Gyro after all his smack talk about how you were a woman and shouldn't be in the race at all. You had beaten him. You looked back as you rode forward along the sidelines where Gyro had stopped when he passed the finish line.

"Huh?" Gyro let out a grunt as he held back and looked around in dismay at the final announcement, No way, Johnny and you beat him, no fucking way. "HEY, NO! HOLD IT,...!" Gyro looks around in a frenzy, waving his arms around. Only to see the dust was left drifting in the wind behind his comrades, continuing without him.

"JOHNNY! Y/N!! YOU FUCKERS! WAIT!!!" He roared out as he pushed forward to catch up with you and Johnny.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Slowing down from your once fast pace, you all made your way to a mountain top with green trees lining your course at a cliff that hung below. You let out a laugh, seeing Gyro finally catch up with you.

God, it felt so good to see that stupid look on his face. You let out a loud laugh as you look in his direction, proclaiming your victory over him, "I beat you!" you cried out with a pridful smile. 

"I let you!" Gyro argued as he sweated bullets, skimming the score paper that claimed otherwise.

"And I'm not even a pro at racing, Johnny's the one who taught me!" Your haughty pride grows silent after saying that, seeing both of the men stare at your outburst from 'winning'.

You cough and cross your arms. "Uh, I mean, what was with that newspaper, Johnny?" you say, trying to ignore any prior feelings. Johnny, exhilarated from his findings, nods and begins to explain that the words on his arms matched a mountain that would carry another part of the corpse. At the same time, Gyro grumbled behind you both. 

"I just don't get it, I mean, her horse is a crappy racehorse, how did it even beat mine?" You're able to hear his insistent muttering, you roll your eyes, and turn your head back at his sore loser state. "First of all, it is a she, and maybe because Valkyrie doesn't like you."

"What? No way, I've known this girl for years, ever since my youth; she's been with me." Gyro's posture straightened up, filled with pride for his mare. "Yeah, bet it's given her enough time to see what an ass you are." You satirized with a smile. He gritted his notorious golden teeth at you and tsked while pointing at your horse, "Yeah, and what kind of name is Windchime anyway? How stupid is that?"

You froze, thrown off by his comment, "Shut your damn mouth." You turned away and trotted your horse towards the sharp edge, looking below at the rocky landscape.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a stray horse wandering around below. You furrow your brows, looking at the familiar horse closer. Seeing the star embezzled on its forehead. "Holy shit, guys, look, that's Diego's horse." You nudge over to them to look down. Gyro stiffens as he looks down to see Diego's figure not far from the horse you mentioned and casts his bandoliers up.

Diego lay there, hunched over, all disheveled without his famous DIO hat on, holding his hand to his head as blood oozed onto his glove. "Looks like he fell...he's bleeding from his cheek." You raise a brow at Gyros' hint of a smirk that came to his outer lip, as if he were happy about this outcome.

"He fell...? Did Dio fall?"Johnny's bitterness for Diego bit right through him, yet a trace of shock spread through him as he watched Diego's struggle. You constricted your gaze at Diego, turning your head away from his bleeding figure. "Serves him right, that guy's a complete jackass." Johnny turns to you in surprise.

"You know him, Y/n? How did you meet him?" The recollection all came back to you as heat rushed to your face, recalling all the events that happened between you and that man.

Your throat bobbed as you spoke. "....I prefer not to say, but he's better off if we just call someone to get him out of the race." You looked away and breezed over the topic altogether, causing Johnny to raise a brow at your disclosure and constricted face, then turned his horse completely around, "Let's go." 

You knew Johnny could be ruthless when he wanted something, especially with someone he deemed dangerous. Johnny may have been young, but what he lacked in age, he made up for in determination and resolve.

It seemed a tad too cruel even for you; you did dislike Diego, yes, but it would be better to call someone to get him out of the race. And out of your way completely. 

Gyro gave a lazy smile as he looked back towards you and Johnny, "Ah, I didn't know you were that kind of person, Johnny. I'm the type that laughs at others' misfortunes myself, and it'd be great if he didn't get any points in this stage, but it might be a life-threatening wound; let's check it out." You sighed as much as you didn't want to agree with Gyro; he was right on this one. You couldn't just leave Diego there, "He's right, Johnny, let's just see if he's still breathing."

Johnny's stare intensifies as he looks towards you two. "We should stay away from Diego Brando," He begins. "Where's your compassion?" Gyro throws out with a plastered smile.

Johnny ignored Gyro's remark about his judgment of Diego and turned to you; his eyes looked straight into yours. "Especially you, Y/n, whatever he did or said to you, don't trust him; he's conniving and vindictive." He warned that the tone in his voice conveyed he was dead set on his cautiousness toward Diego. 

"He can't be trusted. Dio is Britain's honorable genius jockey, but he will do anything for money and to win. That's what people say. There are many shady rumors, for example, when he was 20, he married an 83-year-old widow to inherit her fortune. The widow died a half year later. It's rumored that Dio killed her." You shivered at the thought of it. He killed a poor old woman for money, and he had wanted to sleep with you...Jesus, maybe it was better if you'd leave him there. You pulled back a bit on helping Diego, more wary once you heard of this rumor.

Gyros' face changes his once sly smirk, fading into a pursed look. Yet he did not waver, still wanting to check on Diego, pulling his horse down the rocky slope ahead of him. 

You wondered why Gyro was so compassionate about things like this. A womanizer like him. You think back when he stitched your wound, he was so patient with you, holding your arm so gently in his hand, stitching it perfectly. If he were such an ass, why did he go out of his way to help others?

You looked back at Gyros' struggle to get down from his horse, reacting to the sharp land on its hooves. "HEY DIO, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" Gyro shouted from across the edge, not too close to Diego.

Suddenly, Diego's body began to tremble as he slowly straightened himself, holding up his head, looking straight at him.In front of you, you could sense Johnny's uneasiness.

Diego whipped his head around, his eyes burning with unyielding pride. "Get lost, you two! In the end, I'm the one who's going to pass you up!" he ground his teeth at them as the sweat on his face dripped down, mixing with his own blood.

His eyes glanced behind them to you. His enraged gaze faltered as he saw you looking down at him. He panted, then again he fell once more, his head cradled into animal bones that surrounded him. 

Gyro shrugged and hopped back onto his horse, "Looks like he's fine! Whether it's a trap or not, he's too healthy, that's great, let's go!" Gyro's enthusiasm for it all makes you roll your eyes as you look behind you, and you see Johnny still staring at Diego.

Johnny stayed silent. You sighed and strolled up next to him. You knew how worrisome Johnny could be, even after all this time. Placing a hand on his shoulder, "He won't hurt us. Someone will probably come to get him, come on." You added reassuringly, Johnny gave you a soft smile, and followed closely behind you.

You all made your way through the terrains, passing by tall mountains that enveloped everything around you. You kept your pace with Johnny and Gyro. Johnny then yelled out, "We'll pass through the Rocky Mountains in two days," he informed. "According to the map, mt footloose is across that mountain!" You lose your pace as your horse begins to lose her focus; she stumbled and began to slow her stride. 

You look over to her, then a churning in your stomach forms. As you feel eyes follow you. You slyly looked behind you. A familiar British jockey staring right back at you. 

It seems in his loud haste towards you, Gyro noticed it too as he yelled out in a panic, "IT'S HIM! IT'S DIO!"

Shit, was he gonna kill you all for leaving him!? Of course, he'd be the revenge type. You groan as you grip onto your horse's saddle, and you try to rush forward. No way were you gonna let him pass you so easily.

You felt his burning gaze on your back as he crept closer. His horse galloped right beside yours. You almost thought he was trying to collide with you. Suddenly, he swerved right in front of you, cutting you off. You tightened your grip on your reins, slamming back as Windchime reared up her front legs, coming to a tight stop. You pulled back, keeping your distance, your face stirred into a snarl to Diego's oddly cheerful one.

"Y/n, My love!" Diego exclaims, "Oh, how joyous I am to see your face. Here I was worried sick something might have happened to you." His words were like honey dripping from his tongue, so smooth and pure, yet something about them unsettled you. You stared at him, stunned. 

"What do you think you're doing!?" You exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding in. 

He circled his horse around yours, coming closer to you. Sattled on his horse as he looked at you with a pout that stained his lips, a hand on his chin, tracing it. "Though my ears do ache when they hear that...voice of yours." He winced, alluding to your accent that he oh-so hated.

You grit your teeth at his disdain, 'don't do it, it's not worth it.' You thought loudly over your other thoughts on shooting him right there. Did he stop you just to antagonize you? You fondled your rein, a bit nervous, wondering what exactly he was planning? 

Johnny and Gyro came from behind him, seeing the situation you were currently in, scowling at the sight of him beside you. "Get away from her, Diego Brando!" Johnny shouted, you could tell he was just as nervous as you were, his eyes flickering causiously between you and Diego.

Diego's shoulders straightened up, putting a hand to his chest where his heart would be as he waved them off. "I came here to speak with my love, not you." Diego's voice became stern and cold, and he barely spared them a glance. 

They reeled back at his sudden love declaration, "YOUR LOVE!?" Gyro exclaimed loudly, his jaw hanging open at this new information. It seemed both he and Johnny shared the same shock as Johnny stared quietly, biting the inside of his cheek.

Your whole body heats up at Diego's delusional statement, 'Shit! Shit! Shit! Why the fuck would he say that!?' You held back the urge to punch him again and dug your fingernails into your palm. Suddenly, a hand takes hold of your horse's reins, Gyro forcefully guiding you towards him and Johnny, huddling away as far away from Diego as possible.

Before you could explain yourself, Gyro instantly started berating you,

"What the hell was that!?" Your face curled in confusion at his sudden rage reaction. "What?" Why was he angry at you? This was Diego's fault, not yours. 

"You're screwing him," He probed, pointing at you accusingly. "What?! No, I'm not screwing him!?" You scoffed, glaring up at him. He tilted his head with a knowing look and tsked, looking away with his hands on his hips.

"My love," he mocks, mimicking Diego's accent, failing horribly. You roll your eyes and look to Johnny. Hoping he would listen. "I don't know, okay?! Listen, something's off with him."

Johnny looks back behind you, his eyes still watching Diego's figure.

"Yeah, I sense it too." You followed Johnny's glare behind you, seeing Diego stare at you with a sweet, sinister smile plastered on his lips. His arms stretched out to the back of his horse's hips as he lay back on his horse calmly.

"...What exactly did he say to you?" Johnny asked, hastily, his eyes coming back, fixing themselves onto you. Your face scrunched in discomfort. It wasn't that you were embarrassed, more like if you did tell them, it would seem like you were fucking Diego.

"........"

Gyro sneered, "Could it be any worse than what he said just now?"

"He said he wanted to sleep with me," you blurted out.

Johnny's eye twitched as he heard you, "Even more reason just to get rid of him now." You almost nodded in agreement before catching a glimpse of the carved words on Johnny's forearm. You thought carefully. "...let's just let him stay for now, we'll lose him eventually. I think he got a concussion, or he's mental now, just be nice. We don't wanna start any problems." You crossed your arms, sighing. 

Gyro laughed, "You're telling us that?"

"Yeah, I am," you spat back. Then, casting your gaze to the side, "Plus, if we play nice. He might know something about the corpse. We'll use him while he's valuable, then we'll throw him out." You plainly stated, a hint of a smirk came to your face, thinking about it. Johnny looked at you, his eyes pleaded with yours,

"Y/n, it's not your job to look for the corpse, don't put yourself in danger for it", Johnny urges. You narrow your eyes at him and his insistent nature.

"Johnny. I didn't join you for fun, I joined you because I want to help you...I don't need your protection." You made your way past him; clearly, you had made your point, leaving him silent behind you. 

You try your hardest not to start anything you did. Truly, you did.

But god, Diego's eyes just kept finding themselves tracing back to you. Did he think you didn't know he was staring? Thisis what you get when you try to be nice to a man: it never ends well. You continued on the path ahead of you, Johnny and Gyro behind both of you, keeping their eyes on you and Diego. 

"I have a habit of speaking my mind even when it is inappropriate," Diego said suddenly. Your eyebrows narrowed in bafflement at his sudden words from the moments of silence before, "What?" You looked to him for an explanation.

"I simply wanted to tell you how beautiful I found you," He explained as his eyes stared into yours. You could almost see a hint of remorse in them. You still jerked your head back, knowing now what he was indicating. 

You managed to say something even though you were shocked by his sudden contrite words. You kept your eyes forward, clearing your throat. "And by that, you mean wanting to tell me to sleep with you." 

"I apologize. It seems my mouth gets ahead of my mind." He began, then softly stated, "It was ungentlemanly of me, I do hope you can forgive me." His words were oddly persuasive, his eyes spellbinding you, with their soft blue and an emerald tint.

For a minute, you almost believed him. You were tongue-tied as you sat in silence. It was silly, no way you'd fall for his words so easily, you let out a breath, looking away as you spoke again, regaining your composure.

"Did you get a concussion or something?" You asked. It was as if he were a different person altogether. He smirked and ignored your question, looking down at Windchime. "It seems our dear horses have not met like this before." he reached his hand out before touching your horse, looking up at you, "May I?" 

"I mean, if it gets your rocks on, go right ahead," You shrugged, seeing no harm in indulging him as he petted the windchime. "Hello, my dear daughter Wind chime, this is your sister, Silver Bullet."

You let out a laugh at his stupid act of pretending that they were your children; it was almost endearing in a way. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. "Really? Still on with this whole fatherly act? Do you think it's cute?" You taunted with a raised brow.

"Well, I do see my beloved silver bullet as my child. And I will do the same to dear Windchime." You just stared at him and let out a breathless laugh. God, even if he made a bad first impression, he was quite charming at the moment. As much as you tried to hold back a smile, you couldn't help but form one on your face. He seemed to be proud of that smile he put on your face as he looked back at Gyro and Johnny with a sly smirk.

Gyro came from behind you, closing the gap between you and him, "Getting mighty comfy with him, hm?" Gyro spoke with a harsh tone and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Diego put on a tight smile, after letting out an irritated sigh as he looked to the side of him to Gyro and Johnny, "Hey, come on, guys, don't take it that way. I'm done for today, the sun's starting to set, there's a small village ahead, let's stay there, camping out is a bad idea." Diego started, "There are beasts out in this area. The other day, after sundown, I got surrounded by a few cougars and a few rattlesnakes. The cougars and rattlesnakes were on two sides of the road, blocking my way out." You all looked at Diego as he continued with his story, wondering where exactly he was going with this.

"I was thinking of how to escape...but then, for some reason, I was able to pass through on one side of the road. I was able to get by one of the two groups easily." 

You stared at Diego, awaiting his words after he paused. Seeing the same exasperated expression on both Johnny and Gyro as they looked towards the British jockey beside you.He pointed at them, ready to reveal his answer. "The answer is the rattlesnakes! Because they were....ASSSSSSLEEEP...and sssssssnoring on the side of the road!" Diego exclaimed with a grin as if he found his joke hilarious. 

Johnny and Gyro both just stare blankly in confusion at Diego's joke.

Johnny couldn't believe it. Something was wrong with this guy. He looked to you, awaiting to see your revolted face at Diego's horrible joke, he knew you hated stupid jokes like that, and for confirmation to leave this guy in a ditch somewhere. "y/-"

He had lost you before, but here you were, back with him. In his desperate heart, he understood that it was a sign from every unknown god that this was for him after all the shit he faced; he deserved this. To see you again. A second chance of redemption. To him, this was enough: to have you in his life.

The way you brushed him off hurt, but not as much as when you two had your fallout as children. He remembered all too well how it felt and how cold the air was after you left. His face stayed completely still until you had truly departed. He stood there in his heart, hoping you'd come back, but you never did. He thought of how he licked his cracked lips as he held on to his chest. It hurt so much seeing the hatred in your eyes; it shattered his heart entirely. He had stayed there. Leaning on the tree, the one that had engraved both of your names in a heart. 

Jojo + Y/n

But there once was a time you used to smile at him like that.

And now here he was, looking at you, laughing. It had been so long since he had heard that laugh, but it wasn't at him; it was at Dio...The snobby British jockey. You hated jokes like that, at least you did.

Gyro clicked his teeth and grumbled right next to Johnny, breaking their small silence, "Can't believe she's falling so easily for him." Johnny gave a slight nod, but his eyes never left your back. 

"Y/n's stupid boyfriend." 

"He's not her boyfriend," Johnny detested finding Gyros complaining, just as annoying as seeing you with Diego. "Did you even hear him, Johnny!" Gyro waved his hands up and gestured in front of them.

"He's even making her laugh, god, I don't know why you're so soft with her, Johnny, she's a stubborn woman, the worst kind to deal with. I can't wait till this race is over." Gyro huffed and laid his head in his hand, watching you and Diego's backs, but all Johnny could think about was how much he hated your name coming from Diego's mouth.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

YOU burst out into laughter and put your hand to your mouth, muffling your laughs, as you turned your body away from Diego. But he leaned over to your side with a stupid grin on his face cocking his golden head to the side. "Stop!" you say while trying to compose yourself. "Sssssssssstop what?" Diego continued trying to put on an oblivious act to his antics.

"Fuck-haha that..was not funny!" You laughed, your cheeks beginning to hurt from their straining. "Then why are you laughing ssssssso much?" It seems your laugh has given him a sense of pride. "Because it's so dumb!" You rolled your eyes with a half smile. As much as you opposed Diego, he was quite charming when he could be.

Gyro cleared his throat loud enough for you to hear. "I have a gag of my own!" You turned your head back to see Gyro preparing to tell his joke.

"You have the floor," you say, already ready not to laugh.

"Okay, listen to this." Gyro put his hands up in exasperation. "Where do Egyptian children go to school?" – "They go to daycare!" Gyro hadn't even waited for a dramatic pause before exclaiming his answer, only to be met with confused faces all around him.

Johnny looked at Gyro with a raised brow, "Uh, Gyro, are you sure you said that right?"

"What? Yes, because nilo-ah shit!... Hold on! It doesn't translate well!" Gyro held a panicked look on his face, holding his hand up to his head, piecing together that his joke would only work in his native language. You almost let out a groan at Gyros's incompetence. For a guy who thinks so highly of himself, you'd think he'd be better at telling a joke.

Diego stretches out his arms in glee, almost hitting you as you veer away from him, "Damn, I feel good! Everything is so refreshing! Maybe it's because I have my darling y/n with me now. My body feels so light! It's too bad the sun is setting." He cooed.

Johnny, seeming done with Diego's nonsense, made his way between you and Diego, distancing him from you, before shouting out across from himself, "Get away from us, Diego Brando! We won't travel with you!" 

Diego turned his complete attention towards Johnny, pointing his finger at him, "Johnny Joestar..I applaud your performance in both the 1st and 2nd stages. I heard you got injured, but what a grand comeback this is!" He almost sounded a bit too enthusiastic as he spoke his words, then looked to you with all his ardor gone.

"I only ride with the best Y/n...You'll need to try a bit harder, darling."

You scoffed. Well, at least he wasn't that brain-damaged; he still thought he was better than everyone. Even his so-called 'darling.'

Riding between Gyro and Johnny, they formed a barrier around you, trying to get as far away from Diego as possible, toting you with them.

"We thought he was badly injured back there, but now...Are we going to be with him tonight?" Johnny's eyes were still fixed on Diego from afar, flipping back every few seconds as Diego performed his antics, such as flipping on his horse. 

"Well, even if we try to avoid the fact that there are wolves out there, it would be far too risky for the horses we need to stay in the village," Gyro said. You nodded, agreeing with Gyros' judgement. "Yeah, we should just stay here; it's not worth the risk. I'm sure Diego won't bite."

"Only if you'd desire it, my love! The wolves are still roaming around. It's safest to stay in the village." You flinched at the sudden voice. You squint your eyes to see Diego still on the same path as you, just a few feet away, staring you down. Wait...how could he even hear you!? Man, Diego was creepy. 

It was a small, old village with cracks in its old, built walls that surrounded the mountain plateau on which the villagestood. You could see the villagers from above waving at you all in one big gathering as if they were awaiting racers to arrive. One of them even yelled out your name, a little girl with a light blue frilled dress the color of the sky, waving her small hands all around to catch your attention. 

You blushed at the attention and sent a small wave her way. You could almost hear her squeal in her excitement as she ran back to her mother, tugging on her dress, pointing back at you. 

You breathed out a smile as you made your way into one of the shabby houses they'd supplied the racers. It wasn't much, but it had a stove with a few pots and pans above it and rooms seeming to stretch everywhere throughout the house.

Pushing your way through the arched doors, as Johnny was still in a frenzy over Diego, to Gyro, "Seriously, I am not sleeping in the same place as him! He's the lowest a human can become! Putting poison in the horses' food or tinkering with our harnesses is second nature to him."'

Gyro lit up the dim house with a lantern. "I know. We'll keep watch of our horses just like we do when we camp out!" Gyro said, exasperated by Johnny's incessantness about Diego. "There's a furnace in the room next door...I say it's time for dinner, Y/n, come with me, we're gonna search for some wood." 

"What? You can do that yourself." You point out to Gyro.

"Fine, stay here with Johnny then." Gyro shrugged as he walked outside. You almost let out a groan at the thought of it awkwardly staying in this house with Johnny. You take a small moment to think it over, then walk towards the arched door leading outside. 

Gyro stood there leaning on the wall as if he were waiting for you. When he saw you, he smiled knowingly, "Nyo-ho~"

"I'm not going with you." You say, raising a brow at his tone shift. He waved you off, "I did us both a favor, but we still need that wood; I'd rather go; if I stay with Johnny, he'll just ruin my mood with his whining about you," he muttered spitfully under his breath. 

You narrowed your eyes, confused by his words, "About me? What did I do?" He let out a loud laugh, "You're so clueless it's almost cute." He flicks his hat up, looking up through it, and his eyes spot something.

"Looks like you got a shadow." Gyro pointed up. The same girl who was with the crowd from before stood looking through a window, peeking from the corner. Seeing her more clearly, you could see the discoloration on one side of her dress, its straps nearly slipping down her thin shoulders. Once you catch her, she hides away again. 

You tilted your head in confusion at her sudden haste. Just as you were about to turn to go, you heard a tiny pattering of footsteps behind you.

She made her way down, running up to you, out of breath. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink as she twiddled with her fingers nervously, standing in front of you. You looked around, a little startled, and showed a faint smile. "Hi..." You say softer than you meant to.

"Um...my...my name is Ivory! Miss y/n!" She practically shouted at you when she spoke.

"That's a pretty name," you say earnestly. It wasn't just because you didn't know what to say; children were always just an effort to talk to.

"...I'm a big fan! I wanna be just like you when I grow up!" she exclaimed loudly. Your eyes soften at her, as your heart aches at her sentiment.

This girl wanted to be like you, one of the few women in the race. 

An example, a role model for young girls to prove themselves better than any man who says otherwise. You could almost hear all the women who fought for women's rights, the few you do have, scream from the heavens. 

"And find my true love in a race! Just like you did!" Your smile falters at her idea.

"What!?" 

"You and Gyro! Your lovers! I wanna find the love of my life just like you did!" She held up a cut-out piece of the newspaper you once held hours ago, turning it to see a picture of you and Gyro resting together; they'd edited all the blood and pain off your faces. It almost seemed real except you were there and fighting for your damn life, and they made it seem like it was two lovers resting upon each other. 

Your whole image of her wanting to be a strong, independent woman like you, or so you thought, crumbles like the paper you held in your hand.

"It is true, isn't it? My mother said it wasn't, but...I wanna believe it is!" She exclaimed hopefully. You stiffened as you regretfully handed the paper back to her. Gyro unexpectedly comes from behind you and wraps his arm around your neck, holding you like a lover would.

"I was just about to ask her the same thing." He looked down towards you.

"So, Y/n?" You deterred your gaze and gritted your teeth in anger.

Almost pushing him off, but you couldn't help but feel the little girl's gaze on you, her eyes shifting back and forth from you both and the paper she held tightly in her hands. 

"...Yes, it's true." You look at her with a strained smile, patting Gyro forcefully on his chest. "Love of my life...right here!" You couldn't bear to be the one who breaks her heart. No, not you; maybe a teenage boy when she's older, but not today. Let her believe, just like you did. The young girl, Ivory, lets out a giggle and joyfully runs off. As soon as she's out of sight, you push Gyro off you. 

"Touch me again, and I'll knock those grills out of your teeth." 

He raised his hands in defense and walked back, facing you, with a smirk

on his face, "Wouldn't want to upset you, Dolcezza." 

"Why the hell are you even here? Go collect the wood!" you shooed him off with gritted teeth. He laughed as he turned around the spurs on his boots, clicking as he walked off. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

AFTER settling down your things in a random storage room you found, you made your way through the kitchen, seeing Johnny resting on the counter with a can in his hand. You try to make your way past him, but he sees you and calls out, "Oh, Y/n! I thought you were with Gyro?" Your lips tighten into a line. "Yeah...I decided he would get the wood himself." Johnny nods and gestures to the can he holds in his hand. 

"Oh, okay...um, there was a can of hot cocoa powder in the cabinets."

"Oh yeah?" You say, curiously walking closer to him, leaning on the counter. "Um, I just thought that we could make it again, like when we were younger." He heastinately suggests.

"Mhm, I remember it now." You had a small smile on your face as you took the can of brown powder in your hands, observing it closely. 

"You called it your 'specialty drink, '" he quotes. You sighed out a laugh, putting the bag down. Sliding it back on the countertop. "Well, it is." A curious blush formed on your face just thinking about it.

