canhefixit:
It’s a cold night, but Josuke feels too restless to remain indoors. He had always been surrounded by friends and family, but now, the only person he knows is someone with whom he’ll never truly get along, as much as he wishes otherwise.
The winding cobblestone back alleys feel wholly unfamiliar, especially in contrast to the lush lawns and sedate houses that lined the Morioh streets. He almost enjoys the sense of danger (though with a serial killer on the loose, Morioh could not be called safe). He wants to find trouble, to find something that will break the monotone of waiting for a new clue, waiting for an escape.
Despite his delinquent appearance, he has never been a bad kid. Well, not any worse than most guys. He doesn’t steal, only occasionally cheats, always goes to school. He doesn’t smoke and doesn’t drink. So, the alcohol-doused night air feels heady and strange. Maybe he should go back.
But just as such a thought crossed his mind, a stumbling wreck of a man stumbles along the streets, barely able to stand, and Josuke can’t help but feel drawn to his presence. The sense of danger intensifies; he feels he should leave, but there’s nevertheless some unknown force pulling him towards the drunkard.
“Hey, man. Are you all right? Do you need some water or something?”
It takes far too long for Dio to pull together the sensory mess around him and comprehend it. But it eventually clicks into place that someone is addressing him. Taking pity and looking down on him in this wretched state. Normally sharp eyes dulled by liquor snap up to glare down this fool, but all bitter words die in his throat.
Jonathan.
No... After a moment, he realizes his error. This man, or boy, rather, has a far slighter build. His facial structure is different too, more closely resembling one from the Orient.
And yet, those eyes are the same. Shining through with an earnest concern, and the hint of a far greater nobility with in.
Of course, Dio already fucking hated him.
A condescending smirk pulls at his lips, and even with his muddled senses, he still keeps his tone in his usual frigid pleasantries.
“S’rather foolhardy of you, approaching a stranger in these parts. Perfect place to get gutted n’ robbed of those pretty little pins of yours.”
