Chapter Text
Diego was thankful for David Bowie to exist. Or, well, to have existed, the poor man was long dead by now. Which was probably why Diego allowed himself that kind of thought, he would never allow himself to depend on somebody who could use it to their advantage. So the dead singer it was.
"Time" blasted in his earphones as he made his way through the campus. In a corner of his head, Dio's voice scolded him ; he could not allow himself to lose hearing or worse, get distracted, he was a Brando after all. But Diego decided to not listen to it. If Dio was here, of course he wouldn't dare, but his monster of a half-brother was on the other side of the Atlantic, fighting for his life to keep the custody of his son. No, monster wasn't the right term. Monsters were unique, interesting. Dio was simply an asshole. Sometimes, Diego wondered why he had reached out to him in the first place. Then, he looked at his bank account and remembered. He would rather deal with Dio than try to find a job that would distract him from his studies. He could not afford to fail.
The Speedwagon college was a renowned establishment, teaching almost everything there was to learn. It was rich in extra-curriculum activities and graduating from there would open many doors to Diego. He had fought to join it, first with the entrance exam, then with Dio to let him fly to California. That day, he had learned that Robert Speedwagon, the CEO of the Speedwagon Foundation that financed the college, was a close friend of Jonathan Joestar, Dio's nemesis or ex, Diego wasn't sure what was their deal. The thing is, that night, Diego had been ready to run away. He still wondered why Dio hadn't kicked away. Maybe he didn't want to deal with a runaway half-brother on top of his son. That was certainly the explanation, Dio would never get attached to somebody, including his brother. Diego wasn't sure he even loved his son, he had convinced himself he fought so hard because the trial was against Jonathan Joestar.
But Diego didn't blame him. Well, not entirely. They were Brando, success came before anything else and caring for somebody else was a mistake. It was what had killed his mother, after all.
The law building wasn't hard to find, it was a huge bloc of white pierced with dozens of tall windows. Diego had to admit it, it was boring. It was plain and uninteresting. But he didn't choose law for the aesthetic, he had to remind himself.
He didn't choose law…
He almost slapped himself for this thought.
When he entered the building, Diego was assaulted by a wave of bodies and sounds talking over David Bowie. The hall was simply gigantic and overflowed by a sea of students. It was impressive. Diego felt small and out of place.
It took him a second to get back to his senses. Now was not the time for an existential crisis, it was his first day of college and he couldn't allow himself to get lost or late. Fortunately, he had learned the building's map beforehand and it only took him a few minutes and an existential crisis to find his hall.
The hall was almost empty, save for a few students in the back. Diego straightened his silhouette and entered the room, then chose a place at the front row. He had to show his investment to the teacher, and from the front row he would be able to hear the full lecture. Then, he calmly took his pencil case and his notebook out of his bag. A few minutes left before the beginning of the lecture.
Diego would have loved to say he was excited and impatient, but it would be a lie. Sure, law was interesting and he planned on working in justice since he was a kid. But it had always been more by necessity than passion. No, Diego didn't have any passion, when he thought about it. Well, except David Bowie, but you don't make a living out of listening to David Bowie.
Minutes passed slowly, Diego regretting to have put away so fast his earphones. Then, when the lecture hall was almost full of students — thankfully, no one dared to approach Diego, the last thing he wanted was to be bothered —, the door opened one more time. However, Diego wasn't sure what he was witnessing.
When he had first seen the name of the professor, he had wondered if it was a joke. Who could seriously be named Funny Valentine ? But when he saw the man, he understood. That guy. Only that guy could be named Funny Valentine.
The first thing that stuck with Diego was the pink. Pink coat, pink gloves, pink shoes. And long, curly, blond hair. It was as if Barbie had walked into the room, except Barbie was a man over 40 and looked more like Danny De Vito than Margot Robbie.
"Hello, hello, hello, my dear compatriots" started the man, and Diego wanted to get up and leave.
He tried, really, he tried really hard to focus on the lecture, but his brain kept on drifting on the pink form in front of him, on Dio struggling at the other side of the world, on the college student life he just started.
He glanced at the other students in the auditorium, but none really stuck out. A few rows behind Diego, a goth and a guy with an awful bowl cut were more focused on flirting than listening to the lecture. Not serious competitors. There was also Sandman, Diego's roommate, focusing hard on his notes. When they had met, one of the first things he had told Diego was that he wanted to graduate in law to get his ancestor's lands back, or something like that. Not that Diego didn't care — Sandman looked determined, good for him as long as he didn't bother him in his projects — but listening to other people's problems wasn't his favorite activity. Sandman wasn't a bad roommate, he settled with his side of the room, kept his stuff organized and out of Diego's side and didn't disturb him at 3 in the morning, unlike Dio when he went though his divorce.
The hours were too slow, and Diego felt his brain turning into a puree, drowning under the hundreds of juridic terms. He knew what he got into when he picked up law, he had heard Dio talk about it dozens and dozens of times, he had studied the subject beforehand, and yet, he was struggling. He could only imagine the number of hours he would spend studying instead of sleeping. But in the meantime, he had to put himself to work, so he tried to write down everything he could understand.
Three hours later, Diego was exhausted. He felt like he just got out of a week of exams and not just three hours of law. But he couldn't let the world see his true state, so as he gathered his stuff and left the hall, he straightened his back and made sure his mask of assurance was flawless. He was a Brando. Brandos were flawless.
