21st Century Girl [Dio X Reader]

Chapter Six

Coughing greets Dio as he climbs up the stairs to his and his father's room. Although he lives in a house, the bottom two floors have been destroyed due to a fire, leaving them only the attic to live out of. Due to his father's medication and drinking problem as well as his insistence on Dio going to school, there has never been even close to enough money to repair anything. The rotting floorboards creak beneath his weight as enters the attic.

Ever since his old man threw the lamp at him, the bulb hasn't been staying on properly. The previously dim room is now revealed in infrequent weak bursts of the flickering light. The old man wheezes on the bed, only turning his head to acknowledge his son. He used to be able to stand up and walk around, but this month especially, his health has plummeted and even sitting up is a struggle. "Did you get the stuff?"

"Yeah," Dio stops at a small table at the front of the attic and takes the medicine out of the bag. Even after fighting a few people and stealing from a few others, he barely managed to buy it the first time. Since his father threw it out the window, Dio had to steal it the second time. With his back to his father and his hands hidden in front of him, Dio dumps a dose of pills into the cup, smashes it into dust and pours a layer of cheap liquor over it.* "Do you want it now?"

The medication dissolves within the alcohol just as a barrage of slurs come flinging his way. "Hurry up and bring it to me you useless brat! All that money I spend on your schooling and you still ask dumbass questions, just like your whore of a mother!"

Dio doesn't respond. He crosses the room with the cup in hand. The old man before him doesn't even try to stop coughing before snatching the cup from his son and gulping down the concoction. He's laps up every drop like a pig devours rotten leftovers. Figuring the man was satisfied, Dio turns his back and returns to his table to reread the book he got from Y/n's job.

Only it's too quiet. The normal coughing has paused and a single glance up tells him why. "Dad!" His old man holds his throat tightly, his eyes bulging. Dio flies to his side, but his hands freeze. What do I do? The old man's hands are frantic weaving signs in the air and cursing at him, trying to tell him something and trying to hurt him. It's only when Dio slams his hand against the man's back and he begins to cough, is Dio able to understand.

"You fucking bastard what took you so long?!" The man heaves in gasping raspy breaths. "You ought to die! You ought to choke and let me watch so I can finally avenge my wife! You smug bastard! I've done everything for you and what have you done for me? You watch me die and give me just one glass of what I want before I go to hell! How is it? How is it, huh?! Do you like watching me suffer?!"

The old room fades in and out. Maybe it's the broken lamp. Maybe it's him. In his son's eyes are his mother. The woman that stuck beside him no matter how much he kicked and sweared at her, only to choose to die for some unnamed brat. The old man's pipes grow thin as straw, his red eyes wide and his fat lips wavering. I'm going to die.

His son looks down at him with the same eyes as his mother.

I'm going to die.

The young man's gaze is fixed on Dario, his father, from his bedside with the same broken eyes as his mother.

I'm going to die.

Dio watches Dario. Dio, the child his wife died to give life to.

I'm going to die.

The old man shoves his son away, stumbling out of the bed onto weak legs. His heavy heaving fills the room with its dry rasps. He can't see. He can't see. He can't see, but for this he doesn't need to. The old man rips the drawer out of the bedside table and digs out an old letter and holds it up to his son as he collapses on the floor.

"Ma- mail this and go to the Joestar mansion. You're," he sputters on through his cough, blood splattering onto the floor. "Dio, you're a smart kid. Go! Don't lose to anyone, become the richest in the world, achieve- achieve whatever the hell anything." The man's chest convulses, his hand clutches his heart. "I—"

It's too late.

Dario Brando died.

· ─────── · ☆ · ─────── ·

Taylor frowns as she listens to Y/n's story about a wife catching her husband flirting with a prostitute in a bar. It was a rare and juicy one, but Y/n's tone lacks the usual oomph it normally has when recalling such thrilling incidents. Instead, she gazes out of the window and sips on the tea in between sentences, her face remaining flat. "And rumor has it that the two women spent the night together leaving the man drunk and alone."

"Y/n," Taylor places her hand lightly on Y/n's shoulder. Normally she would be bouncing off the walls with how 'out of this world' the story was, but instead, Taylor is fixed in place with her bottom lip pinched tightly. "You still haven't seen him?"

The concern in Taylor's light blue eyes is enough to wipe Y/n's mind blank. It takes a second for her to clear her throat and place her tea cup down, a new smile on her face. "Don't look at me like that, you'll make me think that I'm supposed to be grieving or something." Y/n takes it upon herself to clean up the teapot and cups, despite the decent amount of time they have before opening. "I just met Dio a few times over a month ago. I wonder what he's up to, but that's it. You don't have to look at me like that."

Taylor sighs, but doesn't press the issue. "Alright."

TO BE CONTINUED...