✭ 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝓗𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓼 ✭ steel ball run

✭ New Kid In Town ✭

  Johnny was sitting in bed, half a hand with blue-painted nails and the other waiting to dry. The blue polish was a staple he used during his days performing, and even though he had stepped out of the scene, having no polish on his nails made his hands feel weirdly light.

    "Ah Fuck!" He exclaimed after knocking the bottle over and spilling blue polish down the front of his nightstand. Wiping it with the palm of his hand, Johnny was more worried about the loss of polish than he was about ruining his bedside table. Most of his room held that sort of character anyway. He had a habit of collecting any little thing that piqued his interest, and most of it ended up adding to the clutter in his room. Fan mail and cards covered his walls; seeing people appreciate him for him was something he couldn't admit that he loved. Every bit of mail that included Nick or compared the two was tossed out. He loved his brother, but Johnny couldn't live his life in Nick's shadow any longer than he had already. Johnny didn't typically have company, so his room itself was quite a mess. Part of him blamed his disability or his off-and-on relationship with substances for the state of his room, but the other part of him knew that it was his own fault for not putting in enough effort.

    It had been about an hour since Diego called him. Inviting him to tour with Creamstarter next month. And while Johnny would have loved to laugh in his face and tell him to eat shit, Diego was right. Johnny owed him a favor. For all the trouble Johnny used to get into, it was usually Diego who got him out of it. These acts of kindness were really just a reason to look better than him, though. When a headline said something like "Johnny Joestar is using again," the one below always said "Diego Brando is helping him recover." Despite the fact that Diego was doing it for himself, Johnny couldn't lie and say he didn't help him at all. Probably even save his life. In some fucked-up way, Johnny relied on the fake friendship that he had instead of finding any real security.

    Johnny grabbed one of his crutches and hoisted himself up. The accident had fucked him up pretty badly, but he was lucky enough that crutches were an option on good days. Worse days usually called for his wheelchair couple ibuprofen. With an annoyed sigh, Johnny took the half-empty bottle of nail polish back to the bathroom and did his best to clean it off while not ruining the wet polish on his nails. He eventually decided it would be easiest to just trash the whole bottle and buy a replacement the next time he went out. Whenever that would be. Looking up in the mirror, Johnny could tell he was far overdue for a haircut, maybe even a shower. After having all the money and infame you could need and a disability that interfered with your everyday life, Johnny spent his time wasting away in his apartment. None of his old friends were interested in him anymore; old flings had no interest in him since Diego took his place in the spotlight. So there was nothing but Johnny and the things in his apartment. All of the trinkets and knick-knacks he had were enough company. At least that is what he convinced himself.

    He would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit excited to have an excuse to play for thefirst time in a while. Nonetheless, he still dreaded having to practice with Diego again and meet this band. Creamstarter's name was odd, but nothing completely unusual. There had always been worse. During his hiatus, Johnny caught wind of Diego joining a new and promising band called Creamstarter. Their sound was alright, and their stage presence was good enough, but he knew that without Diego, the band would probably have been swept aside like most pop-up bands around. Diego seemed oddly charitable for joining and using his already-gained fame to boost them up.

    Meeting new people wasn't something Johnny loved, especially after his accident. Just knowing that people could meet him and perceive his disability or reputation before ever knowing how he was doing irked him. Even though it was all his fault—the accident and the way people knew him—he still couldn't help being disappointed in it. Maybe if he had done things a little differently, if he would have had just a bit more respect. His teenage-dirtbag days were truly a spectacle for the public eye. "Jo-Kid Joestar" was a rowdy and notoriously hard-to-work-with piece of shit. The opposite of his brother. As far from Nick as he could be.

    After he finished looking in the mirror, Johnny moved back into his room and grabbed up his old guitar. A light coating of dust had laid itself over top of the blue instrument after years of going unused and untuned. Picking it up, he gritted his teeth at the horribly out-of-tune sound. His guitar, which he had named Slow Dancer, was a reliable PRS. One he had bought after he finally felt secure enough in his music ability and career to splurge. With a sigh, Johnny got to work, tuning up the guitar and blowing off the dust. Even though it had been a while since he had actually practiced, muscle memory kicked in, and it wasn't too long before he was back to being mediocre. Getting to the level he was years ago though; that would end up taking him a lot more than a single hour of dicking around.

    His phone chimed once again, this time a text from Diego saying "You should meet the band, we'll start practicing tomorrow. At my studio, same place as always." After sending his reply and deciding on what time to meet, Johnny set his phone back down, carefully avoiding the spilled polish that had now begun to drip down onto the wood floor. He practiced his guitar for a bit longer before he eventually decided to head to bed.

    The glow in the dark stars he stuck to his ceiling years ago had lost most of their shine now. A faint green glow was barely visible only when the room was its absolute darkest. Johnny found that having the stars and sleeping with noise usually helped him tune out the dreams he would have. Since Nick's passing, Johnny never seemed to sleep well at night. Relying on any kind of sleep medication, distractions, partners, or drinks so that he could skip the moment alone with his mind and crash instantly. If he left his mind to wander too far, he would spiral once again. Rolling onto his side and shutting his eyes, Johnny eventually drifted off into sleep.