The campus was more lively approaching noon, and Diego wasn't sure he liked it. There were groups of people everywhere, running around, yelling and participating in pointless activities such as playing on the grass. Diego wasn't like them, he was so much better than these stupid pigeons, he had to. He didn't have time to lay on the grass or hanging out with friends he didn't have.
Diego didn't have any friends. He knew how to act as the perfect gentleman to please the masses, he knew how to act as if he tolerated somebody he hated, but he didn't have any friends. He didn't mind, people were dumb, lacked ambition and slowed him when he wanted to reach his objectives. He didn't like people. He couldn't imagine how people wanted to be friends with one another, how they would dare to trust so much someone who could betray them the next second.
Plus, you don't miss something you never had.
Diego buried deep his though. Brandos don't have time to be emotional.
The air was hot as Diego wandered on the campus with no idea of where to go. Even at the beginning of September, the weather was summery and he regretted putting on a shirt, even if the teal color fitted him extremely well. After a few minutes outside, he surrendered and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. Then, with nothing else to do and his stomach grumbling, he decided to pick up something to eat. He still had a few hours before his next class.
But lunch was soon eaten and Diego still faced the issue of what to do with his time. He stopped a moment to think, before settling on going to the library to work on the hell of a class he experienced in the morning. Dio would have been disappointed to learn he struggled in law after a single lecture, but Dio wasn't here, and Diego tried to convince himself it was simply the first class. Things would go better as time would go.
So he took the direction of the library.
Things didn't go better with time. After more than a month, Diego was exhausted. Classes were hard to follow, especially Mr Valentine's ones. Turns out behind his exuberant style, he was a sadistic patriot of the United States and Dio's nemesis. He was the main reason Diego spent all his free time at the library.
The truth was that he struggled with law. He knew it was a shame, the Brando family was a family of great lawyers, Diego had to live up to this legacy. But it was hard. He was lucky when his nights lasted five hours and grateful for his makeup to be that good at covering his dark circles. And for caffeine to exist.
After a month, Diego's interactions were limited to Dio, who called him every weekend to make sure the Speedwagon Foundation didn't try to enroll him — and because Diego suspected he missed him and was worried by the trial —, the sandwiches seller and occasionally Sandman, with who he exchanged a few words once in a while because he had to. The last thing he wanted was to be accused of being an awful roommate. Thankfully, Sandman didn't have to witness Diego's hazardous sleep pattern because he spent a lot of his free time training in the running team. Diego didn't know how his roommate managed to be at the same time a star of the running club and a top student. Sandman was one of the best law students and he didn't even work hard for that, unlike Diego, who spent his whole free time trying to understand the obscure concept teachers mentioned as if it was child's play. He managed to get out with excellent grades, but at the cost of his sanity. He had thought about asking Sandman for help once, before remembering that if he didn't have any sleep pattern left, he should at least keep his self-esteem.
He was taking the direction of the library after his last class of the day when the incident happened.
David Bowie was, once again, blasting in his ears, when something hit Diego's shoulder hard.
Time stopped. David Bowie finished his song. Then started another. "Changes".
Diego's eyes lowered. A single tennis ball laying at his feet, bouncing lightly as if it hadn't done anything, as if it didn't hit his shoulder so hard he already felt a bruise forming. He picked up the ball. Paused David Bowie. And raised his eyes.
Two guys were running toward him. Well, one was running, the other was rolling. From afar, Diego had thought he was a very small man, but he was just in a wheelchair. His face reminded Diego of something, but he couldn't tell what. He wore a blue beanie, blue lipstick and nails, a Fleetwood Mac top and a blue pant with purple stars. He liked blue, apparently. Diego couldn't tell if he was wearing a real outfit or pajamas. His partner in crime wasn't better : tall and muscular, long dark blond hair, green lipstick and nails, cowboy pants, purple tank top and… Were that golden grills on his teeth ? Did they decide to go out as the biggest fashion faux-pas on the campus or was it karma that wanted to finish Diego ?
"Sorry man !" exclaimed the green one. He had an accent Diego was certain was Italian. But he didn't judge, he himself had a quite strong British accent. "We didn't see you."
Diego glanced at the hand he had reached to take back the ball, and he suddenly felt very angry. Maybe it was just pain and surprise, or maybe he finally found an opportunity to unleash all the anger and disappointment he had bottled the past month.
"Well, you better be sorry !" he exclaimed with his most mocking tone. "Do you know how dangerous this sort of thing is ? And don't you have anything else to do ?"
"Hey, what's up your ass ? He said he's sorry" retorted the blue one. Given his accent, he was from some lost city in Kentucky or something like that.
"And ? Will being sorry erase the bruise ? I don't think so."
"You should have watched where you were walking, then."
"Me ? You should have been careful with your stupid game first !"
Maybe Diego couldn't remember when he saw the other's face, but he was sure he hated him now. He was a complete asshole.
"And what were you doing with this ball ?" he continued. "Aren't dogs the only ones to play with tennis balls in the grass ?"
"The fuck are you implying ?"
"Okay, and what if we all calmed down ?" intervened the other, clearly more worried than his friend. "Like I said, sorry man, we didn't see you, we'll be more careful in the future. Now Johnny, now's not the time to start a fight."
So the guy in the wheelchair was named Johnny. Diego was certain he knew him, but from where ?
"I'm starting a fight ? He insulted you !"
"Don't bother" cut Diego. "I don't have time for foolish arguments."
And just like that, he turned his back and left.