"Gyro, you know."
The two of them were eating pizza in Johnny's room, the small window open to let in some fresh air and ceiling lights off so they could enjoy the patch of sunlight they could get. It was almost summer.
"What?" the doctor-to-be asked, a strand of cheese hanging from his lips.
"I'm going to be discharged soon."
Johnny watched the buff man's face light up.
"That's great, Johnny! When?"
"Next week." He smiled a little, himself. Certainly, just thinking about never having to see this room again lifted his spirits. There had been evenings when he just wanted to punch holes in the wall, break the dull ceiling lamp, and jump out of the window. Which he couldn't do, and oh, was he really going to go through this again?
"Well, about time. Where do you live?" Gyro moved to a new slice. The amount and speed at which he ate didn't make any sense.
"I haven't lived anywhere in Italy yet, except for the hospital. My parents decided to move here, and I got shot at the airport. Talk about a good start." Johnny still couldn't talk about it without feeling like throwing up, apparently. His pizza was getting cold.
"So it was that-- oh." The incident had certainly been all over the news, with it happening in a place with such high security, and one person dead and so many injured. "So, you'll live with your parents?"
"No. They bought something like a manor in the countryside, but I'm not going to leave this place just to be trapped in another house. So they got me an apartment in the city. I'll go to school from there." The apartment had had to be remodeled for good wheelchair accessibility. He'd left it to his parents, who'd probably in turn left it to some expensive but self-piloting professionals. It would be great to be able to live alone, but all the special arrangements that had to be made made him feel stupid. It would take time to learn to think of his disability in a way that wasn't plain offensive.
"Well, good thing they listened to what you wanted", Gyro said with a pointed darkness behind his smile.
"I don't know about that. They just let me do whatever I want, mostly. What way is that to raise your kids?"
"Hmm. I'd prefer parents like that, for sure."
It was obvious that what the trainee was focusing on wasn't Johnny's side of the topic.
"I gather you have some disagreements with your parents."
"'Some disagreements' is an understatement. They're all over me with their 'opinions' that they sure as hell think are solid facts. We're lucky that I happen to be fine with the profession they want me to get into."
Johnny thought about the way his parents had said it'd be fine with them if he wanted to stay in the US, and only said "Mm". The discussion was drifting away from where he wished it would go.
"Anyway, you'll be able to live by yourself?"
"Yeah, with some training and arrangements. Most places are pretty accessible, nowadays."
"But you haven't lived alone before, right? Do you know how to cook, young Mr. Joestar?"
"I'm impressed you remembered my family name. I'll start with noodles and takeout."
"Oh, crap!" Gyro said, looking at the clock.
And he apologized, stuffed the last pizza piece into his mouth, and left in such a hurry that the American only realized he'd missed his last chance to tell his address, exchange phone numbers, even mention continuing their friendship, after he was already gone. The pizza on his lap was completely cold, which symbolized his feelings, Johnny supposed. And the sunlight was laughing at the window.
How did you keep up friendships? His first attempt at it, when moving to Italy, sure hadn't worked well. One text message, one reply, and nothing after that except for an awkward silence of the kind that forms when you don't make the effort that's necessary for your voice to be heard.
He heard the door at the end of the corridor slam close.