"So do you want some?" Seeing the sweet smile on his face, you withdrew. "Uh, no, I'm not really in the mood for hot chocolate." You steadfastly prevent your gaze from falling onto him and his offer.

"Okay, just in case you change your mind, it'll be here." He nodded understandingly and turned back.

You shut the door of the room you found close by after you left Johnny alone in the kitchen. It was as dreadful as any other part of the place, not much there but wooden crates. Sitting on a crate that is lined up against the wall. You let out a sigh, leaning forward with your arms on your knees.

Johnny had lied to you for all those years; your whole relationship was based on a lie that he'd hope to make up in a few days? It felt nice to talk with him again.

It felt normal for once. But you couldn't shake the feeling of the things you two hadn't hashed out yet. You knew you had to, but it felt too soon, too much; you didn't want to ruin what little leverage you had, not yet. 

You dug in your pocket and looked at the rosary in your hand, craddling it. You noticed how foreign the rosary felt in your hand. You hadn't needed it in a while. One of your earliest memories is of you resting on your mother's lap, as she ran her fingers along your baby hairs, laying them back. 'To see your pretty face, ' she used to say. You smiled, thinking about it.

"What's that?" You pivoted to see someone peaking through the door. 

Diego stealthily slips inside the room, inhuman-like, how quiet he was; you didn't even notice he was watching you. You scoot back, shocked as he sits on the crate that was placed beside you. 

"It's nothing...just something my momma gave me." You coughed out and awkwardly fell on the back of the crate. Diego's gaze continued on your face. "I see." 

The clutch on the rosary stood still as you rubbed it in your hand.

"Ha, she always used to make me pray with her. I never understood why. But I see now she was trying for my sake." You sighed a smile. You didn't even know how you were telling him this. All of the thoughts piled up in your head just spilled from your mouth. His silence made you tense. Was it awkward that you shared so much? Damn, He probably thinks you're a loser. You cringed, "Sorry, I didn't mean to overshare."

He shakes his head, "No, not at all, I'm glad you're comfortable enough to share this with me. It seems both of our mothers were quite the saints." He said, apparently mentioning his own mother.

You raise your brows at his mention, "Ah, let me guess, your family is filthy rich and your mother gave you everything you want?" To think about it, someone like Diego would be some kind of spoiled brat, much like Johnny was at that age.

"Quite the opposite, I lived on a farm as a poor child worker, my father left me and my mother to die." You almost choke on your spit hearing his past. Diego didn't come from a wealthy family, not at all; he came from poverty, the depths of it. 

You didn't know what to say after that, you simply looked down, "Sorry..." you choke out.

"It is quite all right, I am glad you don't think of me as someone with a poverty-stricken background." Your lips form a sealed line. Could this conversation be any more humiliating? You'd misjudged his character this whole time. Thinking he was some aristocratic boy who had known no struggle in his life. You take a deep breath. Attempting to erase any sympathy you had for him.

"Plus, I thought the same about you. I mean, I had to buy your horse, well, our horse," he added boastfully.

You laughed as you nodded, "Right 'ours'." You put your fingers up in quotations, you both looked at each other, then laughed. It was odd how good it felt to talk with Diego. It seemed you two shared more in common than you'd like to admit.

"So, what else do you have up your sleeve, Diego? Are you gonna kill us all?" you mused, but in actuality, you were quitecurious about him and his plan in this race.

"I'm not that cold-hearted, not for you."

"Really? Well, I heard I'm not your only 'darling'. What about that rumor with your wife?" You smile smugly. You truly had been wondering what he did to an old woman; what would he do to you? At the thought of it. He'd probably drop you in a ditch somewhere after he got his perfect offspring or whatever he wanted from you.

"I'm not going to make up some sob story and say I didn't marry her for money; I gave her happiness with my presence in her last few days on this earth. She was a lonely old woman that's all." Diego's voice leaked no trace of the pretentiousness he had when you'd first met.

Hearing his words, you knew he wasn't lying; he didn't kill her. You bit your tongue as you looked towards the bleak floor. For the first time in a long time, you actually felt a desire to keep chatting with someone. Even if that someone was Diego.

"You know that whole charming act you put on. You don't have to do that with me," you expressed.

"As long as you turn off that 'scary country persona' with me." He tilted his head at you as he spoke. Diego had seen right through you. You hummed a small laugh. Seeing this earnest side of him once again was like a light switch that turned the room dark and bright.

"Might I say I'm glad you hit your head?" You lean forward more comfortably, looking into his eyes. "I mean, I was 2 seconds away from shooting you back there."

"Perhaps it changed me for the better." He had his own grin forming on his lips.

You smile, then notice something odd on his cheek; his skin begins to crack around the bandage, barely hanging on to his skin. You reach for the bandage to secure it, but he catches your hand quickly and leans closer to you. Your faces were inches away from each other. 

"Dieg-

"You truly don't remember me, do you?" His eyes beseeched for any sign of recognition within your own. You didn't move as his eyes searched all around like a dog.

It was as if his whole demeanor suddenly changed, returning to a more hunched appearance. "You know...I've been watching you closely. I must say, I am truly captivated by your singing. Did your mother teach you that song?" Your eyes widened, and questions filled your head. What did he mean he'd been watching you? Being here with him, you lost your whole sense of urgency. Forgetting everything Johnny had warned you about.

Then it finally occurs to you. The person who made you laugh and smile this whole time was Diego. Yet something seemed so off. But that didn't matter now; all that mattered was you were alone with him. Your heart began to speed, urging you to run. You stood up, but his body followed and stood in your way from leaving the room.

"Leave those pricks behind and come with me, I'll give you everything you want, anything your heart desires, just nod that pretty head of yours." You see the look in his eyes. It wasn't like anything you'd seen before; it looked like what only one could call animalistic. 

His eyes trace down your chest and pick up on the scar that was left on your shoulder. He inspected it more closely, sliding the collar of your shirt to the side.

You think he's about to pick at it, but his fingers only trace its stitch gently. "I leave you with those two, and you've already been hurt?" His eyes narrowed. Before you could speak or do anything at the moment, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he said,"...I've decided now." Diego then turns and leaves the room, leaving the wooden door wide open.

What the fuck just happened? You breathe heavily, touching the scar where he'd left his trace on it. 

Abruptly, you hear Johnny scream out Diego's name. You rush into the kitchen to see Johnny's angry face and Diego leaning against the countertop. Diego turns his head strangely, then he sees you, and smirks an oddly wide one.

"Y/n, just in time." Diego suddenly bolted over to you, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you towards him.

You could tell by the smirk on his face that he couldn't be any less afraid of you. He even went as far as holding it up above your head, trying to make you jump up to reach it. God, if you had that gun now, you would shoot that stupid golden grin off his face when he did it. You'd shoot enough holes into his body to look like a damn sponge.

"Hey, Johnny..you ever hear of an opera?" Gyro spoke to a dazed Johnny. 

"........."

"Johnny...? Johnny!" Johnny flinched as he was suddenly pulled out of his absentminded state. "What the hell, Johnny? Quit staring at her like a lost puppy." Johnny stiffened at Gyros' critique. "I don't," Johnny protested, forcing his eyes to look at the ground. 

"Right," Gyro replied, unconvinced. "Have you ever seen an opera show?"

"Opera? Those music plays? Where they start singing out their situation when they could just say their line." Johnny responded, clearly unimpressed with the whole idea of it. "Nope, never seen one. Why do you ask?" 

"They call these opera classes because you use them for watching an opera." Gyro held up the cilander binoculars. "But the people singing on stage all have huge bodies that weigh like 120 or 150kg or more..."

"Yeah, that's why they can sing like that, I guess."

"But why look at them with opera glasses? You don't need to...'cause they're already so big." Gyro and Johnny both laughed as they added on to the joke. The cakling Gyro looked at you and called out.

"Y/n! What do you think?" 

You stared with a judgmental gaze at both of them. "About what? Two people who don't know how to sing mocking people who do?" They shrank back a bit, ashamed, well, Johnny was. Gyro just stiffened at your disapproval of his joke and rolled his eyes, annoyed, finding him self more disappointed than he'd like to admit.

You sighed, bringing your focus to the dessert in front of you. You couldn't believe you even considered being with these incompetent men. First of all, it annoyed you that they were making fun of people's bodies in the first place, for the ass joke in general, and maybe because you just wanted them to shut the fuck up. 

Johnny's frown came to a grin as he gestured far ahead. Both men who were once behind you sped up and were now a few paces ahead of you. "That's Monument Valley! We'll be able to see the goal in a couple of hours!" Gyro raised his binoculars and squinted through them.

"Should we speed up?!" Johnny asked Gyro.

"No, this speed is fine. We'll be in first, no problem!" Johnny looked up as he noticed a group of birds flying past him. He slowed his pace and turned around to check and see if you could keep up. At that moment, His eyes widened, and he discovered that you nor your horse were there.

"Y/n?" he had come to a complete halt, now turning his mare, frantically searching for any sight of you.

"GYRO WE HAVE TO FIND Y/-" he turned to only see the dismounted horse that his friend had once ridden. "WHAT HAPPENED?! Y/N! GYRO...WHERE ARE YOU?! Y/N?!" His yelling now became more distressed as his fear started to set in. his breathing quickened as his heart began pumping faster and faster. His eyes began to turn glassy, his mind filled with all the horrible possibilities that could have occurred. 

Were you hurt? Had you left him for Gyro? Where had you gone?

Discomfort struck you quickly. Spit had caught in your throat as you coughed it out. The sun stung your eyes as you looked up, seeing a bloody, passed-out Gyro dangling by his hair that was tied to a rock. Panic set in your chest as you seethe situation you're in yourself. A hook held on to you by your shoulder, your blood drips down the hook, and forms a puddle beneath you.

You hissed out in pain and let a deep breath out, "Gyro..." You called out, but there was no sign of him awaking; he remained rooted in place. You look around, seeing a cluttered mess of both your things on the ground. A shiny object lay beside Gyro, that caught your eye...your gun. 

Hope sprang in your heart, yet it was far out of reach. You tried to reach for it with your boot, the tip of your boot barely grazing it. You stretched your body to its limit as the hook that held on to you began to tear deeper into your flesh. Holding up your body, you cried out and pulled back. You let out a sigh in frustration as your situation truly sank in.

"Hey, this is fun! You guys are fun!"

When you looked down, you saw a short man in front of you wearing green clothing with sugar cane tied to his scalp. "Let us go, you motherfucker!" You spat out with all the strength you could muster, but it wasn't enough as the man looked at you smugly, turning around, leaving you there. 

"Two lovers dying together, how sweet!" He laughed maliciously. 

Your eyes twitched in annoyance. Why did everyone think you and Gyro were a thing!? Shit, were people coming after you, know, because they thought you were with him!? You leaned your head back onto the rock behind you.

Gyro was still out cold. Hanging in front of you as you looked up, blood seeping from a wound on his chin. Honestly, you'd laugh at Gyro at the moment, yet you find yourself surprised by how stupidly strong his hair is. If he just woke up, he could kick your gun, 'shit,' you thought grimly, licking your dried lips. You hated feeling this weak. Weakness was the worst thing you could be. Without your gun, you held back a sob, breathing in deeply. 'Damnit.' Gyro was right, you were just a little girl with her stupid gun.

Your mind traced back to Johnny, as dread crept into your mind, 'What if?' No, no, He must be out there trying to help us; he wouldn't just leave us here. Would he? Your doubts flooded your mind as the man began to speak to himself.

You didn't bother to listen to his pesky babbling. Suddenly, he had started shouting. "Wh...where is he!? Damn!" The man looked into a bowl of water as wires and hooks came from his mouth, reaching into it. "Did I...! Did I lose him...? Is he underground? He's hiding somewhere, that's for sure..."

You realized the 'he' the man was talking about was Johnny; he was still here...he was trying to save you. 

You felt it, you had to do something, you couldn't just sit here, or in your case hang there waiting for him. You looked over at the Gyro and down below at your gun when an idea came to you quickly, yes, it was risky, but who gives a shit. Making sure the man was still busy with Johnny, you breathed in and out of your nose and bit your lip, preparing for the pain as you began to swing yourself back and forth, gaining momentum. 

You swung your legs around Gyros' waist, straddling him. You lifted yourself with your body and tore the hook out, splattering blood. You kept a grip on Gyros' waist as you fell, and you hung upside down from his waist. Reaching for your gun immediately. It seems that in all your movements, the man turned around as he realized that he had a gun aimed right at him.

He growled and spat hooks that reeled out from his mouth. You fired half of your bullets trying to aim as best as you could while the blood rushed to your head from hanging downwards, and blood ran out of your shoulder wound.

The bullets had all been blocked by his wires. Swirling through them. He laughed as he could now aim his hook in your direction. "Stupid girl!" One hook penetrated through your palm, and the gun that was in your hand slipped from your grasp. You screamed out in agony. Abruptly, the hook was ripped out just as quickly as it came. The man suddenly shifted his attention towards Johnny. Who'd just shot something out of his nails? You watched in misery as you saw fire in the distance, and the man quickly forgot about you.

You felt completely sick by now, the lightheadedness getting to you, but despite it, you pulled yourself up, reaching up for Gyro's hair and uniting the knot that held him up. He grunted, now awake, as you both hit the ground.

You were straddled on his lap, your head lay on his chest, you could barely keep your eyes open as you looked up at Gyro, "Are you okay..?" you whispered faintly. His eyes widened as he heard you. He looked down, seeing the pool of blood that lay before you, how much blood you'd lost while he was out.

"Why the hell are you asking me that?" he breathed out in disbelief. You'd been so coarse with him, yet you still asked if he was okay first? He didn't understand you. Not one bit. 

You scoffed, trying to move away, but let out a moan in pain as you fell back onto him, finding it hard to even breathe. "Shit, it must have hit an important vein...you're bleeding way too much." He stated, softly pushing your hair out of the way to inspect your shoulder. You swipe his hand away and glare up at him.

"And how the hell do you know that, you ain't no doctor." 

He lurched back slightly, then closed his eyes in annoyance. He shoved your head into his chest, holding it there, "Just shut the hell up and save your energy." You didn't have the strength to fight back, so you sat there. Turning your head to the side, looking away from him. Having to be on his lap was embarrassing enough as it is. You hated this guy; who was he to tell you what to do anyway? You hoped no one caught you both like this. 

'...God, that fucking announcer.'

Your body began getting weaker, and your vision began to haze.

"Y/N!"

"Johnny...?" You dryly coughed out.

"Y/n!" Johnny crawled to you and grabbed hold of your face. He lifted you out of Gyro's hold and cradled your body in his arms, "No, no, no, you're okay, you're gonna be fine, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." his eyes welled up, holding you tighter, as your blood stained his clothes. He traced his hand over your wound, seeing the severity of it. 

"Gyro! Are you breathing? Where's the string to fix her wound!? That string!" He leaned closer to Gyro, practically shouting in his face, unaware because of how terrified he was to lose you. Johnny didn't see the hook in his arm until he saw that Gyro's body was hovering barely over the ground. 

Johnny saw the man, his body burned, all bloodied, his face fuming at the sight of you all, as he dangled down the edge of the cliff. Johnny was yanked viciously, his wrist gushing blood. "C-Caught you! That's my bait! Jyoshter, you lost! You fell for it! I made both Gyro and Y/n themselves the bait!" 

As you slammed back into the ground, your eyes snapped open, looking above you, seeing Johnny and Gyro getting dragged by a hook attached to Johnny's wrist, going through Gyro's chest. "That's why I let them live, you twe~~rp!" The man continued to reel Johnny's wrist into Gyro's chest, "Give the corpse in your left hand to me!"

You try catching your breath as you lie there, unable to take control of your body. What was he talking about, a corpse's hand? You were so confused, your body was in so much pain, you could hardly stand it, you held on to your shoulder, trembling. 

You watched in despair as Johnny fought. You couldn't do anything. You scrunched your face as you held on to your gun with a tight grip; it still had bullets...But you couldn't bear to shoot, you'd miss the last time, and it made everything worse. You'd failed your momma, Johnny, and Gyro, more so yourself. 

As you watched Johnny's arm be drawn into Gyro's chest again, you could feel yourself quickly fading. You saw Johnny's face, the complete despair as he looked behind him to see you; he had done this to you, he dragged you into this for his selfish reasons.

"I'm thankful. I'm thankful I joined this race. I thought I could risk my life for this hand. I'm so sorry Y/n..." Johnny's voice wavered as his eyes filled with more tears.

There it was, he said it again, he was sorry when he held you, you could barely hear it, but now seeing it come from his lips, saying your name ever so terribly apologetically.

A second arm fell from his. Only then did something suddenly become quite apparent to you. Johnny had accepted this, trading his last hope for you. he had given up, but you, you couldn't not. 

"NO!" You lifted yourself from the ground, raised your gun, and shot your last round of bullets, aiming straight for the man with all your might. One had scraped against the man's body. He clenched his fist and pointed at you, "You ignorant girl! I'll kill you!"

"Y/N, NO!" Johnny reached out his other hand for you as more hooks emerged from the man's mouth, now directly aimed at you, with the ultimate goal of killing you. "Johnny...I don't know what that stupid arm is or why it's so important, but I won't let this piece of shit get it...not over my dead body!" You yelled out in mutiny; you wouldn't let Johnny give up, no matter what.

Everything slowly became drowned out. You leaned back in fear, you began to become indifferent, you were gonna die, maybe this was for the best. Dying for someone you cared for would be a good way to go. 

You braced for impact, only to be met with the sounds of a man choking on his blood. The man gargled on his blood, holding his neck up as his blood squirted out of it, his hooks ran straight through his neck, "What the fuck?! That's not fucking fair!" He fell to his knees, both hands reaching for his neck. 

You did it, the attack had bounced back, you turned to see the shocked faces of both Johnny and Gyro, as the hooks retracted from their bodies, going back to their owner. 

You grinned and let out a sigh of relief as you collapsed back to the floor. Johnny had crawled over to you. Holding up your head, Johnny turned back to you. "Y/n! y/n....why...how did you-" 

"Shut up, Joe Kid...you heard me." Johnny ceased and smiled sadly as he heard his old nickname come from your mouth. You leaned forward, gently pushing him back. Gyro had limped over to the corpse part that had been tossed away and thrown it to Johnny. 

Gyro groaned as he withdrew a thread and a needle and stitched it into his skin, and he walked over to you and knelt over you. You flinched back as he grabbed your arm.

He stopped and looked up at you through his long blond eyelashes. He sighed, "I'll be gentle," his voice surprisingly patient, trying to convince you to trust him enough to help. He held out his hand and looked at you. You didn't necessarily trust him, not at all. But god, did your fucking shoulder hurt, and he did sew you up last time. 

You stared at him for a while, you'd honestly thought he'd just throw the thread and needle at you. You slowly uncurled your arm and let him sew it up.

He began to sew you up as you stiffened and let a small groan out in pain. "You have quite the ways to surprise me, Bella." Which caused you to raise an eyebrow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He stood up, having now finished closing up your wound. And patted it enough to sting. "Ow! What the hell?" He ignored your whining and walked over to his horse, saddling it.

"You're still a woman after all, yet you've proved yourself with that ability of yours." You rolled your eyes, standing up, hobbling over your horse. This guy couldn't just thank you for 'saving' him. 

"A 'thank you' would suffice, though I doubt your ego is as big as your head would allow it." You murmured, glaring ahead at him. 

"Well, a big ego is needed when you're headed for first place; all I want is an amnesty from my king," Gyro stated honestly. He looked at Johnny, who had now fused his arm with the corpse, inspecting it closely.

"Wait... don't tell me that you've already decided to find the rest, too..." Gyro stammers at Johnny's clear determination to continue searching for the corpse parts. "I've already made up my mind," Johnny started with a hesitant look in his eyes before continuing. 

"I don't know whose corpse this is, but if I lose this, I'm back to the loser I was..." Hearing Johnny's desperate voice talking about this 'corpse part', your heart ached. Of course, you knew about his whole 'incident' when it happened, yet when you heard about it, you didn't visit him, too bitter and afraid, too.

"I see. Well, let's make this clear: don't count on me, I'm not going corpse hunting." Gyro retorted impassively as he went around picking up his things off the ground. "But I'll tell you what I think, there must be some record on that corpse, you'll find it if you investigate, but it's probably a corpse of some saint." 

Johnny's eyes widened as he pointed accusingly at Gyro and yelled. "Gyro! So you do know something about this!" 

Gyro flinched back at Johnny's impatience. "Wait! Calm down, you...! I'm just saying my opinion. Tell me, Y/n, is Johnny the type that listens to half of what people say and then judges them!" Gyro exhaled as you shrugged, leaning on your horse, watching this whole scene. 

You spotted a writing on Johnny's arm in some strange writing. "Hey, what's that writing on your hand?" Both men looked down at where you pointed. 

"movẽre crũs...I don't know why this is written on your arm, but it's Latin. It means 'move your legs.' You deadpanned. Was he serious? How stupid was that? You could have left now and continued, but something compelled you to hear more about this 'corpse part' Gyro continued, "Do you know...what kind of people the word saint is used for?" 

Johnny's face became dumbfounded at Gyros' sudden question, "........." A long silence held him as he furrowed his eyebrows and turned slightly to you for help. 

"He means people like Mary and Peter." Johnny nodded along. 

"Very clever, Bella," Gyro added smugly. Hopping on his saddle with ease, Gyro called out to you and Johnny with a wide grin.

"I'm going to be first in this race! Johnny, you can be second, and Y/n, you're lucky I even let you stay in the race!" Gyro's smile widened his golden grills shining in the sun's glare, "If so~~, I'll let you two come with me!" 

"Wait, hold on! I never said I was joining you!" You exclaimed, appalled by his audacity to insult you and then offer you to join him.

"Well, you could've left at any time, yet you stayed." Your face burned, embarrassed that he saw through you so easily, holding back your pride. You tsked and spat on the ground. "...I'm only doing this for me, got it?" You say, trying to sound unwilling, but it ended up almost like you were trying to convince yourself as well.

Johnny smiled up at both you and Gyro. Even if you didn't join for him, he was glad he got to at least be near you again. "Hey, look! Who are they?!" Gyro looked over the horizon, seeing two zooming past them from below. 

His body tensed as he felt your touch and shook you off quickly.

"Ah! Jesus..." He didn't look directly at you; his face looked away, as if bothered, even more so, just irked by your presence. You narrowed your eyebrows down, "What's wrong, Johnny?" He opens his mouth to speak, yet nothing comes, and he lets out a loud sigh.

"Nothing, I was just thinking." Confounded by his austere answer, you continued pressing further as you walked around him, facing him. "...About?"

A muted silence came as you stared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked the other way, averting his gaze."Johnny....? Come on, you can talk to me." You let out a breath. You often stopped there when he didn't respond to your questions, but today you couldn't; it had been like this for weeks.

"Johnny! What's wrong? You've been acting so strange, I-"

"Stop! Just shut up!" His attention had fully turned to you now. His face is like a foreign thing to you. He had never looked at you this way before; his eyes flamed with bitterness as if repelled to look at you.

You were left there straggling behind, confused as Johnny walked away from you. Why had he continued to push you away? You thought maybe this was just his age-old cockiness or perhaps you'd done something to make him upset, but it'sbeen weeks and nothing.

'What happened to my Johnny?'

You went inside your house, the wooden planks creaked under your step, and you followed through the old halls you spent your whole life in. Your gift for Johnny was stowed away under your bed. You couldn't let your ma see it. If she knew how much you truly cared for Johnny. Lord, you didn't even want to know what she'd do.

She persisted that Johnny could potentially be your spouse, of course, only you and Johnny knew that would never happen. The love you two shared was... 'platonic' in a way, even though you both knew that wasn't true. Your phrase for it was 'different.'

It didn't matter what kind of love it was, but that it was your love, not some setup like your parents; it was real, even if you'd never marry or have children, to be happy just basking in each other's presence.

'This will make it better, he'll be happy and everything will go back to normal...' You held the gift box tightly in your hands, perfectly wrapped. Well, to you at least. The box that held the gift was baby blue with a purplish-pink ribbon tied into a bow that lay slanted on top. Whatever you had done to upset Johnny would go away, you hoped at least. Your thoughts come to a halt as you hear voices coming from the living room. Wait, was your momma home? 

You peeked your head out of the door, squinting your eyes. Two figures stood in the hallway speaking softly, focusing their gaze to make them out. 

One of them looked your way, "Y/n! I didn't know you'd be home." Your momma called out to you. You jerked back as you stepped into full view. Your momma and Johnny? What were they doing here, and even more, why were they together?

Johnny harbored a guilty look in his eyes as he stared down at his boots. Your mother continued as she walked towards you, pushing you closer to Johnny. "Momma, what's going on?"

"Well, because now both of you are of age, it's time!" She exclaimed. "For what?" A lump had caught in your throat, and you croaked out what you could, afraid of what might come next. "To be wedded. Johnny is a nice boy, so perfect for you, and we knew you'd never agree with your silly fantasies, so we simply hid it away until now, of course." A strange noise had left your closed throat as you blinked rapidly. Reality had hit you like a train; all this coming down on you was too much.

'We,' that's your mother, said. Had Johnny known...?

"Was this the plan from the beginning...You knew?" You lifted your gaze to meet his. You hoped to see the same confusion that clouded your own eyes. But looking at Johnny, the look in his darting eyes was all you needed. Your mother grabbed onto your shoulder, smiling at you as if this were her proudest moment as a mother.

