Vento Aureo X Reader (JOJO)

𝕬𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐨 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 ) ☕︎

Dedicated to Qtarogf 💋

A clinking noise pleasantly rung as you poured the mixed liquid into a translucent glass. You owned and personally managed a decent bar that brought enough profit and let you earn a living. This job might not seem fitting to a young woman with all the risks involved especially with drunk customers who often caused trouble. But you knew you could handle this, it gave you meaning and broadened your connections with prominent people. You love running this place, as the patrons equally do where they could momentarily forget their misery or be just idle.

'It's been a while.' Scanning the area, your hawk-like eyes searched for a certain head. 'Leone Abacchio.' His distinct presence topped by his stern and justified aura made him stood out among the crowd. You were good at observing people and you knew after few secret glances and brief interactions that he held justice highly, too highly that you were certain he would break when his belief crash him down. 'The world isn't white and black. How innocent.'

He used to be a frequent customer, and all he ordered were wines. His occupation as a police officer didn't surprise you, actually it perfectly reflected his upright persona. Immersed in your own head, a man had occupied the stool before you and you didn't even look to greet his way as per usual. Not that he cared. "𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒊 𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝑽𝒊𝒏𝒐."(Give me wine)

You couldn't be mistaken, the voice pulled you out of reverie and your eyes instantly locked to the owner of that toneless monotone. 'Abbacchio. What happened?' Almost unable to stop from blurting out your personal question, you pressed your lips together with a tight smile. The man of vigor was gone replaced by a desolate cold shell.

He looked lost and lifeless, his hair had grown longer and went past his shoulders unlike his clean haircut he kept from before. 'Is that allowed in the job?' Silently studying his staggering change of style, your hands swiftly grabbed the bottle of wine he often ordered, about to pour him a glass when he spoke once again. "A bottle will do." Your actions paused as you stared at his unchanging face. Rudely grabbing the bottle from your hold, he smacked some bills on the counter, stood up and walked out not leaving any polite words like he used to. Everything happened in a flash that you couldn't even blurt out anything. 'And what am I gonna say?' You defeatedly chided yourself which for some reason didn't sit well in your chest.

Another person called your attention so you forced your eyes away that had subconsciously trained to the door he exited, blinking for a bit to urge yourself to focus on the job at hand. With the connections available at the tips of your hand, finding out the cause of his change in character would be just a piece of cake. "I'm sorry for the delay. This one's on the house!"

The place closes at 3 in the dawn and reopens at 7 in the evening, the time where few looked for a place to spend the lonely night away and some to relax after their tiring jobs. Since it was past 3, you were done and was walking idly towards your house while stretching your arms that had numbed from all the mixing of various drinks. Seeing an empty can by the sidewalk, you half-mindedly kicked it away only to earn a painful grunt. 'Did I hit someone?'

The night was cold and tendrils of fogs limited your vision in the distance. Squinting your eyes, you couldn't discern anyone standing ahead. But then the sound of an empty bottle rolling on the concrete ground caught your ears until something hit your foot. It was a green glassy container. Turning your gaze to where it came from, a large dark shadow laid on the ground subtly raising its arm to its face? No wonder you couldn't find a man standing in the distance because he was actually near and not even on his toes, more like on his flat back.

Realization hit you hard well not as hard as the can you kicked but still... As you neared towards the body, the apology you prepared to say got stuck in your throat upon verification of the person's identity. His platinum purple mane that sprawled on the ground said it all. You have been watching him all this time and though his new look morphed him into one of those gothics, it had become part of your memory details of this particular man.