"Yes, Y/n, this was the plan for you to marry Johnny, and it worked perfectly! Because you two did truly fall in love." Your momma's hands fluttered in distress. "Don't speak so. This is love. He adores you. You've grown together since childhood; it is only natural." She spoke.

"Natural?" You say the word burning. You stepped away as though the ground might collapse under you. "What's natural about being bartered like a parcel? What's natural about him standing there pretending, while everyone else knew my life was not my own!?" You cried out. "Ma! You said you wouldn't do this!" Your breath caught, but you shook your head fiercely. "I'm not doing this, I won't!" You push past her, but her hand grips onto you.

"I didn't spend 16 years of my life raising a daughter and giving her everything! So she could throw it away for some silly dream of what she calls 'freedom,' a fragile thing." Her voice softened as she went on,

Your momma holds your hand more gently now. The touch was warm, persuasive, unlike the look in her eyes. "You are young, and you see the world through bright colors and songs. But when the years come, when the world grows harsher, you will be grateful for protection. You will be grateful for him." You couldn't bear her words; you hit her hand away in torment. 

"Don't touch me!" A silence consumes the room as you yell out, swallowing a breath. You didn't dare to look at Johnny; you knew you'd completely break down at the sight of his condemnable gaze.

"Now that is enough, you are to be wed and that's final." Your momma voice did not waver. Your face sneered as your chest fell and rose too quickly. "No, it's not final." 

"Yes, it is." 

"No, it's not final! You're not gonna tell me who I'm gonna love!" You 

Your momma's eyes lingered for a moment, but only a moment before returning to her persistent watch. "You are 16 years old, you don't know anything about love." 

"Oh, and you do? You don't look at pa the way I look at Johnny. You don't touch, or laugh, you don't play, you don't know anything about love!" Your lips quivered as you shut your eyes and pushed past your mother's embrace out of the house, stumbling over the porch steps, as you ran. 

Your breath quickened, and the world around you looked so different; everything that was once so simple and bright turned tight and unbearable. Everything you knew was a lie, falsified against you, and being so out of control, it felt terrible, like you couldn't breathe. 

"Y/N! Wait, please!" You heard Johnny's voice call out for you from behind. You stopped once you were far enough away from the house, making your way to your tree, standing under the same tree where you'd speak so gently to each other. You fiercely turned around to face him as he staggered back.

"You knew this whole time! After everything I told you! What my pa... how they treated each other. I ain't never wanna be like them!" You screamed at him. You didn't believe it. This wasn't your Johnny; he wouldn't have done this.

"I told you! You knew!" You pushed him and hit him over and over, and he let you. His face had a breakdown of its own as he looked at you, too afraid to speak. He couldn't even speak as he stared down at your tear-filled expression. You wanted to scream, shout, tear your hair, but all you can do in the moment is cry. Your face contorts into affliction as your lips tremble. You were so angry and humiliated.

You shut your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks. You thought this was what heartbreak felt like; it hurt, it hurt real bad."You lied to me this whole time. After everything...everything was a lie!"

"No, no, it wasn't! Y/n, I'm sorry, don't cry, please, I thought..." His voice quieted as he looked at your face. He closed his eyes tightly. "I thought I could change your mind...I figured you'd love me back, Y/n! We can be happy together!" He clenched his jaw tightly, his face twisted in desperation. "Is that it?! You won't marry me because of them? Fine, screw them. We don't have to be like them! If marrying me means throwing away a lifelong defiance against them, so be it! We can leave together!"

You scoffed, putting a hand to your head. "We can't get married and just run away, Johnny! You have racing, and we both have school and-"

"I'll drop out of school! It's okay, I'm fine with it, I'll take care of you, and I'll use the racing money I have left so we can make a life together. I'll even quit racing if that's what you want." Johnny pleaded. He stopped for a moment and stepped closer to you, reaching his hand. For a minute, he looked like a boy again, wounded and bewildered. "I just wanna be with you. Just tell me...tell me that you want me back." Johnny's voice was almost a whisper by the end of his speech. 

Though Johnny often mentioned it a lot, you often push him down and ignore his heartfelt words. Back then, you didn't see a problem with it. You didn't see how much it actually mattered to him. How much you mattered to him. You just couldn't.

You crossed your arms, extending one out. "Why can't you just go marry one of your aristocratic friends?" As much as you didn't want Johnny to be with any other girl, it was the only way you could see him finding solace. "I'm sure they have all the girls you could want-"

Johnny placed both of his palms, spreading his fingers out, covering his eyes. "NO! I don't want those girls! I wanted...I want you. All I want is you, why can't you get that!?" But you couldn't believe how that could be true. It was almost mean of him to lie about it. 

 "And live the way you've been acting towards me!" You shouted back in retaliation, remembering how these last few weeks had been his guilt that held over him and passed on to you. "....I will not be my mother, I will not stand by and fade into nothing." You spit back at him. He tilted his head up to the sky, his hands running through his hair.

"I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you....my father; he told me he wished I had died...me!" His voice cracked as he choked out his words, clutching onto his shirt, all the emotions he had been bottling inside this whole time. 

You could see the hurt in Johnny's eyes as he spoke about his father; he'd always been a strict man, never giving poor Johnny enough love, which is why Johnny could never say what he was feeling. Maybe that's why he'd found it so easy to lie to you. "You could have told me...but you pushed me away! I could've been there, but you lied!" You spout.

"I know, I know I did, but just listen-" He reaches out to touch you, but you flinch away. "No, no! You do not get the privilege to comfort me." You stepped away from him; it was all clear to you now. This would never work. Whatever was there was gone, all of it. 

"I ain't never wanna see you again." Your final words to Johnny were clear and firm as you walked away, feeling the burn of his gaze on your back as you sucked up your tears, tasting the saltiness of them. 

You never went back to that tree again, seeing its engraving of your names, you just wanted to scratch it all off, just like the memories.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You rubbed the haze from your eyes as you awoke, and the sun still shone through your tent. Only telling by its brittleness, you hadn't been asleep for long, perhaps two or three hours at most. God, but you wish it had been the next day already. You raise your head out of the corner of your eye, and you see something peeking through the edge of your tent, wrapped around cloth.

You reached out for it, uncovering its containment; it was a cooked fish, slightly burned on one side. And a few berries on the side. Your mouth watered at the sight. Yes, it would be unappetizing to a normal person, but considering you hadn'teaten in a while, it was good enough. Ignoring the taste of burnt skin on the fish. You ate your fill and ate a pick of the berries that Johnny picked.

'Oh, right, Johnny.' Your mind went back to what had happened earlier with Johnny. Did he leave this for you? It was either him or a phantom, god knows, Gyro wouldn't have, he hated you, or from what you'd seen, he definitely did. 

You made your way out of your tent after debating what you'd say to Johnny, but no one was there, and the fire had been extinguished completely. Had they left? 

You clenched your fist tightly. God, how stupid you were. Of course, they did. You let out a slight laugh and plopped down next to the burned-out fire. You felt a slight sting in your eye, but wiped it away immediately as you stared into the burnt wood. It was nice to be alone again, but of course, being abandoned hurt. Even if it was by people you didn'tparticularly like. But god, it made you furious, throwing you that pity fish and berries like it would make up for-

"Still not gone yet?" You looked up as you heard a voice. Gyro looked at you with an annoyed look, holding up piles of wood in his arms. Even for his fucked up words that you would probably beat him for, you felt happy for a minute that they weren't gone until he spoke again.

"I got the wood, you didn't get." He walked over, dropping the wood into a pile on the circle of stones that surrounded it. Then you remembered how much of an ass he was. You groaned as you looked away from him, distancing yourself. After lighting it, He moved towards you and sat down next to you. You stared at him. What the fuck was he doing? You almost expected him to try to throw you into the fire. It didn't matter; you didn't want to be anywhere near him. You raise yourself.

"Sit your ass down, I need to talk to you." You turned back. He lounged down by the fire. The fire illuminated his olive skin. His gaze was still staring straight ahead as you slowly backed down next to him. You were quite curious what he had to say, but one wrong move and he'd be done for.

"What the hell do you want?" You spout out quickly, ready to be done with this chat. "Johnny cares for you, and no matter how hard I try to beat it out of him, he won't tell me a damn thing." 

You don't respond, he clinks his teeth and continues, "I'm not going to apologize to you because, well, I wouldn't mean it, but just speak with him. I don't need him mopping on me so early in the race." You just stare at him unfazed by his so-called plea, "God damnit, women are so needy..." he put his hand covering his eyes, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath.

"And maybe I have been too harsh with you...Women are delicate creatures." You scoffed at his half assed 'apology'."God, was the only woman you ever spoke with your mother?" you mocked at his crude words. He rolled his eyes as he tilted his hat down.

"Fuck it, Nevermind." As you watched him, a slight compassion or perhaps desperation for community sparked in you as you followed up with your own 'apology', "...I guess that I have also not been the kindest, but I did what you deserved." He let out a small chuckle.

"Ha, yes, I reckon you're right about that, Bella..." his eyes finally look at you fully with a smirk on his face, yet his eyes shift as they narrow. "What is there something on my face?" you asked as he weirdly stared at you. He clears his throat and leans over to his side, away from you. "No...Uh, I just remembered Johnny's still back at the stream. Go before he drowns himself or something." He waved you off. You briefly consider arguing with him, but hold off, finding yourself truly wanting to speak with Johnny.

You walked through the grove; it was nighttime by now, hearing the crickets' soft trills around you. You stood behind Johnny. Not speaking a word, he didn't bother to turn and just sighed in a bare tone. "Gyro, I told you just leave me alone."

"I still can't believe you're wearing that stupid hat." You spoke with a slight awkwardness in your voice. Yes, you could have said anything else, but that was the first thing that popped into your mind. Johnny tensed as he heard your voice, then shifted slightly, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I just hold sentimental value, I guess."

A silence came after both of you looked at the flowing stream in front of you. You pick at your nail, remembering how comfortable the silence used to be between the two of you, god, how you yearned for it now, seeing how much it took for you to even consider going to the stream to meet him. He turned to you, fully looking up at you.

"I'm not going to beg you to join us, but please stay with us, with me, we can win together. Just think about it." His voice spoke so gently, as much as he said he wouldn't beg, it almost sounded like he was. You didn't know what to say in your mind, still holding a grudge against him, you couldn't tell if he was still the arrogant boy you knew from back home. You turn slightly away from his gaze and don't respond. Digging your nails into your forearm as he left from view. You breathe in deeply the cold air, settling in for the night.

It didn't matter whether you joined them or not; this would be a distraction for you and Johnny. As Gyro said, this made you sappy for each other. In the smart term, you'd leave immediately, not leaving a trace, yet his request for you to stay with him pulled you in so tightly. 

You tsked and shook your head, thinking about it. 'Yeah, right,' you thought. No way you'd stay with them, not with that brute Gyro or that foolish Johnny. No fucking way.

You weren't that stupid...right?

He wanted you to yell at him, hit him, kill him, anything but look at him like you hated him. It hurt, it physically hurt the way you avoided him so perilously. 

'Did she find it beautiful?' Johnny wondered. Back when they were still on that beach in San Diego, you kept staring at the ocean. Johnny had always wanted to take you to the ocean or a beach of some kind. He'd seen it in one of your storybooks and told you he'd been there before. Seeing the sparkle in your eyes when he told you all about it was enough to make sure he'd take you one day, so you could see it for yourself. 

In the back of his mind, he pondered what you thought of the ocean; he wanted to hear all about it. He wanted to see if your eyes still sparkled the same way. He wanted to count the sparkles, hear your high-pitched voice squeal with excitement, and listen to your ramblings going on and on.

But it didn't matter because now you were just like you were before. It felt like he was back at negative square 1 with you; he wanted to at least get to square 0.

Making his way out of his tent, he saw the flap of yours open and empty. Did you leave? 'No...,' he shook away the uneasy thoughts that crept into the front of his mind as he sat in his wheelchair. He strummed his fingers against his hand, waiting for you to come back. 

After 10 minutes of non-stop thoughts overflowing through Johnny's mind, he had decided that it would be best to find you before he shot himself with his own nail bullets.

He strolled through the woods, seeing your thick boot prints going straight past towards the grove. He pushed his way through, seeing a stream run along the path. A tree blocks his path, and he sees garments hanging along its wooden trunk. He pulls himself to the side as he peeks. You stood only a few feet away, your back facing him, brushing out your hair, untangling its knots. He staggered back. 'Shit, ' he'd found you bathing. He gripped the wheel of his chair tightly to turn back. 

You began to sing softly as you brushed your hair. Johnny stopped in his tracks. Hearing the song you used to sing to him, you were always so embarrassed about it, but he loved it. Your voice to him was like honey, soothing his soul. 

Hearing it again, seeing that soft smile on your face, the one you always used to give him. He couldn't help but smile back, staring at you through the trees. The sunlight tickles the side of your face. As it sheds light on your smile. He couldn't look away; his heart throbbed as he watched the remnants of a girl he once knew. Enamored by you, he could not bear to part with this side of you.

He never understood why he always got so sappy when he was around you. He grabbed onto a branch beside him to pull himself closer. Until it snapped under his grip, sending a sound wave that echoed through the meadow. 

"Who's there!?" You screamed out, quickly turned anxiously, and rushed out of the stream, looking towards the broken twig on the ground. You dried off and put your clothes back on. 'shit, was someone watching me?' You grit your teeth nervously at the thought of some pervert spying on you. If you got your hands on them, you'd beat their ass black and blue.

"...Good morning, Y/n." Johnny hesitates before speaking as he sees you walking your way through the trees back to camp. His voice was a bit shaken, his accent seeping through his words.

"Morning..." reluctantly turning your gaze to him, still a bit wary of anyone at the moment. The small talk was cut short as you both sat there in silence. But a little pity came to you enough that you continued his efforts.

"Uh, so what's y'all's horses' names?" You walked toward your bag, taking out a sack of apples you'd bought, 

"Oh, Gyros is Valkyrie mine is Slow Dancer..." He spoke, selecting his words carefully, afraid to even breathe wrong enough to upset you.

You nod, walking over to the horses that lay in the green pasture. You petted the windchimes' mane as you fed her an apple gently. The slow dancer seemed uncertain about you at first. You slowly held out the apple to her, trying not to overstep any of the boundaries she had already set. Gradually, she nudged the apple on your palm, taking it into her mouth as you scratched her nose, as she neighed, rubbing against your hand.

"I thought you said you thought it was lame to ride a horse?" Johnny spoke, attempting to continue the conversation. You found comfort in his sentiment and smiled for some foolish reason. "I do, but it's not like I can run in this race now, can I?" You looked back, and Johnny held his gaze with yours.

Allowing yourself to show him a slight smile in appreciation of his efforts. 'Maybe this isn't so bad...' You think back to last night and its awkwardness. Of course, you knew you had to talk to Johnny about your past eventually, but for now, maybe letting yourself indulge would be fine.

You moved on to Valkirye, picking out the round apple in your hand, leading it to her mouth. "Trying to poison my horse?" The apple was snatched out of your hand. "She doesn't need your apples." Gyro held up the apple out of your reach, but Valkyrie immediately reached out to bite it.

"Guagliona malamente!" He scolded his horse, gritting his teeth at her. You mocked him, "Seems like she likes me more than you," laughing at his nonsensical words. He grumbled and pursed his lips, "Whatever, so you plan on feeding the horses and not us?" You made a face of repulsion at his entitlement. 

Who exactly did he think he was that you'd give up your apples to feed him? Wait...Was this because you're a woman?! "I'd rather feed every goddamn horse in the world than you." You snarled and turned your back to him.

"Johnny! Say something, she's being impossible!" Gyros's accent became more pronounced as his irritation grew, turning to Johnny, raising his other hand, and gesturing towards you.

"She's her own person, Gyro; she can do what she wants," Johnny replied to Gyro's petulance. "But we do need to eat something; there's a forest that way and a stream, there's bound to be fish there." Johnny's intel made you raise a brow, "How did you know that?" Johnny stiffened and averted his gaze. "I...saw it yesterday." You nod and let it go, not pushing any further.

"Alrighty then, let's go before it gets dark." 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

YOU traced back your steps, you stop once you reach the stream. You began taking off your boots, placing them upon a rock that stood to the side of the river. You roll the cuff of your pants to your knees. "I assumed you wouldn't want to get wet." Gyro came from behind you. You stepped into the water, giving him a distasteful smile. "Well, I'm not made out of sugar." He gives you a look that you couldn't quite discern what he was thinking at the moment.

You look towards Johnny, who stayed back, reserved in his wheelchair, shifting uncomfortably, his face curled in a look of decrepitude, his hand digging into his thigh. "Johnny. Uh, we got it here. I saw berries around the bend over there. You can go pick them." You chimed, refrained from looking at his face, catching a glimpse as he nodded in relief that he could be useful somehow.

"Ah, how kind of you to be nice to the cripple now, huh?" 

"Shut up." Gyro smiled, but it wasn't kind; it was a foul smile. One that plans and watches your every move. You bent over, scouting out for any fish that crept up through the river. Feeling a tingle beside your foot, you grasp onto it. The slimy fish scales cause it to slip out of your hands, losing your grip on your only catch. 

A cackle came from behind you, you licked your teeth and tsked, you couldn't let a man see you struggle like this.Especially, Gyro of all people. He had already thought you were weak. 

"...Why? Do you care for him? It doesn't seem like it." Gyro spoke again, more harshly this time.

"You don't get to decide that!" You twisted your head back. Peering back at him, there he was, Gyro, crossing his arms as his side leaned against a tree, smirking as if he enjoyed your anger. 

You crinkled the corner of your eye. He was trying to get a reaction out of you. And you fell for it so easily, too. You unclenched your jaw and sighed. Deciding it would be better to just play along with his little game. "Well, what about you? Why are you helping Johnny?" 

"We have similar goals, that's all," his tone was indistinct as he replied. You raised a brow at his plain answer, but you continued. "About spin? What is that anyway?" It's not that you cared more than you simply wanted to know why Johnny joined and paired with a guy like Gyro in the first place.

"Not that I'd teach you or anything, but I'll tell you anyway, it is a technique passed down from my family-"

"lame." You cut him off before he finished his whole speech about his family and their great generational past. Or whatever the hell he was going to say. He almost chokes on his spit when he hears you, lowering his brows at your response. 

Yes, it might have been heartless of you to mock his family's legacy, but you didn't exactly care, not for some womanizer Italian. "Maybe you should help, or perhaps must the woman do all the work for you?" He squints his eyes at your words, pushes off the tree he was on, and tosses his hair back.

He unlatched his green steel ball from its pouch, as it spun under the touch of his fingertips. Putting a hand on his hip flamboyantly. 

Damn, you couldn't even lie to yourself about how cool he looked; you bit the inside of your cheek trying to prevent your gaze from falling onto him, but you couldn't help, as your eyebrows raised at his actions, catching a glimpse.

He traced his ball over the water as it rippled, turning into a swirl in the water, causing fish to swarm around its wave."Nyo oh!" Gyro exclaimed as he eyed the fish carefully as they flapped around his hand.

You stood there dumbfounded at this new revelation. He could have done it before you stood there trying to catch fish like a complete dumbass.

"You could have done that this whole time!?" You shouted, stomping your foot down, splashing water on your once drypants.

He bent over, holding up three fish before tossing them to the ground next to him in a pile. "Yeah, but I like seeing you struggle." He smirked, watching your face contort into a full-on snarl. You shuffled your way through the stream over to him.

"...You stupid mother fucker-"

"Ah ah ah, Bella, don't even try it." He drew your gun and twirled it around his fingers skillfully. He turned it, using its grip handle to lift your chin to meet his eyes, mirroring your own.

"I still have your gun, remember, and being so mean to me won't get you far, think I'll keep it for a while." He tilts his head, looking deeply into your stare that burned into his. Pulling back before you could grab onto your gun, and placing it back onto his belt.

"Wait, what!? I'm not even staying with y'all!" You shouted, seizing away from him, taken aback by his threat. "Then I suppose you'll have to...unless a girl like you wants to go without her little gun." He taunted as his green lips pressed into a fine line, glowering down at you.

You breathed out in disbelief. Looking him up and down. Was he trying to make you stay? What benefits would that give to him? None. None at all. "...What are you trying to say?"

He tsked and scrunched his nose up. "I'm only going to say this once: stay out of the way." He shook his finger in your face as one would do with a child. You couldn't believe him; he was the one telling you to stay out of the way. You shook off your glare as you grinned back in anger.

"Ha! I could say the same thing! I will gladly do that! I would not want to be anywhere near you. You are nothing but a filthy lothario!"

"And you are just a weak woman in my way!" 

Your eyebrows knitted together as your posture tensed. Your fist tightened into a ball of pure anger. You rushed forward at him, pushing him back, but right as you do, you lose your balance. 

You reach forward and grasp his belt, pulling him down with you. You landed on your ass on the gravel below the water. Your hands catch you from behind. The water reaches up to your waist. You groaned out in pain as you opened your eyes to see what you had caused.

You had pulled him into the water with you, in between your legs, and his head lay still under the water. 'Shit shit shit!'you freaked out. What the hell was he gonna do now? Did you kill him!? Damnit, you really should have thought this through. You swallowed, hardly reaching out your hand to touch him to see if he was still even alive. 

He swiftly lifted his head out of the water. His long, now wet blond hair hanging in front of his forehead, the water cascading down from his eyelashes and nose as droplets, and the way the water dripped down from the top of his head to his jaw. His steady gaze traces your face. 

'Holy fuck...' you thought. Why was he looking at you like that? Your face flushed slightly. You gulped nervously, slightly afraid of what he might do next.

"What's wrong!? What happened?" Johnny came out of the bushes, hearing a commotion.

You shoved Gyro off you. Standing up out of the water quickly. You reach down for your boots, walking past Johnny, his hand grabs onto your wrist, his grip pulling you back. "Let go!" You yelled. Johnny's eyes widened, ungrasping his hand from your wrist. 

You stammered back. Given how the silence began to enclose the space, you knew that you had messed up, and in your anger, you lashed out at Johnny. It had all happened so fast.

You wanted to apologize, but it was too late; you couldn't even if you wanted to, doubling down. You weren't exactly certain why you did, but this was your chance to break away from them.

"I...I'm leaving in the morning." You croaked out. But before Johnny could rebut your statement, you swiftly turned back, and you hurriedly walked as fast as you could back to camp before you broke down.

"Y/n! Wait!" Johnny called out for you. "Shit...Gyro, what the fuck did you say to her!?"

Gyro scoffed. "I was trying to help... ", his voice drowning out, as you faded further away. 

You were such an idiot. What was wrong with you, lashing out at Johnny like that? God, what were you thinking? That you could actually stay here? You had made a complete fool of yourself, even though Gyro did deserve that. "Damn it..." You let out a sigh, stalling your pace, trying to catch your breath as you made your way back to the campsite.

'It would be better if I just leave now,' you thought, looking back at your tent. Drowsiness consumed you. You knew you couldn't ride anywhere in this condition. It seems that all your emotional turmoil has truly taken a toll on you. You didn't get that much sleep last night anyway, cautious of either of the men you stayed with. Perhaps sleeping it off would be good for you. 

You lead your horse up to Johnny, covering his fallen figure. You had tried to justify yourself repeatedly in your head, 'it's only because he helped me...It's only because he helped me.' 

But even your body couldnt help but betray you. You didn't dare to look at his face, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Your eyes never left Gyro. Slightly worried about what might happen next. He held up two of his steel balls in either hand. 

Then his skin swirled into itself, deflecting the man's bullets that were headed straight for him. 'What was that!? It looked just like...' You held your breath. How did he do that? You knew his steel balls were weapons of some degree, but deflecting bullets? Who exactly was he?

The strange man's gun was now pointed at you and Johnny. His aim shifted from side to side as if he did not know who exactly to target.

"Drop them! Gyro Zeppeli! Drop those from your hands now. If you don't, you'll shoot both of your friends." Gyros' downcast gaze suddenly lifted as he smiled at the man and dropped his steel balls; the rock from behind him also dropped small, rotating balls that all collided with the man's face.

The sight of the man was a butchered colony. He collapsed immediately; all fear that you held had not left you but shifted towards the man walking before you.

Gyro walked to his horse, passing right by you and Johnny. Your eyes followed him; there were so many questions you had, but neither your mouth nor mind couldn't move. Not at a pace as rapid as you'd like. 

Johnny noticed your hesitation, and he spoke first. "These terrorists...your home country just what in the world..." Sweat dripped down Johnny's face as his questioning became frantic. "What's going on? Even if the victory of this continent-crossing race is a 'symbol of victory for a nation...' It's too intense...! These assaults from the terrorist...Why do they constantly keep attacking you like that? They're only after you, but it's only a race! Before there was 'oyecomva' and now 'strohim'! I feel something deeper, a deeper connection between your country and the terrorist!" 

Silence came soon after Johnny's rant was finished. Gyro only looked at him before turning around. "I am a servant of the king. If I am victorious in the steel ball run race, the king will release an amnesty! That is all. I'll cross this continent as number 1! If you think you're endangering yourself, you should travel separately." Gyro stated frankly. 

You were truthfully uncomfortable with all this new information now thrust upon you, the man from before, who attacked you, and stupidly thought you were with Gyro. And now this stranger was after Gyro as well...who was this guy, and why did so many want him dead?

Was he that much of a danger, and if so, why had he not struck you?

But his effort was strained. 

The only hazard he had given you was a few mindless insults, yet it was as if the world was rallied against him. 

You cleared your throat and looked down at Johnny before asking, "Are you alright?" He looked up in surprise at your concern and nodded slowly, raising his hand. "I cut myself when I fell off my horse, but I don't feel any pain." You hummed and began moving your horse forward. Johnny staggered behind a bit before following right behind you.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

THE night had come quickly as a chill settled in. Inevitably, it was very awkward. You all sat around the fire to keep warm. Gyro sat between the two of you, who were incredibly far apart, looking between you and Johnny. 

Johnny's glances towards you were very apparent, while your gaze looked intensely into the fire as well. Gyro couldn't stand it; He'd try telling one of his 'gags' to lighten the mood as strained as it was. But it just ended up with him being angrier that no one had laughed at all and had just ignored him. 

"What the hell is up with you two?" Both of you emerged from your dazed states, looking towards Gyro.

"Nothing," 

"N...nothing," both of you simultaneously responded. 

You slouched down and looked towards the fires, ever-burning wood once again, and stood up. "I'm going to get more wood for the fire."

"I'll come with you," Johnny added on a little too eagerly. You stopped and sneered back, "Do what you want." Johnny staggered back, his eyes longingly watching you drift away into the distance. 

Johnny's calloused hands gripped his pants tightly. What was he thinking? Why would you want to be anywhere near him, seeing you again after all these years? Was it so wrong of him to hope for a bittersweet reunion? He shut his eyes and let out a deep, regretful breath. And after all this time, he couldn't even use his lame legs to chase after you. He was just a sick fucking loser. 

"Johnny...I don't know your past with her, but you can't let it get in the way of the race, got it?" Gyro warned indifferently, interrupting Johnny's inner struggle with his own doubtful thoughts about himself.

Of course, he knew that he couldn't let anything get in the way; he'd come all this way to learn about the steel ball. The sliver of hope that he'd finally be able to walk again filled him with a determination he hadn't felt in years. He couldn't allow anything to steer him away from his goal.

But you weren't just anything, you were everything.

Unfortunately, he knew you thought otherwise.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

"UGH! " You hurled a rock against a tree in frustration. Clenching your fist, your nails bending against the plush of your palm. You raise your hands to your temples, rubbing them in irritation. Why were you so angry? Johnny being here just brought back so many memories, ones that you'd planned to leave all behind once you joined this race. And now you were stuck here with him for the time being.

That was a horrible excuse for getting firewood. You think perhaps it would've been nicer to just pack your things and leave. A part of you did want him to come, but honestly, you think you would have just killed him out of spite.

You two haven't spoken at all about you two, not one bit, not a word, not anything. Maybe that's what made you so upset. You didn't even know, but you were so enraged that you dug into your pocket and pulled out your rosary. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Holding up your hands, you looked up to the full moon, its shiny light looking at you. "Please, please...make everything better?" You bit your lip in confusion, looking down at the rosary. You didn't even know what you were praying for. 

An escape or a good night's rest? You'd always pretend to know, despite never doing so. God, this was pathetic even for you. You groaned and shoved the rosary back into your pocket. You had no idea how your momma did that for years. It ain't never did a damn thing.

After letting out your anger in a way you called 'a healthy way',—hitting your head against a tree enough to make all your thoughts worry about the banging in your forehead. 

You made your way back to camp again as Johnny and Gyro remained in their spots. It looked as if neither of them had spoken, each abiding in their region of the fire. 

"Where's the wood?" Gyro looked straight at you with an accusing look. 

Shit, you forgot about your whole excuse for leaving in the first place. You stopped in your tracks and mentally face-palmed as you slightly turned around, not looking directly at either of the men. 

"I...I didn't find any." 

"Really? I doubt that-" 

"Can you shut your damn mouth?!" You barked back, now turned fully to see him. You are met with his firm chest as he scowls down at you. 

"Don't be a fool, girly. Just because you're a woman, Bella, doesn't mean I'll be easy on you." Pointing his finger at your face. He sounded as if he were lecturing a child. "If you interfere with me, I won't waver for a second to leave you behind."

For the amount of time he stood there, you think maybe he thought you'd waver instead. "Then I guess I'm a fool, 'Bella, you spewed back, mocking his title for you. You didn't even understand what it meant; hopefully, it was something terribly insulting. 

He glared at you for a second, your firm eyes staring back. Then, scoffing smugly, he waved you off as he strolled back to the side of his space.

'Fuck you too,' you thought, cursing him inside of your mind—hoping someone would hear. Your eyes narrowed as you stared back into the fire. You'd separate them soon enough and won't have to deal with either of these idiots. 

"Y/n?" You didn't bother to look up as you heard Johnny's voice.

"I'm going to bed...if you need anything, just...call out for me." You grumbled a murmur, a bit put off by his offer. 

He stayed only for a moment, watching your face before turning back into his tented area. You sighed a small noise that you might even mistake for a whimper if your pride wasnt so big.

You curl your knees to your chest, resting your head. This would only be the first night with Johnny and Gyro, yet it was already so hard. 'I'll leave soon enough...' You promise yourself. Settling in for the night after contemplating in your mind whether to even stay. Into your sleeping bag you went, shutting your eyes. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

YOU paced back and forth, picking at your nails. Minutes away from going back inside, and your mother's "arranged meeting" awaited. Making friends, she had called it last time. Did she really think every boy you met was destined to be your soulmate?

The blue dress she had chosen for you clung a little too tightly in the shoulders. "Brings out your eyes," she'd said—just like she said for everything you wore. The ribbon in your hair slipped again, stubbornly loose. You yanked it, leaving a single strand dangling from your low buns.

Your stomach churned. 'What if he's some pretentious brat? Or worse—a weirdo?' The thought made your stomach lurch. But no excuse would save you from your mother's plans. Marriage before illness, she'd say. Lovely.

You scanned the courtyard. Anywhere would be better than the drawing-room, any escape better than meeting a stranger with expectations you had no intention of meeting.

A vine caught your eye. You tilted your head, gauged the wall's height, and pressed your foot against a sturdy branch. One careful step, fingers stretched to grip the next. "I will not be caught dead!" you yelled, "He needs to be kind! And charming!" 

You pressed your foot against a loose branch, gripping the vine above. "If I just... reach a little farther..." You muttered, teeth clenched, ribbon slipping from your hair. Your Fingers scrabbled for hold.

"Well, that's one way to test your future husband's patience," a voice said from behind. You froze. "Need help with that?" a voice called from behind. Damn it! You got caught. "Uh, no thanks. I'm fine," you said, trying to sound casual. "Oh, really? Doing fine, are we? A few more hours and you'll finally reach the top." His voice carried a teasing edge.

You bit back a retort and focused on the wall. Your foot slipped on a loose stone. Heart in your throat, you regained balance, ignoring the boy behind you.

Then, with all of his gaze, you let out a frustrated groan, you muttered, almost to yourself, "Well, if you must know... I am reciting my husband's qualities..."

"Husband? Do you have a husband?" he asked. "No," You replied to his foolish idea. "For the future." You replied with an even more foolish idea yourself and pushed on with your task at hand. "What?" His tone carried amusement as he stepped closer.

You barely glanced back, determination in your eyes as you continued climbing. "My husband's qualities! He must be charming..." You gritted out, scrambling your fingers higher, "...perverse in literature... clever... brave..." Your hands slipped slightly. "...and attentive!"

"Attentive, huh?" he said, leaning on the wall, watching every move. "Sounds exhausting to keep track of all that while climbing walls."

"I—It's practice!" you called back, trying to sound definitive, though your cheeks burned. "Because that boy will not be my husband!"

He nodded as if understanding. "And why exactly are you running from your future husband?" he asked. "I'm climbing over this wall," you said sharply. "So I don't have to meet a boy for marriage. And not just any boy—some posh English horse-rider. Ugh, how boring is that?!"

"Well, I heard he's from America and only recently moved to England. And quite the accomplished jockey," he said. "No difference." You clutched the vines tighter. "And it would help if you stopped staring at me—run along!"

"...Sorry to say, I've only got about two of those qualities, but I am a great catch anyway."

A vine snapped under your weight, and you stumbled. Reflexively, he caught you mid-fall, steadying you in his arms. Heart pounding, your chest pressed against him.

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N," he said softly, blue eyes locking on yours with steady warmth.

You froze in his clutch. "No...don't tell me...you're Jonathan?"

He chuckled, and he let you down from his arms slowly enough to steady yourself. 

Blond hair and wearing a jockey attire, as you know it now. Not the slick-haired, cocky boy you'd imagined. Almost...normal.

"Johnny," he said with a shrug. "I don't care what you prefer," you snapped. "Then, Jonathan it is," he replied smoothly, hands in his pockets.

Silence. "I am not marrying you," you declared, bracing for pushback.

"I didn't say you had to. Not like I want this either," he said casually.

You side-eyed him. "Oh, my mother won't be happy about this," you admitted.

"Well... we could pretend."

"What?" Pretend to be married? Absurd. "For your mother and my father—just friends for now," he said, tilting his head, watching you carefully. "We'll play along, but in the end it'll just pass over."

"You're very odd," you muttered. "How so?" He held out a hand.

"I don't usually trust men. Much fewer boys," you said, eyes narrowing, judging him carefully. You hesitated, then your hand brushed his.

Side by side, you began walking.

"Well, in the meantime, I could teach you how to ride a horse or climb a wall better," he suggested. You relaxed slightly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. 

You started, voice softer. 

It had been a not-so-rare hot summer, one where you'd just like to go to the lake and spend your evening there till dusk. You'd ask Johnny to come with you, but he refused, saying he had to practice. 

"Come on, I don't want to go alone, don't be a loser!" Johnny scoffed at your proclamation, "I'm far  from a loser, plus I have to get trained more; some hot-walker beat me yesterday, I mean, there's no way in hell imma let some jockey wannabe beat me." You huffed at his refusal and threatened to go to the lake all on your own. He knew you couldn't swim any good, he'd say, 'a wet rag could swim better than you.'  Johnny simply waved you off and swung his jockey equipment over his shoulder. Stroking your head gently with an inert grin as he made his way out. 

You sat on the steps of the house, with flared nostrils as you pouted at the flowers in your stead. You had always loved these flowers; they were white beauties, they sprawled out of their own selves, emerging into their own teeny flower, yet still stayed connected to their one shared root. You twirled its stem in your fingertips, watching as the wind blew its fragile petals into the meadow that called. 

Finding yourself agreeing with the wind, you got up hastily and dusted off your similarly delicate, flowery-laced skirt, draping lowly to your soiled boots. 

It was a long walk away from the house to the lake, but it was worth it; the scenery was unparalleled. You walked along the forest bend holding out your hand to the passing by trees, making contact with their bark with your fingertips each time, as if to say hello to the trees.

You see the serene earl of the shining lake, everglades of green encompassing its roundabout. Stepping onto the creaky dock, taking wide steps, one foot in front of the other, playfully smiling to yourself. You peeked over the water's edge, seeing the deep waters. You couldn't go into the water, your momma forbade that, not without Johnny at least, but no one ever said you couldn't just give it a little touch. You grin to yourself as you go onto your knees and sprawl yourself on the dock, leaning on your elbow. Edging yourself forward, you trace your finger along in the water, leaving ripples etched out.

You could see your reflection captured in the abyss. The trees that encircled your face from above, the blue ribbon in your hair, swooped around to make a not-so-neat bow. You carried her features, your mother's. Her foreign nose and complexion, the slight hint of another accent from worlds away. Yet you knew not of the world from which it came.

A humming began from you, you sang not strictly for getting all the notes or pitch right, but something from the soul, entrancing from the willows around; it was a song your mother taught you, you never knew the ballads, well, what they truly meant anyway. It was another language you had barely a clue about. A song long forgotten and only known by your mother, she never told you much about her past, her family, or what life she knew before your father, only that she came with the clothes on her back and a folk song that played in her heart. All she said was that it was a ballad for you. "A song that shall play in your heart forevermore, do not forget it."  

Another face appears in the reflection behind you. You yelp and scramble up, kicking behind you from the unknown stranger. A hiss sounds, and water splashes onto the dock, bathing the dock in dark brown. You turned around, raising yourself defensively. You look around only to see a boy. 'A boy?' You think, and a lanky one at that, he seemed to have fallen over by your attack. A bucket tipped down next to him, still leaking water from the earlier spill.

You watched carefully as he groaned, "You bricky girl...You kicked me!" The boy shouted in a rather strange voice. He looked up at you from the ground with these magnetic eyes; they entranced you. Their color was a deep color you didn't quite know the name of, like a color you'd see only in a dream. 

You picked up the empty bucket and raised it threateningly above your head, "You were watching me like some creeper!" You shout in your defense. The boy shook his head profusely as he crawled back onto his feet. "No! No, I wasn't really! I...I heard singing. I wasn't sure if it was the songbirds, so I came to check, then I saw it was you..." He shook his head only slightly now, looking down at the ground before looking into your eyes, "Now, if you could put the bucket down, please?"

You slowly unlatch your grip from the bucket and only hold it in front of you protectively at his beck. You two only stared at one another for a moment. He shifted his posture, licking his lips nervously as if a gust of wind could unravel him completely, "What are you doing here...? It's rather far from the estate." 

You tilted your head and stepped to the side at his question, "Why do you care?" You question. Who is this random boy, anyway? Who was he to ask of you in your own home, well, Johnny's, of what you were doing? You thought the only kids around here were you and Johnny. He didn't speak; he only stood there as if he himself did not know the answer.

"...What's with that funny accent of yours?" You lift your chin, pointing to him. "Accent?" He sounded baffled at the idea. "Yeah, it sounds all proper like." You say mimicking by popping the p in your pronunciation. You could see the slight fur in his brows. In your case, you weren't trying to make fun of him, well, maybe a little. "There's nothing wrong with my accent." His voice spoke with hostility edging into an angered one.

"I never said there was, I didn't mean to offend you, I was curious, is all." You admitted. The muscles in his face relaxed slightly, "Oh, I came from..." He muttered and pointed up with his finger to the side as if referring to something more.

"Heaven?" 

His nose gave an involuntary scrunch at your conception, "No, no! Uh Britain! The farm up in Britain is run by Mr. Joestar." He corrected. So that's who he was. A boy who worked for Johnny's family.

"Oh, so you work here?" You ask. "...." he nodded, almost ashamed of it, as he stared down at his worn-out boots. He thought about it for a moment, only a moment, before speaking, "Don't you even think of pitying me. I don't need your foolish pity." He proclaimed, raising his posture, though you could see the slight pink in his cheeks.

"You're way too young to be this cynical." You give him a small smile at it, attempting to keep his pride. "Here," You hand out the bucket to him, waiting for him to reach out for it. You handed him the bucket, and he almost dropped it, looking at you like you'd cast a spell. You giggled as he gave a small, weak smile that made you feel warm, in a way you couldn't explain.

You could almost see the desperation in his eyes as he looked back, "You can stay...if you want, I don't mind the company." You offered. He seems to debate it for a moment before sitting down next to you. "I'm not really supposed to be talking to you." He muttered. You both sat hanging your legs off the dock, swinging them back and forth. You no longer saw this boy as a threat but rather just another like you: "I came here to breathe." 

He looked confused at your sudden response, "Your question from before...You asked me why I'm so far from the house. I come here to breathe." You clarify.

"Breath? Couldn't you do that anywhere?" He had a slight crinkle in his eyebrow as he looked at you. Your lips curved into a faint smile. "I find it hard to breathe in some places, just better here in my lonesome." Had you come here to breathe? You omitted it entirely, but maybe it was better than saying something dopey. You sat twirling the flower stem you took from before in your finger. 

"The flower like the one in your song," he points to the flower in your hand. You smile at it and nod, "Yeah, I...wait, how did you know?" You crinkled your eyebrow slightly, "Have you been following me?" You could see his eyes widen.

"Forgive me, I..." He breathed in deeply before asking. "...What does it mean?" You tilted your head and raised a slight brow at his words, and his expression softened.

"Your song... I've heard you sing it many times before, but today you added something new..." he stammered on, looking up as if trying to remember exactly, closing his eyes as if to recite a prayer, "You said, '..., ' which means meadow, then '...,' which means hidden, then you said '...'. I studied the words, and it said it meant 'A God hiding in the meadow.'"  He spoke gently.

You shake your head. "No, that means 'flower'." You corrected a bit, flustered at his profound knowledge. Had this boy been paying so close attention to you, he would have learned the words of your song so intently?

"'Flower hiding in the meadow'," He repeated once more, "Why would a flower hide in the meadow?"

Your gaze softened, though you did not look directly at him. "What about you?" you ask, changing the topic, "Why are you working here so young, especially?" His soft eyes hardened into a burning glare. "One day, I'll be wealthy and not walking around like a fool getting buckets for horses." He didn't hesitate before speaking, his jaw clenched, staring into the horizon. "I'm going to climb to the top of society. I'm selfish, prideful, and I'd rather be that than be nothing. I won't let anything hold me back from what I desire." Even then, you did not hold his words of resentment against him; you could almost feel an understanding in his words, "We'll see, let's hope we both get what we desire in the end." You say. 

"It's a long walk, I could—" He starts finding the courage to continue, "I could take you back on horseback."

"It's alright, I'm very fond of walking," you say. He nods understandingly.

For a long time, he just stares at you, taking you in. For the last time, he speaks what was truly on his mind, "and what do you desire...?" he asks hesitatingly. Before you could even hear him in the distance, a bell rings out. You turned your head at the sound. The boy swore under his breath, standing up quickly, picking up the bucket that lay empty, and running off the dock. You raised yourself at his haste and turned to see a forgotten object left behind.

"Wait! Your hat!" You called out, you swooped up the hat, noticing its now torn state. He whipped his head back before he could turn back. You ran up to him and placed the hat on his head.

"Oh damn.." He reached up for it, trying to fix its battered state. "Wait, here." You reached for your ribbon, which tied your hair in place, and tied its material into a not-so-neat, tiny bow placed directly on the front of his hat.

You smile, "It matches." He exasperated a smile and stood there as if he wasn't just scurrying to leave. Another violent ringing of the bell jingles, he flinches, his face contorted into an annoyed one, and turns back to you before speaking once more, "Oh, well, I hope to see you again. Maybe you could meet me here again." You nodded at his offer, "Yeah, I'll be here." He scurried off to do whatever duties they put him up to. You let out a soft sigh. You didn't even get the boy's name, and neither did he. Maybe you could ask Johnny if he knew him; perhaps they could be good friends.

You don't remember much after that, nor did you remember any remnants of the boy, but you do remember the moment you woke up. 

It was cold now, unlike the earlier heat that blasted from the outside. You were back in the house, you were tucked in bed, and a hearth blaze was lit across from you. A towel was placed atop your forehead. Dropping as you sat up and licked your dried-up lips. You could hear the crickets chirping from the outside. You looked from the window. The only thing that could be seen was the half moon that lit up the sky. 'The day passed by already?'  You thought. What exactly happened? You were just by the lake with...you turned your head at the sound of rustling next to you. 

A folded-up note was placed by the nightstand. You narrowed your eyes as you picked the note up. You could see itsparchment was dried up as if it had been damp before, and ink spilled onto the bottom of it. You unfolded the paper and saw what it contained.

Your face reddened at the note, your heart fluttered at its words, so little, but held so much to you a promise. Its writing was messy, and it looked quite rushed. But the drawing captured your flowers perfectly. As if it were a picture just plastered on or had been drawn way before the note was written.

The door opened slightly, "Y/n!" Johnny came into the room and knelt by the bedside. He looked all shaken up, and he breathed heavily as if he had just run miles to get to you.

"Johnny, what's wrong?" You looked at his worried face as his eyes scanned you. Yelling came from downstairs, and a loud bang at the entrance. You looked towards the door, "What's going on downstairs?" Johnny sighed and shook his head. "Nothing, some hot-walker came into the house without permission. It doesn't matter," He placed a hand on your forehead, then on your cheek, cupping it gently. 

"Are you feeling alright? Your face is all red." He grabbed hold of your hand, holding it tightly between his. You could recognize those hands anywhere. Each line engraved, you could trace over them with the tip of your finger, reading them like a language you already knew. Their blisters and hardening grip from his racing. Your eyes softened at him and his worried state.

"Yes, I...why? What happened? Why was the doctor here?" His sunken eyes stared straight into yours. "You drowned." He said. "What!?" You gasp in disbelief; you had no recollection of drowning at all. If you had ended up here, Johnny had saved you? "I found you and..." He clenched his jaw tightly.

"I'm sorry, I should never have let you out of my sight, but I let you go anyway. I'm so sorry I...I was so afraid that I'd lose you too..." He kneeled his head down, placing your head to his forehead. All the dots didn't connect straight away, but it didn't matter; seeing the pained expression on Johnny's face was enough to crush you entirely. Johnny didn't say anything about the note or how he saved you, and he didn't need to because you knew the way he looked at you. You could see now, your pain was his. It was enough. But that day, a promise was made, and you had kept it in your heart.

And that was it, you were in love with the boy who did and would save you, and the boy who knew your favorite flower.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

SPENDING the first few nights in solitude. You had picked up some sense of a routine. A few days near the water hole, and abandoning it when others came along. Collecting its waters and spearing the few fish that it threaded along its path. Bathing when necessary, so as not to waste the soap supply you had until you could buy more.

On this particular night, you had just set up your tent for the night. Sitting down near the crackling embers of the fire. Deeply breathing in the cold, barren lands' atmosphere. It truly was a beauty seeing all the stars above you; it filled you with an indescribable nostalgic feeling. You began to think about your home, no matter how far it was from you. As you hummed a melody, your momma used to sing to you when you still fit on her lap.

Loneliness was a bastard. You thought about maybe teaming up with someone like Johnny did, but who did you even know here?

You fixed your gaze on your nails that had been previously picked to shreds. Making you replay what Johnny had said to you a few days ago.

'Huh, he remembered me saying that,' you thought conflictedly. It was true after all, you had a habit of picking your nails whenever you became nervous. You began to smile, reminded of the time when you were children. He would roll his eyes and nod off whenever you jabbered all of your problems onto him. To think, he was truly listening...

Still, it didn't matter. Every time you think about that Johnny Joestar, it just hurts. Whatever feelings that were there were long gone by now; it had been years, and you still didn't understand the stigma that had been there; it still buzzed in your heart. You had kept the note from all those years ago that he had written for you; it helped in a way, it was a reminder that you were loved. But now that's all you could hardly feel.

That friend he had, that guy who thought you were too weak because you were a woman, Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro pissed you off in a way that you just wanted to kill him. He's so cocky, too, with that 'Nyo-ho' bullshit?! Strong, stupid guys were always the worst to deal with, but it was funny when he got that penalty; you sat there chuckling, thinking about it. Seeing his face as he sulked when they announced his 20th place. His silly little pout and clenched fist. 

It was almost cute.

Your mind is wandering off. 'Wait, what?' You shook your head in horror at what you'd just thought. No way in hell did you find him cute. Jesus Christ, what was the wilderness doing to you?  Sighing as you try to erase what your mind previously thought. Crossing him off your mental list.

And, the worst person is Diego Brando. What was even his deal? You think he pissed you off the most. Did he think that paying for your horse, that you'd just agree to sleep with him, and he even made fun of your accent!? 'God, that fucker!'  You kicked a pebble that had been under your boot in anger. 'Definitely not,' you presume, just throwing his name completely out of the idea of it all.

You grumbled to yourself. Then an instant thought caught in your mind, a flash of hot pink and glaring eyes came. 'Right.' That racer that helped you. You think their name was Hot Pants? Yeah, that's it. But you didn't exactly know them, not at all; they hadn't even spoken to you. After giving it a moment of consideration, you nod yes, 'they're definitely a woman', you think. 'No way a guy could be that pretty.' You put them in the maybe pile. Perhaps they could be a good someone to partner up with.

Well, after taking all of this into consideration, you found yourself in the Steel Ball Run race with a former jockey ex-'friend', an Italian womanizer, some pretty person who saved you and didn't even speak to you, and a Brit weirdo who wanted to make babies with you? Okay, what the hell is this lineup? Were these really your options of people you knew here? 

You lay exhausted, turning your head to the side, seeing Windchime lying down next to you, which seemingly stared straight in your direction as if hearing your thoughts. You scratch her head, petting her mane softly.

"Yeah, you're right, I'd rather die alone."

"This guy can't even ride a damn horse, yet he thinks he'll get some if he sticks up for her!" laughing at the cripple. Your body tensed as Johnny defended you. You looked at him only for a second, but that was enough.

"Shut your mouth." Your voice sounded brittle as you spoke.

The men looked up at you, exasperated. "What the hell did you-" 

"I said shut your damn mouth!" Turning your head, snarling at the men. Now loud and bold, you wouldn't back down. Not for a bunch of hypocrites who thought the only way through the world was by laughing at others. 

They withdrew, tilting their hats down and grinding their teeth. " Whatever," one of them said, as they retreated. You turned back in shame. You just did the one thing you'd promised not to. 'Damn it,' biting the inside of your cheek in regret. Trying to focus on the task ahead. Inside, you hoped Johnny didn't think you did that for him. 'It wasn't..' you reminded yourself. 

You didn't need him to stand up for you. You weren't a little girl anymore. 'God, I have to stop letting my mouth get ahead of me,' you scolded yourself.

Putting the goggles resting above your head on your face, adjusting them as they slid off. 'Too big,' you thought. Well, they were your father's after all. 

Finally, the announcer had begun to speak again. You slid back on your saddle, trying to get comfortable, but you had forgotten how uncomfortable it actually was. Your thighs already ached from the position you were in.

But back home, you couldn't stand in one place without wanting to be somewhere else. A strange mix of tenderness and anguish filled you. 

As much as you wanted to be home, you had to do this. You must; if you didn't, you wouldn't know what to do. 

'It will go by quickly,' you promised. Whether it would or wouldn't, you promised either way, 'I won't go very far.' But whether you find what you're searching for, you'd come back very soon, as soon as you could.

Off to the side, Johnny had jumped up, flipping backwards onto the backside of his horse. It almost wasn't fair; it was like he was trying to get on your nerves by joining the race in the first place. How was this even possible? Your mouth left agape, shocked, "what the fu!?-" the cannons boomed a loud boom with a rumbling effect.

"THE STEEL BALL RUN BEGINS NOW!!"

Windchime leaped forward. You held on tightly; you had totally overestimated your skill as you clung to your horse, hearing the sound of hooves galloping along with the shouts of men and some women. It had barely been the start, yet so many had already fallen in a pileup.

"Christ...come on, girl, we got this," you whispered to Windchime for support, though it was more for you. To your surprise, you were one of the leading racers ahead of all the others. Your lips curved into a small smile in pride.

Suddenly, a horse and its long-haired rider appeared beside you, looking over at you and smirking as he advanced a few feet ahead of you. You scowled. He was trying to tick you off; you had to keep your cool, keep your pace steady, you reminded yourself. No need to go off now.

You distance yourself from him, suspecting he might try something to bring you down. He seemed so intent on getting you out of the race for whatever reason he had. You were barely able to concentrate on even getting ahead of anyone, distracted by everything happening around you.

As you lie flat against your horse, trying to focus, staring straight at his back, making sure he feels your glare. As you feelanother eye dead set on you, leading your gaze away, seeing the 'father' of your steed to the left of you, glancing at you as he passes by.

"AND NOW A RIDER CHALLENGES GYRO ZEPPELI! HE'S CLOSING THE DISTANCE TO GYRO!"

"IT'S DIEGO BRANDO!! A YOUNG ARISTOCRAT FROM THE ENGLISH HORSE RACING WORLD THROWS DOWN THE GAUNTLET AS IF TO SAY, "SPRINT RACING IS MY TERRITORY!"

You rolled your eyes at the announcer, as annoying as he was, he sure was doing a hell of a job announcing. You adjusted your feet on the stirrup that had begun to slip underneath you, speeding up, still being a few feet behind both of the men as they fought for first place.

Sweat dripped down your forehead as more racers came along, and even Johnny had caught up to everyone. You cursed at yourself, finding yourself annoyed that he was still even in the race. 'How did he manage to get on the horse at the last second?' It was like some kind of magic.

You scoffed as your mind came up with ideas. Why were you so concerned with him anyway? You shook your head and breathed out. He could fall on his ass for all you cared. 

You groaned internally, upset that your mind was still concerned about Johnny. You couldn't even use the excuse that it was because of his state. It wasn't because he was a paraplegic; it was because he was Johnny. Your Johnny.

There had to be a way to get him out of your head; you'd bang your head on a rock if you had to. An upcoming bridge came across the horizon, its edges burned with an unbreakable barrier. Its landmass stood before; the two men were neck and neck. 

Gyro placed his steel balls on his horse's back legs as he gained on Diego. As Gyro's horse kicked the bridge, the bridge caved in on itself, causing many to hold and start rushing to cross over the riverbed.

Scooting closer to your horse's neck, you strained for the reins and gripped them tighter while you crossed the creak carefully. 

Thank god you weren't on the bridge, unlike Diego. 'He totally deserved that.' You thought, snickering to yourself. If he was as boastful as he was in the public's appeal, he had to be as vain as a person could be. 

You noticed how quickly you were falling behind as other racers began to lead ahead of you. You panicked a bit as you tried to steer Windchime, but it seems in all the commotion, she got as anxious as you did. 

You feel your body's weight collide on one side. Your horse gave a sudden snort and sidestepped, her hooves scattering dirt. 

Your grip slipped, and before you could steady yourself, you slid from the saddle. Windchime tossed her head and shifted suddenly, jolting you in the saddle. Your balance wavered, and for a breathless second, you felt yourself sliding off completely.

Before you could lose your seat, a hand was there, firm around your arm, steadying you up.

You winced, then slowly slipped your hand away as you looked to the side of your savior. It was...you couldn't exactly tell if they were a woman or a man, they had this ambiguity to them, a sharp beauty that could stun a person.

Their whole body was covered by a baggy striped suit, further coated with a lengthy blouse decorated with metallic flowers and decorations. Wearing a helmet lined with fur that contrasted their bright pink hair.

The grip was warm and steady, and your eyes met for a moment longer than necessary.

They didn't speak, only stared at you, almost confused with their own actions. They let go and gave you a small, firm nod before driving off ahead. You almost creased your eyebrows at their actions, but shook all the thoughts from yourself and began moving on your own, though your legs still trembled slightly.

Windchime huffing, her tail flapping wildly, as you pet her neck. "Alright, come on now." Squeezing your legs around Wind's midriff, getting her going as she made her way up the cliffside carefully in her steps. Picking up the pace, continuing through.

Gyro then veers to the right, throwing you off guard. 'Where the hell was he going?' You thought he was crazy. 

"GYRO ZEPPELI IS LEAVING THE DESIGNATED ROUTE!"

'He's going to the grove?!'  Was this guy mad? No fucking way. He has to know what he's doing. You grit your teeth as you debate your own morals. One tiny voice inside was saying, 'Maybe you should stay on course...,' but you could barely hear that voice because an even louder voice was screaming. 'Follow that crazy fucking man.'

You pulled on the reins, causing a drift, quickly positioning yourself. You were steadfast in following him through the grove.

"LOOKS LIKE Y/N L/N FOLLOWS RIGHT BEHIND HIM!! COULD THEY KNOW OF SOMETHING WE DON'T?! COULD THEY BE LOVERS CONSPIRING TOGETHER?!"

The crowd from the floating balloons cheered, going crazy for that one. You choked on your own spit. "What the hell!?" You shouted, not being able to keep your words in at that insane assumption. You hear a loud cackle in front of you. " looks like we're lovers now!" Gyro exclaimed, having a field day with the announcer's statement. 

The wind blows in your hair, covering your flushed face as you cringe at the announcer's and Gyros' agreement of the remark about your relationship. Hearing multiple hooves behind you, you noted others seemed to trust Gyro's intel as well. 

'Well, if I go down, we all go down.' You thought, glancing behind you, you saw a familiar face staring right back at you as if he knew you'd turn around. You turned back quickly. 'shit,' you thought.

You knew you had to see him eventually, but not now; you had to focus on getting through the grove. The branches in the way would surely slow you down. You contemplated using your so-called 'power', you had only used it when necessary, ever since your ma had called it the devil's.

'Was this really necessary?' You narrow your eyes at them, suspicious that they were really that dangerous. Then one of the thorny branches left a painful slit on your shoulder. 'It's necessary! It's necessary!' You 

screamed in your head with a hiss at your wound. Fumbling with your gun in your hand, almost dropping it, you shoot at the ground.

Birds that dwelt in the trees squawked, flying off the branches. 'That had to hit the roots...only one way to find out.' You tried to think positively as sweat dripped down your face.

You brace yourself, shutting your eyes as another thorny branch heads straight for your cheek. Slowly, the branch tingled upon your cheek, then loud snaps began. The breaking of twigs followed after each other, as the branch and twigs that headed your way broke. 

You laughed in relief as you looked behind you to see them all on the ground, looking back up. A huge trunk appeared in front of you. You gasped, covering your face with your forearms, awaiting your fate. 

The tree ripped out of the ground, avoiding you, the trunk tilting high enough for you to pass through, then immediately slamming into the ground again to hit the person behind you. You gasp, turning your head around, seeing that the person you hit was Johnny.

'OH FUCK.'

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

THE wind threads itself through your hair like silver silk, whispering secrets you cannot yet understand, and for a fleeting moment, you feel as though the world itself has paused to watch you, and you wonder if somewhere in that endless light, there is a self that knows you—truly knows you—and waits.

Youswiftly turned back around, 'What am I doing?' It was as if your body moved without a thought. Your body angled down and shot a bullet directly next to Johnny's horse. His horse kicked its hind legs in distress, stomping around for a moment, giving Johnny a chance to grab hold of the saddle before he could fall off.

You let out a breath of relief as he managed to climb to the top of his horse, hanging back around before he could even look to you. You cursed yourself for doing that; you've just wasted time on him. He was better off falling and being disqualified. You huffed as you continued forward into the tree-dense area.

You noticed that your horse was breathing more heavily as the race rushed on. Diego was certainly right about picking a different horse, but no matter; she was yours now, and you loved her even if she wasn't as stamina-reliant as other horses. 

You think back to anything that might help relieve the stress on her. You slowly set yourself and begin to do something you saw Diego do in front of you earlier. 'He's a jockey, right? So he must know what he's doing. Shit, please don't fall.' You grunted as you repositioned yourself. Surprisingly, you kept your balance. 

Slowly lifting your body to give her even a little relief from carrying a person on her back. Seeing a slope down ahead, you breathed out a smile; she'd get to rest, even if it's for a little bit. "Save your energy, girl, let the hill pull you down." Patting the side of her gently as she made her way down. At the same time, others pressured their horses to go faster, people toppling over their horses' legs, giving up. 

'1.2 miles left to go,' you thought. Immediately, something swooshed past you. You see a man running, 'holy shit, is that even allowed? Maybe I need to get in better shape...' you grimaced as you just saw the impossible, a man being faster than a racing horse gliding past everyone.

Cheering echoed up ahead. Squinting toward the stands, you saw crowds waving, banners fluttering, faces anxious with anticipation. 

You smiled, hoping—maybe selfishly that one of those banners was meant for you. The Catholic church marked the end of this stage. You urged Windchime forward; she surged beneath you, leaping with the same determination you felt, as if she shared your desire to win.

"Please, please let us finish at least in the top ten," you whispered, a quiet prayer learned from your mother. You barreled through the final stretch, eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping Windchime tightly, every muscle straining toward the finish. 

"GYRO ZEPPELI FINISHES IN FIRST PLACE!!"

As you feel the Windchime slowing down, you pull on her reins lightly, steadying yourself, and see the ground below you now unmoving. You lifted your gaze from your resting position to see Gyro raising his fist in triumph, crossing the finish line in first place. 

You followed, slowly loosening your grip on the reins as a sigh escaped your lips. Running a hand along your horse's side, you murmured, "Good girl." Though you knew you hadn't placed as high as you'd hoped, you rewarded her for her effort, waiting patiently for the remaining results to be announced.

"BY DELIBERATION, GYRO WAS IN FIRST PLACE. HE WILL BE INCURRED A PENALTY" 

The announcer had yelled out a penalty for Gyro as the results came out. 'Wait. What had he done?' You thought raising a brow, you certainly didn't see him do anything deserving of a liability.

"HE IS UNABLE TO GET FIRST PLACE IN THIS ROUND."

You bit your lip, struggling to suppress a laugh at the unexpected turn of events. Your jaw dropped as they announced he had dropped twenty places. You almost felt a twinge of sympathy, but after all the time he'd spent trying to rile you, a smirk spread across your face. Finally, things appeared to be going in your favor.

FIRST STAGE

1. Sandman 

2. Diego Brando

3. Pocoloco

4. Mountain Tim

5. Johnny Joestar

6. Y/n L/n

7. Hot Pants

'Mother fucker...I got 6th place....THANK YOU LORD YES!!' You had internally screamed, trying your best to hide your proud grin that showed terribly on your face. Through the bustle of folks, you make your way to the stables to give Windchime her well-deserved rest.

You passed by Gyro, who had halted beside his horse the moment the announcement confirmed his rank had fallen below expectations. His jaw was rigid, fingers digging into his palms, and you could feel the heat of his frustration radiating off him as you walked past.

The crunch of gravel was bearably audible with the magnitude of the public coming to speak with certain racers, particularly Diego Brando. From around you, you hear a magnitude of things: His talent, wealth, and egotism, all perfectly well describing a vain man.

As you walk to a nearby stable, you take note of your name being tossed around, "And a certain new face of the racing world, Y/n L/n!" Each news interstellar peeped in, holding their reports and pens ready for Diego's words as if he were a prophet. 

"Tell us, Mr.Brando, any words on this young woman?"

Diego smiled at the mention as if it had barely come to mind. You saw his eyes and head lean towards the path you took before settling with his reply. "The word 'Practice' comes to mind," he says. "Perhaps she should try it." All in their clouded minds laugh at his words and indulge in his direct mannerisms. 

You strived on in your path, marking the dirt beneath your boots. He did not even know your name, but for a day, and somehow, he had already established what he deemed critical. You groaned under your breath. He would not ruin this for you, not now. It was not like you were trying to impress the likes of him; if anything, let him be disgraced by your skills. Letting yourself be absorbed in the feverish feel of pride. 

Making it to a clear stable, you bounced off your horse. The stable was nothing special, a small Dutch door that enteredthe hay-filled floor. You didn't look around before leaping up excitedly, "We did it, girl! You're so good, you're such a good girl!" you squealed as you held the sides of Windchimes' neck, hugging her form. 

"Seeing this side of you is certainly interesting..." The color drained from your face completely as a voice spoke from behind. Someone had just seen you like this, 'happy', certainly not the reputation you want in a cold-hearted race like this.

Not liking to damage any more of your reputation than you already have. You quickly try to calm down, sighing as you put up your 'Tough guy' facade again. 

"Diego? What do you want?" You crossed your arms, lifting your head high, ignoring any previous actions he might have just witnessed. He raised his hand and waved off your insistence, "Don't get all posh with me, dear. Go ahead, celebrate, my love, after all, a mere amateur getting 6th place is quite the accomplishment." He spoke with the utmost conceit.

As you walked closer to him, you tried to ensure the dominance you had over him. Though his face played amused. 

"If you ain't got nothing to say, then you can leave." Glaring down at him, he stood there raising a brow, only unimpressed, as he moved closer to you. Doubling down on his words. "I had hoped it might be you who would ask me." He said. 

You stumbled back at his perceptiveness. It was as if he had read your thoughts and spat them back to you. You take a breath and regain any prior confidence you once held, "And if I were to ask you, would you tell me the truth?"

"Pray, do not trouble yourself." He began. Diego stood with a bent posture, his body always seeming to secrete itself—guard itself. "If the truth you seek is universally acknowledged."

His simple word play only put you more upgaurded. Your gaze slides back towards him, then at the top of his hat, the ribbon slightly shifted. 

You offer him a temperate ask, "I'm sure many ask this of you, but which Diego are you now?" He raised a brow at your question, but without care, you continued, "The one who buys my horse or insults my skills in the public's eye."

"You give the matter more importance than it deserves," he said, the slumps of his shoulders tilting. You give him a tight glare, then he sighs, quickly replying, "The public will distort my words, whatever I say; it is wiser to command the narrative than to leave myself open to their insinuations."

Your eyes snapped back at him, not being able to contain the frustration that built up, "Then it seems your efforts are for nothing. The public's opinion of you changes so rapidly, I am not sure which eyes to see through—"

"I hope to offer you more clarity in the future." He interjected harshly. Diego's words stiffened at the mention. Yet his twisted nature was more rigid than his arched brows. 

If clarity was wanted, it was certainly not from any lack of effort on your part. You sneered—not only at him, but at his tiresome insistence on remaining near you. Still, you regarded him with open disdain. 

The brittle hay scattered below the soles of his boots as he walked rustlting to be the glued pateron. He brushed past you. "Can't I pay a visit to our child?" 

He slowly removes one of his gloves with his teeth. His gaze never wavered as he used the restrictive pull of his teeth to remove the glove, and the unspoken pause was just long enough to make you aware that the moment was deliberate. 

Diego's enchanting eyes traced your body. Each part is given enough time to be unhurried. You roll your eyes with a backed head. His insistence was never-ending. 

You speak with flared mock, attempting to pinch the bridge of your nose, "She's not—" 

"Sleep with me." 

You were taken aback as you stared at him, his face still unmoving, awaiting your reaction. You were too stunned to speak; your jaw hung open.

"One can hardly deny it, Y/n—such a union would promise children of uncommon promise." His cunning smile widens as he speaks again, "Beautifully remarkable offspring, born of a future any jockey might envy."

Not only did this guy want to have sex with you, but he wanted you pregnant!? 'What the fuck was wrong with him?'  You had hoped this was all a dream, and you would wake up soon, but he persisted.

"You would live quite handsomely in England, though I fear your country manner of speech would require some attention; it would require a remedy, for the children's sake." Diego clarified. He was revolted by your accent; you'd fear he might gag at the mention.

He spoke about your 'future' with him, making it sound like it was the most normal specialty in the world. How kind of him to improve your life before you had agreed to share it. He managed to insult your past, your voice, and your childrenin a single breath.

Your thoughts danced between all kinds of things—most unexpectedly, you had an accent? Diego leaned against your horse as he stroked her up and down. "A life of ease would suit you well in England, I can assure you this."

"Diego..." You had finally spoken up, your head down. "Yes, my love?" he inquired, offering a gentle smile. It vanished abruptly when a solid fist met his face. Staggering, he fell, gloved hand pressed to the side of his cheek, utterly unprepared for such sudden violence.

"I am not some whore you can place your claws upon!" The anger consumed you whole. Clenching your fist, not stepping down as he got back up. 

"I see...you are not yet accustomed...," he sighed lowly. "So be it." Diego had made his way out of the stable before turning back, only the side of his face piercing up, "You should know, Y/N, that I am far from giving up. I pledged myself to you, and I intend to keep it." He then darted down at your boots. 

"Do not imagine, darling, that those boots render you intimidating—they do nothing of the sort." His head held up high as he walked off, leaving you there with anger but more confusion than before. He didn't even try to hit you back or fight with you; he got up and left...something was definitely wrong with this guy. 

Your eyes followed his figure until he was no longer visible. Thinking you'd give out your body like a damn prostitute, and pledged himself to you? Now, when had this man ever done such a thing—not to you, no doubt. 

Still furious, you had sat there glaring down at your feet. The boot's comment had stuck with you, "Wait, what?" You examined your boots closely. Yes, one might say they did look slightly ridiculous with their height, but one would argue it did make you look more intimidating, right?

"God, that fucking Diego getting in my head," you muttered under your breath as Windchime neighed to the side of you as if to agree with you. Yeah, there's no way in hell he was gonna knock you up.

"Don't worry, girl, I promise to be as pure as a nun," holding up your hands in fake prayer, winking at her. You heard a rumble coming from her stomach. 

"Ah, is my girl hungry? Don't worry, I'll get some apples for ya. Be right back." You walked out of the ailing stable where you lay over to the food stand, where most had gathered around. 

You reached out and grabbed a bag of apples as you walked back. You ran along a path within shrubs, and you overheard a conversation, hearing your name.

"Y/n? Why would you want her to join us? She's a woman, she's too weak to even learn spin." 

"It's not about her learning spin!"

"Ahh, you want a woman companion, is that it? We could share her after all. Hey, Johnny, have you ever heard of an Eiffel Tower?"

"What the? No! I want her with us so we can protect her! I just know her, okay!?" 

Both men had heard a rustling noise in the bushes, both turning their heads at the sound. Looking back at each other, Johnny crawls his way to the bushes, scanning through as Gyro walks up behind him, crouching down to look as well, seeing no one there. "Just a mouse?" Johnny swallowed nervously as he picked up a rosary that had been caught on a twig. "No..."

Clutching the hem of your shirt, your jaw clenched as you tried to comprehend what you'd just heard. Johnny wanted to protect you, and something about spin? And Gyro wants to 'efile tower' you with Johnny? 'I thought he was Italian, why is he talking about France?'  You wondered, completely perplexed.

You sat there after you had collapsed onto the square bales of hay next to your horse as she dug the apples out of the sack you held a loose grip on. You took this time to think before the next race started. This was going to be a lot more difficult than you thought. Here you were stuck with a bunch of idiots. You slumped down onto the wall, hoping for only one thing: 'I hope I never cross paths with those fuckers.'

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

YOUwere never a woman of religion, unlike your mother. You always hated it when your mother forgave your father for his faults, but you knew that without it, she would have left a long time ago. When both of you are together, it hurts both of you.

"Momma, please, we can leave right now together. Don't let him do this to you...not again", you pleaded with her, grabbing hold of her hand.

"Y/n, That's enough! 'For this reason, a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh,'" she quoted, her voice wavering. 

Your mother stood up quickly, looking at your tear-filled face, her eyes softening as she hesitated speaking, then looking away, clearing her throat. "If you had a husband, then you'd understand... you're getting fat, we should put you on a diet. You'll never get a husband with that figure." She walked away, leaving you alone. You held back your tears, sucking in your dried lips.

You pondered why you had even stayed. She was never going to change, which left you to wonder if she would read the papers about the race. You smiled softly, thinking maybe she saw your name and smiled proudly.

You leaned your head on the back of the wooden seat, letting out a breath. Unfortunately, growing up with her words of the 'Lord' didn't bring you comfort enough to pray when you felt desperate enough.

You leaned forward, reaching into your pocket for the 'wait, where is it?' You searched deeper, standing up, looking all over your body for it, panicking, 'no, no...I didn't, I couldn't have lost, I couldn't have, it was right there!'  You let out a whimper, picking at your nails as you left the sable, looking around. You knew it had to be somewhere. 

You had to go back to where you last were, 'it was there...it has to be.' You held on to hope, making your way back, looking through the bushes where you hid. Not seeing the rosary anywhere in sight.

"Fuck..." you say, picking at the skin beneath your nails. The tear of skin below your stiff finger as you plucked and pulled. blood coming from a soft edge of skin. 

"You did have a habit of picking your nails; you always complained how you could never grow them," Johnny spoke, the voice you hadn't heard in years. The voice you hadn't wanted to hear in years. No desire overfilled you, none at all. 

There he was behind you, sitting in his wheelchair, holding in his hand the object of yours, "I found it in the bushes. It's your mother's, right?" You hesitated speaking, your gaze not leaving the rosary. 

"I—Y/n...please," Johnny said softly. "What did you mean by protecting me? Last time I checked, I was the one who saved your ass." Your voice is becoming more aggressive with each word.

"Y/n, you have every right to be angry with me, I know that, I just want to talk to you...After you hear me out, then I'll give back your rosary." He reasoned. 

A considerable amount of silence passed, but it was filled with resentment, the ambiance sick with desires of the past not known by others. 

You let out a harsh breath, your mouth clenched, "What do you think you're doing!" Your voice had no volume in it, but the bitterness seeped through further into him than volume could. "You'd best get out of this race, Johnny Joestar." You had closed the distance you were almost thrust into hitting him, but you held back.

In his condition, he had no right to be here. But his eyes didn't move; he sat in silence, knowing your words had no true substance. And as right as he was, did it matter? 

You risked considering snatching the rosary and pushing him off his wheelchair. Unexplicably, something rippled inside of you. A part of you wanted to know what he had to say after all these years.

He looked at your silence as a yes. He cleared his throat, and he truly didn't think he'd get this far with you. He was practically expecting you to shoot him when you had saved him in the race; to be fair, he couldn't even blame you if you had shot him. "Team up with Gyro, if we stick together, we can-" he had started to propose, hopeful. 

"Is that all?" You interrupted, tilted your head down, and spat at the ground near you. He reeled back at your bitter words as he nodded slowly. What was he going to say you could do? Did it even matter what he was going to say? It wasn't enough; it would never be.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he held out his hand, holding the object of your desire. Your fingertips touched as your hand grasped hold of the beaded item, holding it close to your chest. 

You could see his eyes searching for any emotion on your face, wishing he knew what to say around you now, he always did back then. The girl he knew, whom he'd spend his days with, who consumed his mind with thoughts he couldn't make out into adequate sentences.

You had left, failing to understand, without another word. As much as you wished for something more, you knew it was just a hopeless sentiment you had no control over. You walked feeling deprived and enraged; an apology was what you desired, even if you knew you wouldn't have accepted it. 

You head your way to the starting line, hearing that it is time for the next race. 'Next nights ahead in the desert would be a breeze, hopefully with no unwanted distractions.' You thought quite optimistically about the next few months ahead. 

Maybe you would finally be able to breathe.

You were almost dumb enough to want to believe maybe Johnny had come here for you. And what if he had? That wouldn't change a thing. But he hadn't. He looked stunned to see you standing there looking the same as you always did. Not changing one bit. 

But you had changed, you think at least in some metamorphic way you have, for better or for worse. In fact, you were angry to see him. Johnny had no reason to be here. No reason to impose on your life anymore. And no real reason to halt you down in your path. Your own thoughts frightened you. 

You lie upon the tents' ill-favored surface and watch the dust particles, combined with any familiar hazy feeling, settling in as you roll over. 

It was September 25, 1890—the day of the Steel Ball Run. 

This race was meant for you, and you alone. It had no meaning whether Johnny was here or not. You'd most likely avoid him at all costs, never let him see you if you could help it. 

A ruckus from outside awakened you from your dozing and tranqiul state. You had wished to get more rest before the race. Due to this rude awaking, you rubbed your eyes from their hazy vision; their blurry and flushed state made you even more grateful for the distraction. You cursed whatever god gave you that forsaken dream.

All you had hoped to do was come to this race, and forget about your past, move on, and hell, maybe heal your 'inner peace' or whatever lame shit your momma prattled on about whenever she was in her 'spiritual space' she called it.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes at the thought of it. But deeply, you truly did want to put it all behind you; unfortunately, you couldn't do that when a certain asshole was here...a few of them in fact.

Before you head out, it would be best just to take all your things with you. You traced the tip of your finger along the rim of your lips, trying to decide what you'd take with you for the race. 'No fucking way I'm gonna be stinking out here.'  You thought before throwing the soap into your bag, along with other important toiletries you need for the trip.

It couldn't be that long, right? To be honest, you had no idea how long this trip would be. But there was no way of knowing unless you continued, right? You try to comfort yourself in your unknowingness. After a while, it kind of feels like you're just condemned to fail.

You're not that experienced in survival skills, you falter under stress, and you were slightly acquainted with horse racing.Johnny was the one who taught you afterall. As your mind trails back as you continue backing after all these years, Johnny was here as much as you wanted to go up to him and ask why or how. You couldn't. Your resentment wouldn't let you in the slightest.

After it seems like you've finished backing most things you deemed necessary, such as your stuffed animal. 'Well, it's not like I can leave bon bon here,' you thought, petting his fluffed fur softly, which reminded you of those soft, square marshmallows, the ones you named him after.

You packed him gently into your bag. Closing it shut, as you flung it over your shoulder, making your way out of the deft tent. 

Outside, the early morning sun eagerly rose while the breeze from the ocean made its way with the sand and trees nearby. It would all be so perfect—if Johnny weren't being dragged around like a rag doll right in front of you.

Inside a steed fence, a horse neighed angrily as it dragged the paraplegic man, holding on by a weak grip of the stirrup. The dust from the ground engulfed the area around Johnny. You could barely make out his figure as it was tossed around. "What the hell?" you thought aloud. 

"That was exactly what I thought, Bella," a voice behind you said. You flinched at the voice seemingly coming out of nowhere as the foreign man from before drew closer. He had come from inside his own tent, which only stood a few feet from where the scene had begun. 

His eyes drifted from the scene for a moment, then flashed a hardened look as he stared at your belongings. "So it is true. You really did sign up for yourself?" He says. Then, as if recalling what did matter, he fixed his gaze elsewhere. 

"If that's the case—Drop out now," he had bluntly stated, looking straight ahead more at the horizon than Johnny, still being dragged and thrown around the dirt ground. 

Your breath had caught in your throat, trying to find it in you not to kill him right there. You think that if you had accepted his proposal the other day, he wouldn't have been such a delightful person with his sentiments. 

Perhaps he thinks you'll get hurt or is simply worried, but all that is flushed away with his next words. Then he spoke his intolerant words once more, "I will not have my race wasted by a woman." You could almost laugh at his delirious conclusions. If it was his race, why did you see him as no threat at all? 

In actuality, you were so sure you could just slap the guy right there. "You think of me as a threat?" You ask. If it were the case, then he was right, he should think of you as a threat, you had a gun while he had some silly balls, and as a matter of fact, so did you. 

"Quite the opposite." He said. Your mind was thrown back for a moment before questioning his lead, "In what way?" You had expected him to threaten you in a physical manner, which you were quite ready to oppose, but he did not. He stood with his arms crossed, still staring straight ahead. 

You matched his stare and mellow act and didn't even bother looking at him as you scowled. "And who are you to tell me what to do, Mr. Zeppeli?" You tried to hide the venom in your voice, failing miserably.

"Mr. Zeppeli?" He held a condescending look, then threw back a frown, "Now you're making me think of my father." His father must have had no manners to raise him in such a way. "Is he just as charming as you?" You mock. 

He blew out his lips, exasperated, "as much as a wise man can be." He laughed it off as a joke, but it died off as soon as it started turning to a harsh breath. After a moment, he tilted his head to you, "Gyro is a much wiser-sounding name, don't you think?" he asked, but it was clear he hadn't really cared for an answer. 

So that was the name of your perpetrator, who had flirted with you, insulted you, and now was trying to kick you out of a race he called his own. You hadn't remembered it because you didn't want to; it was rather not much to not recall him, you thought you'd never speak to him again.

Gyro Zeppeli. It sounded worse in the head and both aloud. "And is this Gyro the 'wise' who thought it was very wise to insult a woman when first meeting her?"

"What a waste of advances," He said. "My options were very limited. It was either you or the horses." He shrugged with a passion that could only mean he thought what he said meant no infraction. 

Gyro gave one mesely look at you, then rolled it back, "Should've picked the one with the prettier mane."

You said nothing. It was not that you did not want him to get the better of you. But his words did offend you in some way. You did not want to admit they did. It felt humbling to stand there, but the best words you could muster were a silent scoff. 

There was a stretch of silence, only pierced by the hurls and thrusts of dust and kicks of earthly hooves, of which the scene before both of you. 

He took an effort to make sure you were looking at him, making subtle movements every time you did. Step by step, finally, when you look at him, he speaks to your non-reply. 

"You're not my type." Instead of ignoring this, you reply, "Really?" Trying to sound as agreeable as possible to not mistake any formable thought of tenderness. "You could've gone unnoticed," he mentions. "But I would bet on your naivety towards men to be a suitable thing."

You couldn't tell if he was even speaking about the same thing anymore. Originally hed been on about you with the race, but now it had gone to the start. You could easily forgive his vanity if he had not so easily wounded yours. Perhaps he thinks of himself as a jack of all trades. "I feel nothing for anything you say to me."

He does not give it another breather before replying, "Impressive. Repressive emotions are hard to pull off." You doubled down on your thoughts of his generalization of you. "You make it easy." 

Then his unmatched retorts delay at your words. You heard the edge of his breath. Without another witty remark or clever taunt, he walks towards the fence. You clenched your fist tightly as he ignored you, stomping towards him. Standingbeside him while he watched the scene unfold.

His arms leaned against the wooden structure with one knee sticking in between the rigid planks. He stuck to the wooden bars. Now with all of his attention rivveted to Johnny's struggle.  

You shake off his reliable claim before a slam had shaken the same post you'd been touching. You flinched back from it, but this time, Gyro did not heed your movements. 

You look to see what had caused this sudden disarray. Then, as you see the blood, you track your eyes on Johnny's lying form. You held back a gasp with a labored breath. You look to Gyro for some kind of similar reaction, but his face was only engrossed with the same expression he had.

"You simply do not know the true nature of men." He said. Though you were not sure if it was supposed to be a declaration or a reply to something you had said. You could not even respond anymore to what you'd just watched. Johnny's body was entirely bleeding and bruised. You shivered at the thought. Even if Johnny couldn't feel it—it hadn't looked like he could- it was unbearable to witness. 

Yet Gyro continued on with you, "Do you not believe me?" He had even been staring at you this time, not missing a moment of your now engrossed gaze upon Johnny. He had just watched Johnny be punctured by a part of the same post he had been leaning on, but he did not look nearly as alarmed as you envisioned. 

"You two know each other, no? Miss L/n." Even before hearing what he asked, your head scrambled, filling with questions. "What? Wait, how do you know my name?" You asked with honest curiosity. "I asked around, of course." He said with no delay. " I only had to question one person."

It seemed like everyone here knew your name for some reason. Were you really that much of an eye catcher? You didn't think so, a random girl with her father's old clothes on her back, her hair a mess. At the thought, you'd even bet someone would mistake you for a witch of some kind traveling in bands for the race.

You opened your mouth to speak, but were interrupted by two men a few feet away from you yelling out, "Hey! He's gonna get trampled to death! I can't watch, I think we should stop him! You guys! Ya'll agree with me, don't ya?" the man yelled, pointing to the both of you. 

You looked at Johnny, who was being trampled by the horse as he curled into a fetal position. A part of you wanted to beg him to stop, but you held back. Why would he listen to you? It had been years since they had spoken, especially in such a way. Everything you had or was once there was gone now.

Gyro, who had stayed still for a few seconds before answering, finally turned to face the men. "You asking for my opinion? I'm only watching because I happened to be looking this way," he explained plainly. "But if you ask me...he'll never ride a horse. No man in his condition could." 

You tried to stop yourself from lashing out at this asshole. Who did he think he was, telling people what they could and couldn't do? 

"What makes you the decider of what anyone can do?! If he wants to ride that damn horse, he's going to! Got it?!" You confronted him, pissed off that he had made all these assumptions about both of you, more importantly, about Johnny.

"Would you like me to put it more softly, Bella?" Gyro said, only giving you a short time to act. "If he does manage to ride it? Well, that'd make him superhuman," Gyro said, carrying his saddle over his shoulder, walking off.

You had scoffed as he walked off. A man like that has no place to tell anyone what to do, not you, anyone but you.Turning back to see Johnny still trying to ride it, unaware of how much your words had affected him. You only watched as he bled from the horses' jumbling. 

Then Johnny looks at you. It seems like for the first time, he had stopped pursuing his goal of riding the horse. You jump in surprise. His eyes were dull, and his breath labored. The blood pouring from his head, mixing with his sweat, you couldn't tell them apart. 

You could not look away. Johnny lay there with his arms covering his head from his horse's brutal stamping. 

"Your hand..." He breaths. You could not entirely understand him, for speech was incoherent, and his voice was arid and hitched. "It's bruised." You furrowed your brows for a moment, not understanding entirely, but when you look at your hand and see the small, swollen scrape, you know. 

You wondered how he could focus on this small, off-colored thing when his whole body was brutalized with contusions. You wait to speak. You swallow down anything that might come up, anything you might regret saying, then you say nothing. 

You ripped your gaze away. You didn't have time for this; the race was about to start, and you still had to prepare your horse. No matter who he was to you, or if you even still cared for him. 

He wasn't your Johnny anymore. You turned your back, walking away, praying he'd give up.

But when has the lord ever listened to you?

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

THE clear path led you to your mare, who awaited you from her straight position. You carefully set your things around her saddle. Tieing and securing each thing. You'd never ridden a horse with extra carried weight. Windchime even looked a bit bothered by the heft as she stumbled around trying to distribute the weight. 

You lay a hand on her side for reassurance. "Sorry girl, it'll only be like this for a while until I figure out what I really need." The mare only huffed at your mindlessness. You lead her along the path many others took to arrive at the starting line. The number of people there was incredible. 

The lineup of racers stretched from beyond the shore to its shallow end across the bay. People moved in every direction you were afraid of stepping into, and you were afraid of stepping into anyone. Once you find the rhythm in how you move, you thrust into the crowds. 

Racers shouted and applauded someone from afar speaking, but you could barely hear it. 

There were lines etched in the ground, each being reserved for the racers, all labeled with their corresponding numbers.You walked along the path until you spotted your starting 'B-6 hundred' number. 

A shift of sand disrupted you. As if your steps now felt heavy. You stopped, and as you did so, the imbalance of your stirs. Pairs of steps come from behind but cease when you do. 

You turn and see him. The man from before who had complimented your jacket. And asked for directions, but his compliment stuck with you. Your body turned halfway to meet his figure. He stood idly, almost confused at his actions. 

"Hi," you greet. But he doesn't respond. You see in his hand, he holds something which he has a particularly tight grip on.Once you see it, he raises it. It was a roll of bandages. "For your hand," he said quickly, "they had supplies lying around."

He holds it out for you. You wait to take it. An odd feeling sets in that you can't help but form a small smile at him. You slowly reach out to take it, holding it in your hands. "It's infused with witch hazel, which will help with the swelling." He said, but it sounded practiced, like he was repeating it from a health book.

"Thank you." You stare into the bandage in some sort of awe. From the start of this race, you think this is the only real kind someone has given you. A pure one with no ill intentions or hack. 

When you look back up, you are afraid he has already left, but he stood there right where he was. Without mistake or fault, you open your mouth to speak, but don't know what to say. "Your name, I didn't catch it." 

"Soundman." He says. By his voice, you could tell no one had asked him that in a while. "Soundman," you enunciate. A distinctive name, one that you thought contradicted him. "Well, for a guy named by sound, you certainly don't make a lot of noise; I could barely hear you behind me."

He gave a smile at your remark, only to have words to clear the meaning.

"Silence is a sound," He said, "If you listen close enough." You stand there, puzzled, and then accept his words. You nodded, "Yeah, I guess it is."

You take note of his lack of things and horse and simply ask what's on your mind, "Where's your starting point?" you ask.You hoped it was in some close vicinity of you, but he points in a different direction from you. 

"And your horse? By the stables?" You ask. For the first time, you see all doubt and faith compel him to speak. He looked at you and smiled, only for a moment, not one of happiness or filled with joy, "I do not need that." His words were filledwith pride and unexpressed conceit. 

You stood taken aback, not sure if it was a joke or a misunderstanding, but before you could ask, his face was honed witha deep affliction which could be mistaken for tenderness.

"Have caution," he warned. For a moment, you think he means in the race, but the look on his face tells another story. He glanced in another direction before explaining. "There's a man here, I'm not sure who he is. I've seen you speak with him before."

You have some idea of who he is talking about, but it could just be a guess. "After you told me directions, he had a duel with another man, causing officers to be involved. A man with teeth of gold."

Then you knew. It was that intolerant bastard. The shine of his teeth couldn't even hide the hostility in him. "I see," you say, "I'll make sure to be careful." Even with nothing to be done, that man couldn't help but wedge himself in between.

You nod as a farewell, a nicety, not just to spin and leave. Though he does not counteract this, in fact, neither his eyes nor his body moved. You avert your gaze and clasped your hands in front of you, "Well.." you start, "The race is staring—"

"You have a handsome face."

It might have been the cheers and noise polluting around you, but you think your ears might have just popped. Your mind did not move as fast as his did. He nodded and turned around.

"Break a leg," Sandman said. He then moved along a path covered by folks going in all directions. You could see him no longer, not even his foot steps in the sand made their mark. You held your ground there, your fingers losing their grip on your mare's reins before she began pulling towards the starting line.

It was quite the change to have someone insulting you, then calling you handsome. You were not sure which to prefer. 

You parted ways in your place as loud shouts and applause came from multitudes of racers, all taking their positions. You hopped your way on top of Windchime, she neighed, shaking her head at your struggle to find balance. "Sorry girl, I'm just not accustomed yet." Rubbing her neck, trying to calm her down as you took hold of the reins. leading her to your spot.

Spotting a familiar long-haired blonde positioned right next to you. You licked your teeth in displeasure. Of course, he was positioned right next to you.

Windchime trotted next to his horse. As soon as she did, he spoke, "I thought I told you to drop out of the race, women don't know how to listen," he muttered under his breath, annoyed at your stubbornness. 

You hold the ends of your horse's reins tighter. You had promised yourself to keep your cool, breathing in calmly, not to make a fool of yourself. 

"And you men don't know when to shut your mouths."

He laughed at your snarky comment, "You truly are stubborn, Bella. I'll make sure to keep that in mind," He stated derisively. Finding a challenge in his words, you continued. "You seem to underestimate me, Gyro." You declared, declaring his name like an insult.

"Trust me when I say this, doing that will be the worst mistake of your life. I can shoot you faster than you can touch those steel balls of yours," pointing your finger right at him. Even if you didn't know if you could, you sure would kill him on the spot if need be.

Gyro tilted his head and grinned. Clearly, you had piqued his curiosity. "Nyo ho." He piped. You had reeled back, looking at him, trying to figure him out. 'Damn! He's more cunning than I assumed,' you looked back ahead of you, pondering whether it would just be better to kill him off now. 

"Hey, look. It's him!" The men from before pointed towards Johnny. 

Johnny still had his hand gripped onto the stirrup. His horse fills the space next to Gyro. You saw the horse licking the blood from Johnny's face, and you turned back, feeling his gaze on you. As much as you tried, you couldn't bear to see him like this, all weak and torn down; it hurt too much to look at.

But it didn't matter. You didn't have time to think of him, not anymore. You wouldn't even admit to yourself that you thought of him every time you rode a horse or saw his favorite color. Far up ahead, the port side was only a few miles to the left of you.

To be fair, you never really saw the ocean this close, only in books, so you couldn't help but look at its blue scenery, thinking of Johnny's eyes. Even now, your body and mind were conditioned to him.

Johnny and Gyro exchanged a few words beside you as the race was about to commence. You'd do them better if the two idiots stuck together as long as you had no part of it, you couldn't give a shit. You leaned on your horse, above hearing the echoes on the speakers.

"THE RACE WILL START IN TWO MINUTES." 

More participants are now heading to their places; many of them were men, and the ones behind you snickering their words loud enough so you could hear. "What's a little girl doing here?" "I bet she can't even ride a horse properly." Both men laughed as you tried to ignore them. 

'No need to give a man anytime of day, especially one so ugly.' You thought to yourself. It did you no good to waste all your energy on them.

"But you know what else she can ride..."

You shut your eyes. Squeezing them even to hide any trace of weakness. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to ignore their remarks about you. You could feel the burning on your face as they laughed.

This had happened numerous times before, someone underestimating you because you were simply a woman, just a way of life for you, but it still stung. All you knew was to keep silent; it was the only way to live. 

"Don't you dare speak to her that way!"

You twirled the fine silk as it twined to the touch. The blue ribbon you held in your hand was suddenly lifted by a loud sniff from the corner of your eye. The mare had leaned her head between your shoulder and stuffed her nose into the palm of your hand. Even giving small licks to the ribbon. 

"You like it, girl?" You asked her. Her eyes were trained intently on the artifact brought by the wind. You hummed a nod as if she had answered. 

"I used to have one just like it. My momma would write my name on the back of it so I wouldn't lose it. I suppose she was innovative in that way." You looked at the ribbon, an agonizing look that pasted your very own eye. 

Then, if a sign of tenderness, the mare's head leaned into your cheek as she nudged it—a comforting gesture. You smiled at her empathetic attitude—maybe she had her own home to miss, too.

Maybe you had found a companion at last. 

"Best you not touch her, sweetheart, she bites." A voice came from the halls of the door. A man came near. He had come with a soiled toothpick in mouth and thumbs placed in the loops of his trousers, which you assume as a sign of his kaput superiority. 

Even the mare that had coddled close to you had taken a step back. Her eyes and huddled breath now only filled with a bitterness you knew too well. You rubbed the neck of the mare in a consoling manner. You ignore his insinuating comment and lack of revelation of your name: "How much is she?"

You asked the man selling the horses. "That'll run you 'bout $1900," he said, swinging back and forth to his heels as if he had all the right to ask for such an outrageous price. 

"What!? That's insane! You're crazy, mister." You shook your head in disbelief. "Come on, you know that's way too much!" You crossed your arms at the man who was trying to scam you out of the money you didn't even have.

You think back, maybe that Mr. Zeppeli man was right. It was pretty

stupid of you to think they wouldn't charge extra, and you'd already spent most of your money on getting into the race in the first place with money that wasn't even yours. You groaned as you placed a hand on your hip, placing all your weight on your front leg.

"Well, there are other ways you can pay me," The man eyed your body up and down. You stepped back and almost let out a laugh in disbelief as you licked your teeth, "Listen here, mister, who the hell do you think you are asking a woman that? You son—" You pointed a finger in his face as you stared down at him before someone cut you off.

"I'll pay for her," a voice called out from out of the barn. You eyed the man closely, wary of this bizarre man's offer.

A man wearing an Equestrian helmet with the letters 'DIO' around the front of his blond hair, waving in the breeze. He posed at the barn doors, hand on his upper thigh. "Though with the greatest respect, I recommend another horse. These are not typically bred for racing, just to look pretty much like you." He remarked, walking over to you.

You eyed him up and down, unable to decipher his motive. You had a few inches over him due to the size of your boots, so you weren't too worried about him trying anything. 'Wait a minute, pretty? What the hell was this guy talking about?'  You wondered, your head stirring in confusion. You shuddered away from him, bringing a hand to stroke the neck of your newfound companion for amenity. 

He came so close you might have thought he'd bump into you, but he fazed through you now in a conversation with the man behind you. 

The man had almost bowed in an instant. His head lowered either in shame or dignity. He even spoke to you with a gentler tone. Calling you ma'am and miss instead of the infamous 'sweetheart.'

The man's regretful act vanished in a moment of submission at this sudden entrance. "If it isn't Mr.Brando!" He said, "A wicked rider!" He complimented ecstatically.  

"Enchanted," he cut in and corrected. Though his gaze was only centered on you as he spoke with the man. "What could I do for you, Sir?" 

"Prepare this horse for my lady." He ordered without a sign of civility. The man only smiled, "My pleasure, sir." 

Before you could even answer anything, he answered for you and instructed the man. As the man suddenly had thecourtesy to act properly, "I'll get everything ready for this sweetheart," the man went off to grab his supplies. 

A breath was caught at the head of your tongue. You had never been treated in such a way. It almost felt undeserving or punishing to do that to a person. Is that what status felt like? Now you had another grail to pursue. You wondered how easily 'Mr. Brando was able to acquire such an honor. Handed to him on a silver platter, bet he didn't even have to feed himself. Such that even standing beside him was a great honor enough to make you more valuable. 

You scornfully caress the mare, "Are you tired of men calling you sweetheart, too?" She only grunted in response. You shake your head. "I'll give you a real name, then it can be stated it was you and not 'sweetheart' who trampled that man." 

"Violent words for a lady." The man who had offered to pay spoke. You glance at him before stepping back to let the mare be escorted. "Generous acts for a man."

You coveted yourself to the manes stall and leaned against her now vacant half-door as he stood akin to you. He simply stood there. He rather courteously stood by, while his eyes did not penetrate yours, looking away as if waiting for your permission. 

The barns' once cool atmosphere now veered into a feverish admission. 

You then turned an eye, and in an instant, he uplifted his gaze. You lifted your chin in a pompous manner, "Don't you know it's common courtesy to introduce yourself before you buy a woman's horse?"

"I haven't bought it yet." He said. You hold back a scoff in his insistent coy act. Yet he stays an offer laid in his speech with every breath. "You do want her, yes?" He says. "I won't even make you say please."

You watched the struggle of your companion being led, then you twisted your head back, and your mind subtly caught something. "I do not need a man to pay for me, got it?" You say only your eyes didn't look at him, but were glaring straight ahead."Didn't look as such, as far as I can tell. There's nothing in your pockets but paperbits and scraps." 

You regurgitated a gag and lost all your former composure. He just read you straight through your tough demeanor. You bit this inside of your cheek, leaning against the wooden structure behind you. He observed you as if he were dissecting each part of you. He stares openly and unashamedly, though your one look gave him all the clarity he needed. 

"And if it would oblige you, then I will give you what you desire."

"I am Diego Brando." He takes your hand and raises it to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss upon your knuckles. "...though most are akin to calling me Dio. I'm sure my name has graced your ears," he said, his tongue held the venom of arrogance. His gloves held a cold touch, their fawn leather gaping at your skin. You snatched your hand away immediately, holding it to your chest away from him, and, almost reflexively, by his vanity. 

"And if it is such a bother to you, consider it a trade." He offered.

"A trade?" You questioned. "And what exactly do you desire that I have?" You immediately question his motives if they are as vile as the previous men and as self-concerned as Mr. Zeppeli was. 

"I have nothing much to offer you." You stated bluntly, "Especially someone who is far beyond my status." You said you were a bit grudging about his attitude. And you were still aggravated by his so-called 'generous proposition; it was obviously clear that he was trying to get something out of you. Whatever it was, there was no way you'd let him have it.

His breath snagged for a moment. "You," he said. In your shell-shocked moment, you stay. Then he hesitated, then nodded towards the close of your palm, "You possess my ribbon." He looks down only once. You were confused, then realized the silk that was still carried in your hand."This? This belongs to you?" 

"Yes." He grunted this answer with his eyes hardened. You had the means of questions, but it didn't seem like something that would come to mind:  "Nice ribbon." You say raising its cord to him.

He hesitates, then grips onto its spring. "This ribbon has led me to countless victories and trophies." He pulled it towards him and held it near his heart. "I suggest you respect it."

You flinched at his response; his now cold demeanor presented, you honestly felt bad he took it so wrongly."I only said it was nice. Nothing meaningful about it."

He backed away and, in an instant, regained his 'charm'. "Though your name seems to be a foreign mystery to me." He provocatively tilts his head. His mood had changed so quickly it was hard to pick up whether he had forgiven you or had been beholden to have beholden him. 

'I can't let my guard down,' you thought. You stare him down, awaiting what he'd say. He then placed a hand to his chin. "Tell me, darling, what is it they call you by?" Repulsed at the sudden pet name and wanted to tell him off. You closed your eyes in a harsh vision and held back in fear of losing your only chance to get a horse.

'Shouldn't get on his bad side,' you thought, sucking it up and answering his question, though it's not like you had to give him 'your ' name. An idea came to your head quickly as you spoke with a lighter tone, "bucket...!" You call out. 

"Bucket?" He questioned in an amused tone. 

"Buck-i!" you corrected. Adding a small intention of accent to give it a more reasonable look. "Yeah! My momma was really innovative that way..?" You look at his face for more clarity to see if he truly believed you. Then he smiled.

"Mhm, a simple country girl like yourself," he said. You grit your teeth and send him a small, glaring smile of your own. "A lovely name for the loveliest girl." You almost rolled your eyes, groaning at his so-called flattery. But overall, you were glad he believed that. Yet you gave him a half smile, ready to get the hell away from him.

The horse was led by a different man this time; he handed the reins to you. You looked at her closely. The mane moved with a dreamlike grace, her dappled coat the color of weathered honey and misted earth. A pale mane spills down her neck like silk, while thick ivory feathers soften, lined with tuffs of hair, booted like chime bells.

You stared at her as she stared back into your own eyes with a curious eye. You smiled at her, glad with your decision; she was truly bonded with you now. 

You took the reins, feeling them in your hand, then you led her outside the barn. You tried your best to distance yourself from the annoying British man you had encountered, yet you could still hear footsteps behind your own pace, crunching on the dirt ground. 

After a beat of stillness, an irritating British voice began to speak. "Any idea what you'll name her, Y/n?" You were about to respond, then your mind fully comprehended his words. You stopped and blinked quickly in confusion.

"Ah, did you really think I wouldn't know your name?" He raised a brow with his arms crossed in front of his body, leaning over, giving you a telling look. You scrunched up your face, gritting your teeth. How the hell did he know your name? You hadn't given it to anyone. Had he seen it on the sign-up sheet? 

No, no way you'd just signed up there, and saw no sign of him there, no way he had seen it. You swallow in disbelief at his discovery of your name. "How silly of you, dear." He said calmly.

Looking at him closer, something inside of you shifts as if a familiarity shows, but you toss the feeling aside, putting your poker face back on, returning to his previous question. 

Your horse's name? You hadn't thought of it much before. But looking at her now, you knew, "Why the hell would you want to know her name?" you said. If he was as much of a creep as you thought, perhaps he read your mind and already knew.

"Well, she's our child," he stated quite calmly for what he'd just said.

You stared at him, bewildered at his sudden declaration. "What does that even mean?!" Exhaling a sound of utter confusion.

Diego gave you a disingenuous smile, "Well, it means I'm her papa, and you're her mama. Try to get used to it," he said, petting your horse's ivory mane with his gloved hand. Your eye twitched, your face twisted into disgust, trying to even comprehend what this man was saying. 

He only looked up at her with a 'care'-filled expression. 'Were all British people this weird?' You thought. And as soon as you thought it, you knew the answer in the back of your mind. As you stood still in your state of shock, He had leaned in closer, glancing down at your lips, then straight into your eyes.

"Good luck on the race, darling." Turning around, his boots scuffing against the dirt ground as he walked off. You stood there debating whether you should shoot yourself in the head and call it a day. At the thought of it, you found yourself thinking back to your home as you walked on. 

Your mother, whom you left all alone, the same woman who'd given up her life for your father. 'That rotten man...' You clenched your fist at the thought of it, her life, your life, in no way did you want those lunes to intercept to be similar in any way. Ever. 

You had no interest in being a mother, let alone in this world, where you have no rights to your own body. Anything you had or made belonged to a man; nothing of any woman's own could be hers. 

Motherhood and marriage were thoughts that had crossed your mind only once, and your only thoughts towards them were to push them down deep in the pit of your soul.

A fire lit in your heart, knowing that you must continue the race, you'd do it and finally prove that you were strong. You didn't need anyone. There was one thing you knew for a fact.

You wouldn't let any man, not one who paid for your horses nor pushed you to your limit, get in your way.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

FINALLY, you had made it to your tent with no distractions in your way. After putting your horse, whom you'd decided to name 'Windchime', for your own personal reasons. It seemed she enjoyed the name. 

"Come on, windy girl." You led her to one of the stables where other racers had kept their horses. 

You had brought a tent, though you weren't sure how to set it up, and you knew damn well you weren't going to embarrass yourself trying. 

Luckily enough, you found yourself a vacant tent posted near a horse rail. You stood back up as all your belongings werein place in safekeeping. It wasn't much: A normal dressing shirt and long skirts of your own, but mostly just a few hand-me-down shirts and pants, and some old tools you'd need, all belonging to your father. 

You saw yourself in the reflection of a broken compact mirror you had brought with you, your face scrunched up as you saw yourself. You grab the mirror and wipe the morning gunk off your eyes that had been gathering in the corners of your eyes this whole time. You groan at the sight of yourself; you look a complete mess.

But then, loud yelling caught your attention from outside. You narrowed your eyes at the noise and stepped out of your tent. A group of people stood by a building, collectively herded to observe this scene.

You heard a familiar voice scream out. "I need to know. Please tell me! I need to know what just happened!"  Your eyes widened as you made the connection to that voice. That familiar voice. In your heart that tumbled for a moment. You knew who exactly it belonged to, "Johnny...?"

'Was that him? No...it couldn't be,' you thought. You analyzed the man you saw from afar. Your eyes traced over that stupid baby blue beanie. The one with pink stars spattered atop it, with a golden horseshoe plastered on the front. Twoblond tuffs of hair resembling deviled horses stuck from its root. 

It was the one you had gifted him. You had bought him that hat because it looked stupid, yet there he was, wearing it for all to see. 

Your eyes crease as you look closer. Its sky color matched his clothes and somber painted lips. "Johnny fucking Joestar..." You mouthed. There he was, Johnny...your Johnny. The selfish, arrogant boy you knew from back home. He was here, but why? Was the universe throwing a fuck you, or was this the reason you knew you had to come to this beach in the first place?

You had made your way over to the two men discreetly hiding behind a wooden building in front of them. As you leaned closer, you watched as the Paraplegic rolled in front of the foreign man you met before. He even went out of his way to choke a man in his path. Johnny had run into his horse in its tracks. Mr. Zeppeli's horse reeled back in shock at the man's advances. 

You had known Johnny to be the confrontational type, but you never thought he'd do anything to physically impair someone or himself. It all seemed so desperate; his face was pained with frustration. 

Johnny had seemed to be pleading with the man, reaching out for his steel ball that luckily was in arm's reach. Once he touched it, his fingers contorted. It twisted his flesh as the steel ball user pushed him away, making his fingers latch onto the roof.

Fear had clung to your throat before you could think, "Johnny!" You yelled, clasping your hand on your mouth as both men turned to look at you. You stood apparent, stuck to the ground beneath you. Regret had pierced you like a bullet. 

"Ah, has this man bothered you, too, bella?" Your mouth was too dry to speak as you stared dead ahead at Johnny's hanging body. You don't even think that in your state of mind, you could defend him. 

The steel ball holder averted his gaze back at the man dangling from the roof after getting no response. "Before I say something to bring you down, i'll compliment you. You have strong muscles on your upper body, I mean." He clarifies as he tilts his head at the dangling man, speaking up, "But let me be clear. These spinning balls are weapons. They cannotmake someone as you walk again." 

Johnny struggled as his hand cramped up from its grip. "So what! I'm just supposed to forget about all of this?! I'll figure it out! I'll find out the truth behind that spin." Johnny's voice toiling to hold its strength.

Gyro snickered, turning his horse to walk in the other direction, not bothering to look behind him. "Boy, you can't even ride a horse. The Steel Ball Run race is about to start. Then I'll be long gone from this beach. I'm going to cross this whole country and win." The sound of his horses trottting drifted away from where Johnny was. 

Johnny's hand trembled as he reached for the mangled other that clung onto the roof. He hit the ground, curled up next to his overturned wheelchair. 

Then, in his sorrowful state, he had recalled who was behind him and whipped his head around to see only the back of a girl he once knew walking off. "Y/n..." his gaze softened as he faintly whispered your name. 

It was y/n...his y/n. From all those years ago. Before everything, all of this pain in his life. There was you. 

You were here for the race. Of course, you were, you were always one to set your mind on something. 

His mind was made up now. From his legs—even just a millimeter movement, it was more than enough to fuel his spirit. And then his heart, as though it had been revived and enlightened with breath, began to pull and ache him towards a larger goal. 

He clenched his fist as he raised his half-dead body to his knees, determined he would be too. At that moment, something that he had thought he had lost long ago, something that had shone through the darkness that had drawn him to these shores, that light was hope.

Johnny knew if he went to this race,

He would get all he ever desired returned to him.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

HOOVES galloped against the racing track, the summer's heat blazing down upon both of the teens. Both were determined to beat the other. Your gaze falls upon your opponent, smiling as you get a lead on him.

"Might wanna give up now, 'Joe Kid'!" you snicker as you mock his nickname given to him by his rich friends from the blue-bloods high of society. 

He had always been praised and showered with compliments by his rich friends for his natural jockey talent, but didn't exactly tend for it. 

If anything, it made him a bit more prone to you. Even if he loved the attention, he never forgot his place for you. You'd always be special. 

At least that's what you thought.

"Real mature," Johnny calls out, grinning as he catches up to you. "But I don't see anyone giving you a nickname for your talents!"

The finish line closes in as you near it. You push forward as you cross, holding down in your tracks. Not even looking to see whether he had crossed it first. "Ha! I win!" You called out, raising your hands in the air in victory. The leather at the saddle creaked as the horse exhaled at your stop.

"No, you didn't. I won by a landslide," Johnny argues arrogantly, hopping off his horse, checking his worn-down boots. You watch as he stamps them into the ground for firmer contact. Your shoulders loosened, just a little, as you stretched on.

"You need to get new boots, Johnny." You say. Johnny replied nonchalantly, leaning on his foot, "They'll last me a couple more months." 

"Ah, so the great jockey will do anything he can to win a race, but can't go out of his way to buy new boots?" You teased while Johnny shrugged, walking around to you, holding his hand out for you. He assisted you down from your horse, holding you by your midriff.

"Oh yeah, that reminds me it's almost your 16th birthday." Johnny raised a brow. "And here I thought you didn't care, hm?" he tilted his head, looking down at you. Heat rushed to your face as you pushed yourself back. "What? No way! It's just my ma!" you waved off. "She reminded me when your pa told her, that's all!" Johnny laughed at your backtracking.

You groaned as you rolled your eyes while he laughed; it really was like him to get you all restless like this. 

You shoved his shoulder back, but his shoulders were stiff and stubbornly fixed, grinning at your charge. "Whatever," You mummbled. He adjusted his stance when the ground dipped under one boot.

"You are the most superficial man I've ever met, Johnny." He gave you a simple answer, "I find that it is the common ability most of the renowned possess."

"So you're stupid on purpose?" You frame, "You only know what you do not know what you don't." You insisted on shaking a finger at him. He rolled his eyes at your comment, "You've gotta stop reading so much." He leaned back, his leg kicked up on the stirrup. "You say too many things that really have no meaning."

Lost in thought, you did not pay any mind to his words; you looked beyond the open area and were reminded of a find you had made while walking around. "So...are you going to join me for a stroll later? I've actually made quite the discovery near the lake." You say with a vague tone to persuade him.

Johnny's eyes were not focused on you; his fingers hovered near the reins without ever touching them. "Nah, I've got plans with friends."

"Friends?" You raised a brow. The scarcity of younger folks around these parts was truly a sight, then you realized what he meant, "You mean those royals and politicians!" It had been the 3rd time this week Johnny had blown you off for them, and it was really starting to tick you off. 

"They're all too posh." In truth, they just made you uncomfortable. You'd joined Johnny once before, but compared to them in their lavish houses and custom-designed clothes, you felt mistaken. A country girl. For the whole time you sat on the couch, which even you were too afraid to sit on with its yellow cushions, the wood carved by the hands of someone no one knows, and the firmness of it as if no one had ever sat on it just for decadence. 

While all were flaunting Johnny, and he just stood there soaking it all in, enjoying their praise and gifts.

He laughed, and not in the way he always did. But it was a deep brooding laugh that matched all the others; they all rebeckoned off of the other, a streamlined sound you couldn't make out who said what anymore. Your heart sank, not only of loneliness but of embarrassment. You felt embarrassed to be there, not enough for their loud boasts.

You sat rigid there, tracing the pattern on the couch. You didn't dare to look up. One of the girls had been speaking to Johnny. Her body was always leaning in his direction. Her hands could never seem to get off of him. She was somewealthy man's daughter. 

She had only called you 'his little friend' whenever referring to you. All the others would laugh, and eventually Johnny did too. As charming as she was, you did not mistake any of her leisure towards you as kindness. You knew all she wanted was to make sure you knew you meant no threat to her. And perhaps you weren't. She had no faults with her. Her complexion was clear and pure while her figure delicately stood next to Johnny. God, it irked you.

Johnny watched as your gaze drifted into the soil, your face adorned with the curl of your lips and fur of eyebrows. 

He waved you out of your small daydream—or nightmare with a gentle touch. "Hey, come on, don't be like that." He said, "They ain't got nothing on you." Johnny comforted the dour look on your face. But you couldn't believe him, how could it be true? They had everything on you. 

"You're still my girl." Of course you were. He would always remind you of this notion every chance he brought up those of that status. It never helped. You rested a hand against your thigh, then let it fall.

He watched your sullen face, but still he only offered that he could, "See you tomorrow?" he requested. 

"See you..."

"If you consent to these terms, sign the form here," the man explained boredly, handing you a paper to write down your name. At this point, he must have done this a dozen thousand times by now, explaining the almost pained expression on his face.

You lifted the pen to sign, enscribing your signature on the paper.

"On the starting day, we will record the riders' prints and their horses." You came to a halt. The ink scratched, leaving dribbles of smeared black on the letters of your name. As the words came from his mouth, you figited slightly.

'Right a horse...,' you thought nervously, picking at your nail. You noted you hadn't exactly thought this through. You weren't precisely the type to plan things, often getting ahead of yourself. You hadn't ridden a horse in a few years. The last time you did wasn't exactly a pretty ride. 

You cared for riding to some extent; it was all your Pa's and his industry, with a horse trainer. You cleared your throat, "Excuse me, sir. Is there somewhere here I can purchase a horse?" The man looked at you with a most dispirited face. 

He handed you an identification number 'B-635' along with a medal and a badge. "It's over along the edge by the stationery."

You nodded and thanked him. You made your way to the side as the man behind you walked up to the window of the booth. You could hear the sparks of his spurs sound on the ground. After finishing, he began to stare at you. His eyes were hungrily parading for you.

"Didn't your momma ever tell you it ain't nice to stare?" You say unexpectedly, not troubling yourself to look at the man. It would do you no good to make a scene. Abruptly, your gaze came up. His finger curled under your chin, firmly. Your hands still too fond of your bag to let go. 

"Can't a man stare at a woman? Especially in such a dire spot where women are as lacking as they are—in a place like this," His alluring verdant eyes entrapped your gaze, matching his green painted lips. His jaw lined with square patches of facial hair. He smiled, his teeth reading 'GO! GO! ZEPPELI'. 

"And I've got to ask, why are you in a place like this?" he questioned, his charming smile being his endeavor to persuade you. You moved back perilously. Your chin leaves his touch, though his hand stays in place as if preserving the moment's contact.

You straighten yourself. "Although I'd never try to dispute your claim," You say pitifully to his inadequate claim, and touch . His earlier question takes no place in your mind. "I gotta say it is with incredible nonpareil, you can make a statement so bold." You nodded clandestinely and turned to part at the railing of the booth. 

He takes one step to catch up to you. "You're going to buy a horse," he says more like a verity than a question. You struck back at his divulgence of your private conversation. "Yes," you replied.

"I could take you there, on my horse." He offered you a ride, you halted mid-step, fingers tightening around the rail. "And how would that concern you?" Your eyes cut back to him, searching in him for every weakness that might reveal itself. 

He tapped a finger against the wooden opening of the clerk's window, amusement flickering as if he'd been waiting for your curiosity. "I have ears," he said lightly. "And you weren't exactly whispering when you asked that poor clerk about stallions."

You glanced back at him. "I don't need a companion," you huffed, and almost furrowed your brows in his company. "I'm perfectly competent enough to purchase a horse on my own." His smile buckled, almost delighted by your resistance.

"Even more, I'm very fond of walking." Your refusal was short and ended; you hoped he would take the hint and end this desperate exchange. 

"Nyo ho!" He exclaimed. "It seems my eyes had been gaping at a stupid one, bet you don't even know they're charging almost double the price, especially days before the race." He crossed one arm against his chest and lifted two fingers, holding them in front of your face. 

He pushed back and rested on the booth's table, shrugging with a smile. "Though I do not have any objection to it, men have a notable love for stupid women."

"Really?" You announciated so very 'enlightened' by his observation, "just how women have a remarkable hate of stupid men?" you ask with a grim pout. "Unrequited, no doubt," he said. His smile only brightened at your hostile remark. "Luckily, I account that there's none here in your sight." He said.

You stagger back at his gesture and his oddly provocative words. Before you speak again, you try to analyze him closer, looking him up and down. 

His golden teeth particularly caught your eye; you'd never seen anything like it. Their phrasing and flashiness. They looked like things that could only be described in stories.

'Who is this guy, some strange cowboy?'  You bit your tongue at the thought and, before speaking with a clenched jaw, "Am I to be bold enough to guess your name is Zeppeli?

He chuckled as he took a deliberate step back, kicking off the rigid wall, "No, no, very close, bella; My name is Gyro Zeppeli." You stared at him for a minute, observing his posture. His rather eloquent words for a foolish man. You could tell by his accent he had to be a foreigner, 'a foolish foreign man' to say the least, to think you were disgusted, and even more, disturbed by him.

Mr. Zeppeli only blinked once or twice as you observed him, as if his eyes existed only to focus on you.

"Sir!" The clerk yelled. The line had been piling up from behind Gyro because of his apparent fixation on you. "Sir! Are you signing up or not?" The clerk leaned over to give the badge and verification to him, but Zeppeli held up a hand, cutting him off. "Hold on a second,"

"sir—"

"One second," He voiced. The clerk rolled his eyes at this 'Gyro's' act. You didn't even know why this man was talking to you; it was useless to you and likewise to him. 

Zeppeli rose from his posture, grounding himself steadily now, "I'm not the kind of man to repeat myself, but for you, I will." You raised a brow. 

"You did not answer me earlier," he mentioned. 

You were about to speak up, but he cut you off. "But good thing because of it," he said. "Now I see why you've been sore with me." His words now carried a softer, more caring appeal. For the first time, you were finally interested in his words, and more expectantly, an apology of some kind. 

"I did not mean to assume you are signing up for yourself."

The easier stance you held had locked itself in place. Unready to move. You shut your eyes and debate turning around to rid yourself of this experience, but as you shift your body, you grip your fingers on the railing and thrust yourself back to repulse whatever stuffened vanity this man holds. 

You forced your strained face up to look straight at him. "What did you say?" Your eyes fully shaped by your furrowed eyebrows. He wasn't intimidated, not in the slightest. He sighed with a teasing smile, "I hope it's not a suitor of yours. I'd have to deal with him myself."

Your fist made immediate contact with the timber booth. The clerk gasped at the sight of your deed on his table. The sound reverberated back before you could feel the pain of it on your bruised knuckles. "What makes you think I'm signing up for someone other than myself!" You blurted out, and now even those who lined up behind you started to stare. 

"Well..you're a woman?" He laughed like it was simply a rhetorical question. "A girl like you shouldn't be out here racing for money, ah no assolutamente no!" He waved his hands dismissively as if shooing the idea of you being in the race altogether. "Ah, no matter after I win the race, I'll come back for you—to treat you right." 

Your eyes dilated as you gritted your teeth. 'How dare he? This insolent embodiment being of a man!' You thought, tempted to slap that stupid smirk off his face. "Now, who the hell do you-?!" 

"One moment, Bella," he says, cutting you off as he turns around swiftly to grab a man who was messing with his holster. You lifted your eyebrows in surprise; you hadn't even noticed the man there stealing from Zeppeli. To be honest, it might have looked like you were an accomplice distracting him.

The thief screamed out as his legs convulsed when Gyro pressed his steel balls against him. "WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?! I WAS ONLY MAKING SMALL TALK!" the thief yelped out. "I WAS JUST CURIOUS WHY YOU'RE CARRYING THOSE WEIRD LOOKIN' BALLS IN YOUR GUN BELT. THAT'S ALL!" the thief pleaded. 

You looked at the steel balls in Gyros' hands and noticed them, thinking how odd it was, but paid no mind; it was none of your business anyway.

"Is that so?" Gyro mumbled rather unconvinced as he let the man go. "Okay then, I'll believe you...as long as my money on the counter is still in order. Go on, clerk, count it," Gyro cocked his head towards the clerk as he stared back at the thief. The clerk gasped as he realized, "Oh! There's only 1,180. You're $20 short." 

"Feel like giving me a discount?" Gyro added, tilting his head slightly at the clerk. "What? Of course not! This isn't some general store." You stared at Zeppeli with a bit of a perplexed expression; in any other situation, had he not made a fool of you, you'd be laughing. 

"No dice, huh?" Gyro had turned fully to the clerk now. "But I gave you the full amount. I put it all on the counter. I'm sure of it." He said, pointing his finger at him accusingly.

As Gyro had it out with the clerk, you stood to the edge of the railing, trying to separate yourself from what was going on. No way did you want to associate yourself with that womanizer, yet you find yourself amused.

Your fingers brushed your mouth, hiding a soft laugh. 'God, do I love when men make a fool of themselves,' you thought, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Sigh...and now you've got a girl laughing at me. Well, looks like I have you to blame after all." He spun back to the man behind him, Gyro's hands pressing against the thief's own. The thief sank into the ground at Gyro's touch, keeping him pushed down to his back. "Give me back what you took if I'm $20 short. Then I won't be able to enter the race." Gyro snarled.

"Nyo-oh! And if I can't enter the race, then I can't exactly win now, can I?" Gyro mocked as his grip intensified on the thief's hands. Two coins clinked against the ground. "Ho!" Gyro grinned as he was proven correct, letting go of the man who had now stumbled back, looking at his hand. The police soon came and grabbed hold of the thief. 

You rolled your eyes at the scene; you hadn't even known what had happened, all you saw was two men pressing down against each other. You scoffed in your annoyance and walked in the direction of the stables, trying to erase any trace of yourself that was left there.

Gyro wiped the fake 'muck' from his clothes and turned around with a smirk, proudly awaiting compliments from the girl he'd been hoping to impress. "As I was saying...What? What the hell?" Gyro frantically skimmed around the clerk's table. Leaning to look over the booth, turning his head around.

The clerk from his dented table coughed with a tight expression, "If you're looking for the girl, shes left." Gyro stiffened in place, then let out a huffed breath, "damn..." He scratched the back of his neck and looked over the passing people in silence, his mind still wandering.

"If you'd like, I could call her back," the clerk man offered, more ready to settle your act of punishing his booth instead of the man in front of him. 

Gyro scoffed, lips twisting. "A face so ordinary. You could pass her on the street a thousand times and never remember it." He taunted. "Hardly worth the effort." His gaze drifted, betraying him, following the path you'd taken.

"And that posture," he went on to asseverate by denigrating you, "so prudish. Not charming in the slightest—plain, at most." He waved a dismissive hand. "What a nasty thing."

He folded his arms, chin lifting high. His green lips curled into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let her leave," he said airily. "She'd bore me to death with even the mention of her name." His smile lingered a second too long before fading. Then he turned to the clerk, finally facing him. Then his eyes land on a paper smudged with ink splatter on its curved letters. 

"So...what's her name?"

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

FROM the number of naked people you've seen on this beach, it was rather clear that no one had anticipated this considerable number of people. Not that you minded, but they were going to be children watching, no? Okay, then maybe you did mind to an extent. 

There were an overwhelming number of people on this beach, and a majority of the people on this beach were men. No wonder you'd already seen so many fights abruptly happen. 'Savages,' you thought. Even from the scene youd just left, you were sure you heard some kind of gunshot. And they were the ones who called the peaceful natives of this country savages. It revealed itself to you then that maybe you'd use 

From what you saw in the regulations of the race, they don't seem to put any 'unnecessary' rules. All bases of the rulesrelied on the law, which you couldn't help but have some contentious opinions about. 

The walk along the beach took you further along. The options varied for each participant in terms of where they stayed until the race. You swallowed a harsh gulp that bulled up in your throat. You felt so ashamed that you made such a fool of yourself associating with that man. 

On the side of the station where you stood, deft and sighted. Your jacket was one size too big, while you cuffed your shoe that pinched the toes of your feet, yet your heel still found a way to slip with each step.

It had seemed like a more effortless idea at the time to simply take some items from the boxes of clothes your pa once wore. Now you simply felt like an overgrown child in the swarm of experienced pros. 'I'm a woman,' you remind yourself. You could now make judgments on your own; there was no need to feel embarrassed with each measure you took. 

For a change, you just wish to get what you want— you'd even pray if you had to. You simply wanted this all to work out.The dream that held you now was all you desired. Lord knows it would be the first time in a long time.

But this time you would not beg. 

You decided it would be best to already act like you were in the arena. You kicked at the hot ground that steadied you. The mint sand ground would be a good start. You'd be seeing this stuff for a while; might as well get a good feel for it. 

You crouched down and shifted the sand from side to side. The small, minuscule clumps dissolve from the hand and leave marks of where your fingers ran. 

The sand from back home felt so much different; it was gritty and clumped, while this one was smoother and nimble. You dug your hand into the opaque void of the beach. The sparkle of their shine did not leave your hand as you pulled it out. 

You waved your hand around and soothed your hand of the sands still stuck between the pores of your fingers. A sting caught you off guard. You pulled your hand to see the off colored mark left by the wooden table. You thought you ought to apologize to the clerk. 

You brought your first to the pull of your lips and gave the bruise that bumped on your finger a small kiss of some sort. You thought maybe your body would confuse it to be your momma's with hers, they'd never hurt. 

But the sting was still tingling and the redness flaring, you could tell it hadn't. And even worse, the bits of sand crunched in the unpeckable spots of your teeth. 

Then a small whirling effect began in the sand; it collected up and was triggered by something bizarre. You tilt your head and look closer. 

By each breath, you could swear you heard swirls of blowing sand in your direction. Whispers and murmurs resonate around you. Your boots almost felt locked in place. 

"Excuse me." A voice sounded from behind you, almost practiced in a way. You turned to look back from your lowed position on the ground, but when you did, a man stood before you. You hadn't even noticed his footsteps, not even his presence. Your knuckle grinds into the ground to lift yourself, but you pull back, "ah!" you hissed at the contact the sand had with your small wound. He looked towards your hand, then back at you.

He stood as he belonged to the land more than the crowd around him. Grounded as if his weight settled into the earth instead of resting on it. He stood out noticeably from the crowd. It was almost impressive how integrated and peerless he seemed.

He stood aloof, his eyes not moving from your form. Your head began to form any excuse why you'd be on the ground with sand-covered hands—and some teeth. You were preparing for any malignant judgmental statements—but none came. 

His breath echoed out before his words did. "Do you know where the registration is?" He stopped short, as the question unnerved him. Even before your eyes met him, he had already been standing there.

The man—if you could even call him that—was tall and lean, with long black hair tied back. His skin was a deep bronze, marked by dark face paint stretching across his cheeks in sharp lines. His eyes were deep and focused, a deeper green than the ones you've seen before.

Always checked as if he were listening for something others couldn't hear. He wore practical, open clothing that exposed his skin, suited for anything other than riding. Even standing still, he looked observant, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"I...I'm sorry, what?" you ask the man. You had the strange sense that he noticed things about you before you ever said a word. Your breath. The way you shifted your weight. The pauses before you spoke. And once he'd seen it, he didn't forget. For a second, you thought he might bolt. He stepped back, swallowed, then spoke again.

"The registration," he repeated. His voice was steadier now. "Where is it?" You look at him closer, his eyes read in their uncertainty. His body moved in ways that told stories of a band of stories, even with it, his eyes still held the easy grace of a boy. A unique face to you rather than another old man in this race. 

"The registration is just over there by the barn." You point at the wood-framed buildings and the pile of people. "There's a long line, so you'd best wait a minute," you warned. His eyes did not follow your arm that was to guide. His gaze did not leave yours. 

"Thank you, but I can wait." He responded in an instant, refuting. You nod mostly for yourself and slowly raise your hand down. The equal ground that once held you felt turbulent. You try to remind yourself he's the one who asked for directions. Yet you couldn't help but feel so maladroit. Your hands found themselves flickering on the stitch of your sleeve. 

"Are you going to rise? Or is that a designated spot?" He raised a brow that traveled over curiosity and pure comment.You hurriedly rise onto the balls of your feet and wipe your hands on the pockets of your pants for any clinging sand that might have remained. 

Then, out of instinct, it seemed for the first time he had been caught off guard instead of you. "That..." He gestured, uncertain. "That pattern. It's native."

You tilted your head. It hadn't been due to his bare words that drew confusion, but his uncertainty in identifying the fact. His eyes were staring at the embroidered print on your jacket. Its design was a relic of the similarity to the quilted jackets that the indigenous people held to their own fashion ideals.

It was your pa's. He had obtained it during the war. It was a prized relic to him. The only value it had to you was the pattern that caught your eye.

"...I like it," he added after a breath. "It looks...nice." He sounded as if he had been disavowed or was going to add something more, but his bleak face only stared dead straight. 

You smiled with a small ounce of sympathy. "Thank you." This man isn't the soundest at social situations, it seems. He only says what he deems necessary enough to say. For him to recognize the design must be out of pure tendency. You had the right mind to assume he was an indigenous, though it seemed more rude than agreeable.  

He nodded once. His posture was tense and held an intentionally observing eye. He must have been somewhat assuming of you. You couldn't blame him. It was as if he was testing you—learning. You must have given him a pitiful look because he quickly changed his unrelenting face. His face rarely parted from a desolate stare.

You try to look away, but his stare is unrelenting. You coughed into a closed fist and looked back. He seemed almost startled by your cough; his body withdrew back. You quickly slid your hand down, and now it was you who shared his same bleak expression.

After a moment of waiting for him to leave or end the conversation, you finally open your mouth to speak, and he looks up as you do. His ability to see predictably was impressive. 

"Break a leg out there," you said lightly.

He froze. As the small confidence he'd built around you cracked, confusion washed over his face. He looked underly confused, his prior certainty and confidence in you vanished with an underlying hurt that glazed his eyes. You bit your tongue. All the thoughts that had collected in your mind had swept. 

Language barrier. 

"No!" you rushed. "It just means good luck." You say despairingly. It wasn't the best look to say these words in a horse race, but you really couldn't find any other words for it. 

He hummed slowly and thoughtfully, then nodded. The confusion didn't leave, but he accepted it. After a moment, he turned and walked away, clearly still working through the idea of why anyone would wish injury on someone before a race.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

THE barn the old clerk pointed towards was west of the bank of the docks. It was nothing as you'd seen before. The doors were wide open, a stench of manure infiltrating your nose before you even stepped in. 

The hay that lay on the soiled ground stuck to your boots as you walked in. It was even more interesting to see the confined spaces the horses shared. Their stalls are hardly even stalls. Water buckets filled with grim and other substances you couldn't begin to make out.

Then a shift of wind blew sand into the barn, causing the whines of horses nearby. They troppled and stamped with their tossing heads.

Then a small ringing in your ears began. A chime that sounded like a whisper, far too labored to be one. You turned to each of the stalls filled with horses, their eyes clouded with amestiy that begged to be free from their prisons of hay. 

Then the eyes of another caught you. She was a few stables down; her head stood still, as did her body. You could not describe her so vividly as you could with justice with her ambiance; she was loose and grounded like a settlement that had not fully settled. Something that moved that only rippled once can spread farther than its replica.

You clicked your tongue at her gently, calling her attention as you slowly reached her. Yet her eyes only bore their slowed intensity. The mare's tail whipped back and forth, hooves shifting restlessly against the ground.

She exhaled through her nostrils, a low breath that carried warning rather than fear. As you move your hand to touch the bridge of her nose, she jerked back. The movement was small but deliberate, a refusal carved into inches instead of effort.

No matter what you did, it was apparent she did not like you very much. As pretty as she was, she was a nasty thing. 

She was not so easily bought. Nor trained or bargained for, she would do as she pleased—much like you. At least what you liked to assume. Most likely tied up and dragged here. Your lips let out a pitiful smile. You couldnt even blame her for her incredulity in you. 

That's when you felt it. A flutter that flapped from the tip of your boot. It seemed to have caught the ears of the nearest observer as well as the mare stuck her head out of her stall. 

A long, narrow band of blue that caught the light as the ends curled. When you lifted it, it bent and looped in on itself, refusing to stay straight, like it wanted to dance rather than be held.

The color reminded you of a clear lake shine, too bright to be useful, too pretty to neglect. You weren't sure what it was meant for or whose it was.

"A blue ribbon?"

The rosary in your hands, your mother gave you to pray for your father, threatening to slip from your clamped grip.

The only thing that held your aching knees up was a clothed white sheeted bed. Your elbows would slip from the clean cloth now and then—even more revealing of its purity, striking you away. 

'Filthy' 

'Filthy'

'Filthy'

It would say. It was all you could hear. It is even more damaging than your momma's anesthetic face—numbed down by the overbearing heat of the summer day, bowing down to the floor and hands pressed together for retorts and a blessing, all unanswered. 

You wondered if it had been a traditional day like before. You hadn't seen outside in hours, your knees sank further into the dense wooden plauqe of the floor. 'It was so sunny,' you thought. 'so very sunny...' The flowers barely started blooming. Now, all of their beauty shunned and departed. So stupid. You sat there in a pretty white Sunday dress just to pray; to beg she wasn't the one who killed her pa. 

Your pa, the man who taught you how to walk, to shoot, to live. To live knowing that you can be happy even when your heart aches, it's always a comfort to know that someday you can be. He lay so still on that white linen sheet that you couldn't remember if he was even breathing at the moment.

The man you had idolized all your life. You kneeled there by his bedside, awaiting, praying to any God who'd answer.

'Please, please, I'm sorry.' 

Blood trickled down your forearm, and your chewed nails dug into your knuckles. 

Like a prophet, the door was opened, and its revel was still too much to take. The doctor stepped into the room, and he held onto the door to only give a small amount of time and sympathy for you until he had to go on to the next dying patients he actually could save. 

Your mother, who quickly stood up from the seat placed by the bed, was anxious to hear the doctor's news. She grasped onto the bed's creaky carved headboard. You could tell her legs felt just as numb as her face.

"My husband! Please tell me...will he be okay?"Your mother's words slowly became a mumbled mess, seeing the pitiful look on the doctor's face.

"No, no, no..." she choked out a sob, putting a hand to her wrinkled mouth. She shook her head, grabbing at his coat. "Please.."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's nothing we can do—the bullet lodged in his lung—a lethal blow." He said, his soft voice was an echo that rang in your ears. "My husband was a veteran, how dare you say you couldn't do nothing?—Nothing!" Her voice only ached, its anger crumbled and left behind in shallow breaths. 

"Ma'am...please. There was nothing we could do. I'll leave you both here to say your goodbyes," The doctor said. The door shut a quick pain settled in you. Though your sorrow was outmatched by the fear that followed. 

You were too afraid to look your momma in the eyes, your lips trembled, as you spoke, "Momma-" 

"You stupid girl." Her words cut deep, and even though you expected it, it only hurt more when she did not look at you. "Never again will you bring so much shame to me."

You kept your head down as you nodded. Your voice was weak, and your will was non-existent. It was like time had stopped; nothing was moving. As if that was the moment you'd stopped breathing completely. 

Your momma left without another word. The room was oddly cold now. Your knees slide off of themselves, and your side collided with the ground. 

Though your hand scrambled to place itself between the fingers of your once warm father, as a father, you loved him, but as a man, you couldn't help but detest him. 

You stared down at his face, tightening your grip on his cold and clammy hand.

The sun beams through the glass window upon the rosary, whose light trickles upon your face. You gaped back at the rosary; it was filthy, stained with your tight grip and fingerprints, sharing both in sweat and blood.

Your nostrils flared up, as your body shook with bitterness. You leaped forward, your grip onto the beaded item, throwing against the wall, fragmenting its rigid plaque.

Your hair splattered across your face, stuck to the weeping distress, interrupting your bleak eyes that held the sun's gaze. That streamed down your tear-stained cheeks. Realizing what you had just done, you stumbled back, knocking over the table behind. 

You couldn't move; you didn't want to. You sat there wishing you had been strong enough. 

Then maybe your pa wouldn't have died by your gun.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

September 20, 1890

5 days until Steel Ball Run Race

YOU walked along the dirt road. Your boot was caked with whatever substances the ground held in your course. You often went out whenever you could, though it would only be a few yards away from the house. You glid your fingers across the wooden fence of the yard. It still haunts you like a dryness never leaving your throat.

Every time you left, your momma would lean in just barely and give you a small kiss on the forehead, which had now become more often than not. 

Even after the guilt and blame of it all, she was still your momma. She still loved you. You tried to remind yourself of this, though it couldn't be replicated back to what it was. Just because something changes doesn't mean it fades. Just as her anger didn't disappear, it only changed.

You found your own time to mourn, and so did she. Even if it conflicted with the other. You still ran to her, and she was still the one to kiss you goodnight. Your arms always found themselves around each other. 

You were still her sweet girl. 

The sun loomed on your track as it did the following days of your pa's funeral. Your momma barely spoke to you, yet still you remember the blisters on the side of your palms as you banged against her door. Then you begged her to open the door until your knees gave out. 

When you walk past the dented door. Regret spears into you with everystep. You looked to the sun across the pasture that awaits your return once more. The sun always seemed to find you. Kissing your face with its luminous breath, leading you back home.

It spoke to you gently with questions all around. As you stand blankly, asking you about your dreams and fantasies, what you thought about all day, what place do you go in your mind? It mocked you, thinking you were the foolish girl, and you were thinking about your past too longingly. Given you had no choice, you were just as weak as you could be. Just as your momma was. 

You stop once you reach the wooden gate that surrounds your house. Like a cut of string. It all ends. With the sun coming down and the unlocked gate, it beckoned you back. 

The temptation arose in you gradually. You didn't leave because you were afraid for her all alone in that big house. But afraid you'd always be tied down here, left bleeding on the ground. 

Your momma gave every excuse in the book for the man she chose to be her husband. Hearing their fights over the years, seeing your momma's light fade each passing day. You wonder how your momma could be so blinded by love as to be hurt by one you love.

Still, you think of him, no matter how much you tried not to. You and your stubbornness; still, all you can think of is his face when his bullet bounced back.

A scream erupted from afar. It tore through the street. For half a second, you thought it might've been an animal. A dog caught beneath a carriage wheel. A horse spooked in its harness. Then it came again.

"Help—! Please!"

'Someone had to have heard....someone...someone please help her,' you pleaded in your mind, but you knew prayers were no answer to this. And without another breath, you sharply turn, boots scraping against the stone sidewalk as the streetlamps cast long, uneven shadows across the road. 

As the ringing began in your ears. You broke into a run. The sound led you down a side street and into a narrow alley wedged between two brick buildings, the smell hitting you before the sight did—piss, rot, damp stone.

A girl was slammed against the wall, her back scraping brick as she struggled. A man loomed over her, heavy, drunk, or desperate, or all, one hand pinning her wrist above her head while the other fumbled at his belt. 

Her screaming stopped, stripped of its only hope of salvation.

"Please—stop!" "Shut up," the man snapped, spitting the words like an order. "You'll wake the whole damn street."

You felt no fear in your senses; they all tightened and flexed like a memory spurring from your heart. In your right mind, you would've frozen in fear. Seeing her once putrefied face, it was all gone, only the impression of a face that hoped someone would come. 

The shrewdness within you stung, and Calamity called to you, both through invocations and pleas. You wrapped your fingers tightly around the cold metal. 

The crack of the gunshot split the alley open. The sound bounced violently between the walls. The bullet hit his shoulder and tore through muscle and bone, spinning him sideways before he collapsed onto the ground with a shout that was half rage, half disbelief.

The man screamed as he hit the dirt, clutching at the wound. Blood bloomed fast, dark against his shirt. "You little—!"

His eyes snapped up and found you. You stood at the mouth of the alley, framed like a shadow, the barrel of your gun still smoking. You dragged the metal along the brick wall as you stepped forward, the steel scraping against the stone.

"I suggest," you said calmly, "you let the girl go."

Not even dread could hold you in its grasp as it did before. You'd fight your last breath if it meant saving that girl from certain doom. The man laughed brokenly, and too confident for a man bleeding in the dirt. "You don't know who you're talking to!" he snarled, forcing himself upright. 

He charged his fist, tightened it into a harsh ball, and in contact would break instantaneously. But you didn't shoot him again; you didn't need to. 

A fist met his face. It coved with a dull, wet crack. Teeth met the floor as soon as the blood soaked into the dirt. He stumbled back, clutching his mouth as two molars romped across the alley floor. "I know I hit you!" he screamed hoarsely, panic creeping into his voice. "What the hell are you—?!"

The second shot hit him in the side.

It wasn't for a clean kill. You had other plans for him. The bullet slammed into his ribs and dropped him hard, knocking the breath from his lungs as he hit the ground again. He writhed, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water.

Behind him, the girl let out a small, broken sound. 

You saw her—truly saw her. Young. Too young. Her dress was torn at the hem, her hands scraped raw from fighting. She was frozen now, eyes wide and glassy, like her body hadn't caught up to the fact that she was still alive. Your heart ached for her. In her likeness, you couldn't see her to be any older than sixteen.

You close your eyes and sharply direct your gaze at the wounded man.

You steadied the gun in your grip, aimed directly between the man's eyes. "You got money?" you asked. "'Cause you're gonna buy this girl a nice dress," you spat. It was only doing what was right. He had tried something so brutal, the least you could do was give her compensation. 

The man's bravado collapsed instantly. He scrambled, hands fumbling at his pockets, dumping everything he had onto the filthy ground. Bills spilled everywhere. They were crumpled, and with them a ripped newspaper. Its name shown straight to you. 

"THE STEEL BALL RUN RACE," 

You turn your head to the man once again and raise an eyebrow. "Why so quiet now?" you murmured. You stepped forward and brought the gun down hard against the back of his head, "What happened to all that spirit?" He then tumbled with a groan, slumping forward.

"You're lucky," you said, eyes flicking briefly to the girl, "I won't kill you in front of a lady." The girl swallowed hard, shaking her head in disbelief. "S-sir," she whispered. "I thank—"

"Are you stupid?" you cut in nattily. She shrank like she'd been wounded. Your irritation wasn't aimed at her—well, not really, but it came out anyway. It always did. You held back a bite of anger and sighed, "I'm sorry, I don't have the patience," you muttered. You grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him upright, yanking off your jacket in the same motion. 

"for girls who think screaming is enough to save them."

You wrapped it around her shoulders roughly, covering her torn dress, tying it tight like a cloak. Her hands shook as she clutched it closed. "Thank you," The girl mumbled, and the pinkness brightened her cheeks. She looked up at you, took in your feminine features, your figure, the way the hat shadowed your eyes. Confusion flickered across her face, then astonishment.

"You're...you're a—!"

You pressed a finger to her lips. Another lifted her chin. "You didn't realize I was a woman?" you said flatly. You almost laugh, "I guess not so much with this get-up." You hummed as you examined her face for injuries a bit more before letting go. "You gotta learn to look at the people walking by you, you never know if theyre the ones following you. "Your eyes hardened. You raised a finger, "and—learn self-defense."

You stepped back, holstering your gun, tipping your hat. You walked back, and leaned against the wall. "I mean, I guess not everyone is good with a gun." 

The girl only stared at you—filled with admiration too much to take for her still shaken form. "Make sure to get home safe now, will you?" You ask of the girl. She nodded, looking down, her heart beating perfusely, still shaken from moments before. "Okay..."

"That's my girl."

The girl stared at her for a while more. Her gaze dampening, "Um.. excuse me," she called out to you standing before her. Your head turned back at the girl. "If I might ask, ma'am. Who are you?" You glanced back at the girl, reluctant to answer her question. "I just wanted to know because..." Her voice labored as she looked right at you. 

"You're the bravest woman I've ever met," She exclaimed.

The word, brave never really fell into a category. It was a word, not in your vocabulary, the rectitude of the situation cautioned. The wind breezed through your hair. The wind drifted a hold out from its companion, and along came the newspaper, flapping, stuck under your boot. You took a quick look back at the girl, 'the wind always comes to torment,' you thought. 

"Y/n," you replied. The girl nodded and smiled softly, making her way out of the alley. You watched as she walked, more aware of a new profundity that had been founded within her. Most likely back to her warm home, filled with her loved ones welcoming her into a benevolent embrace, and her mind still roaming for that beautiful stranger.

Back into this shallow, cold alley, you stood there shaking your head, "god, that was frustrating." You picked up the flyer, reading it thoroughly now. "50,000,00?! Jesus Christ, for riding a damn horse!" It is totally insane for a price like that, any man would want to join. 

As your mind rammed through possibilities, you held the paper tighter, almost crumpling. You read it off, "Sponsored by President Valentine...?" Your eyes boggled at the sight of the paper. "Another pathetic excuse for a man," you mumbled to yourself sourly. Oddly enough, it piqued your curiosity. 

A groan sounded from behind. 

"Ah, speak of the devil." You went up to the man, kneeling in front of his face. You shoved the paper in his face, spiteful at his earlier actions. 

"What the hell is this?" he reeled his head back and spat in your face.

"Go to hell, you stupid bitch!" His scornful eyes stared up at you. A smile came from your lips, wiping the blood and silica mix off your cheek. The nerve of men was always so irritating.

"Listen," the man yelped in dread as a cold, hard object was pressed against his crotch. "I can just shoot your dick off and be on my way, or you can keep that disgusting thing and tell me..." you say apathetically, grabbing a hold of his face. "What exactly is this steel ball run race?" 

"—It's a race! A race! Across America, the winner gets a shit load of money." You swiped your tongue against your teeth, nodding your head up and down. 

"And anyone can get into this race?" You questioned with a rigid expression, genuinely curious about this 'race'. "For a price...yes, I answered your question, woman! Now let me go!" As soon as the words left his mouth, the man felt a violent, shocking pain in his lower regions. His hands quickly reached for them as he cradled himself. "AUGH! DAMN YOU, YOU FLITHY BITCH!"

You didn't even flinch at his harsh words, "You know this county is a piece of shit to women. I mean, you were going to take advantage of that poor girl, and if you got caught, nothing would happen to you." Your cruel eyes glaring down at him, spitting at the ground beside you.

"So take this as a message from God or whatever the hell you believe in. You ain't going nowhere but 6 feet below." You looked down the barrel of your gun as your bullet pierced his head. 

Walking out of the alley, placing your gun back into its holster, you walked the path with only one thing on your mind.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

"SAN DIEGO"

You stared at the ticket in your hands, looking at it as if you didn't buy it. 

'Huh, I ain't never been to San Diego. Never been out of the state, to be honest.' You picked at your lips, deep in thought. You had never truly left your hometown—not once. Though you thought of it as your home now, it had not always been your only home. For another place far away had kept your heart. Feelings you'd keep locked and silenced 'forever'. 

The ticket to San Diego rested in your palms. You held it as if it weighed a ton. Like, somehow, it was heavier than your gun. At least the guilt was. 

That stupid race. Was it in rebellion that you wanted to go? There was simply no reason to go in the first place; you had no business there, no horse, no necessity for it. Perhaps it was the urge to prove yourself that you were strong enough to depend on yourself. 

The belittling feeling within you is cowardly. A path far from home seemed to feel. You never understood it, but now you see it clearly. You must face it, in the trace of doubt you wrap your soul around. 

Your feet pave their way back home, as they always did. Back to the place they never knew truly. You wonder if they would mourn this course. 

Of course, you knew you couldn't tell your momma, she'd never let you go. A girl in a race. 'Pathetic,' she'd say. Before you knew it, you were back at the house. Everything was all the same, the door still the color of the ground, the windows pallet chiped and crusaded, the sun always hit the house just right, but it was night now, now all you could see was the coveted corners that screeched in every step. 

Through the house, you walked down the hallway, still stopping to glance at your mom's door. She'd be asleep by now, leaving without saying goodbye would be a horrible thing for a daughter to do. You turned but did not move. 

For a good 5 minutes, you just stood there not debating, or thinking—just standing there as if this was your goodbye, a solitary moment of one you'd feel her senseless presence with you. 

You grabbed all the necessities—more like all you could. Anything you thought you'd need. It started simply with riding clothes, toiletries, and then stupid things like a rock you found at a lake one day. Leaving seemed harder than just the thought. Which was already hard enough. 

You sorted everything out again, placing back into your room or the closet, then the final thing that stayed—the rosary. 

Seeing the rosary from all those years ago lying on your nightstand, you picked it up by its cross, gently holding it in your hands. You felt the chipped, dried blood on the wooden bead. 

The door unlocked, revealing the dreadful eyes of your mother with the crumbled paper you'd left on the patio. 

"Y/n...why is this—" Your heart dropped. All wishes of a face-to-face goodbye dissipating.

Your mother rushed over, attempting to take the pack from your hands. "Ma, stop!" You struggled to keep your grip on the bag.

"You're going to ruin your life, Y/N!" She soon stopped letting her grip go, and you fell back onto your bed as she stared down at you.

"A race? What were you thinking! You could have a beautiful life here, children, a husband, yet you can't let me help you! I've given you multiple chances!" 

You clenched your eyes shut at her mother's words, thinking about all the marriage proposals your mother had set up for you. 

"Ma, please," you manage to stand, but she doubles down on her words.

"Silence! I want to hear nothing more, nothing. You foolish girl." Her words sank deeper into you than they had ever gone. 

You clenched your teeth to hold back tears and face her anguished face, "No! This is the last time you will see me...I won't come back." You say your words only falter for a moment before pushing themselves from your core's solace. 

Your momma holds back a gasp, but you could tell from the widened eyes and wrinkles emanating from her eyebrows that your words had gone further than you anticipated as well. 

"I'm sorry I-" you held your breath, looking at your mother pitifully. 

You always tended to apologize first; her words honed in your mind. 

Like the sweet acceptability, you learned it and kept it deep within you. 

The apologies you picked up from your mother every time your father lashed out, "no..." you said, looking down, shaking your head. "No, I'm not gonna be her, I'm not going to be her," You repeated over and over, hoping to make it true. 

"I'm not going to be like you...I don't wanna be anything like you!" you shouted out, all of these years bellowed out of you in an instant. She never listened to you. You wondered in her eyes if she even cared or if you were just a nuisance to marry off.

"...You can hate me, but I won't do it. I won't give up my life for a man...just like you did." You regretted the words as soon as you spoke them, but you couldn't hold them back; you just couldn't. 

After all, you had your father's temper.

Your mother stared at you, eyes filling with tears, her mouth agape. You bit your lip, pushing through your mother out the door. You walked off before she could guilt you again, because it always worked. 

Your mother stayed on that porch, beseeching her daughter, just like she did with her husband, to free him from his insanity with an ill-winded plea to see the man she loved before the war, though it didn't work that time, so why would it work this time?

'Maybe it would be good,' you tried to reason with yourself, still trying to justify why the hell you'd even want to go to the race. You clutched the rosary in your hand, pulling its beads up the string and down once more, touching its chipped surface. You felt it in your soul; you needed to go to this race.

You've always felt weak, even when you try to be strong, your heart wavers in every reaction you ever took you could never make a real choice because it just wasn't for you. None of your choices included. You tried to do what was best, you really did. It never worked. You try to be strong and stand up for yourself, but it just sounds like whines and cries from your mouth, a pathetic excuse for a woman who had just saved a girl who called her the greatest woman she ever met.

"Once I best this race, then I'll be strong enough," you told yourself, and this time, for once, you believed yourself. 

You feared neither demise nor misery, only a cage.