⚜️Phenomenal Beauty⚜️ Jonadio Oneshot book

⚜️Why can't it be like this always⚜️

The evening breeze stung when it met Jonathan's flushed skin. After hours in the oppressive heat of the drawing room, dancing and growing steadily more tipsy on champagne, the mildness of a spring night was blissful relief. He leaned against the one of the columns of the coach gate and listened to the distant sound of what promised to be a lively quadrille, better able to enjoy the music now that he was away from Father's scrutinizing eye and Dio's mockery—

"JoJo."

Jonathan groaned internally.

"Dio," he said, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Dio, sounding as irritated as Jonathan felt, and rather more drunk. "I'm taking a breath of fresh air."

Dio gestured carelessly towards their surroundings as he spoke, unwittingly drawing Jonathan's eye to a mostly empty bottle of champagne sitting on the gravel. Jonathan raised his eyebrows.

"You seem to be doing a bit more than that," he said.

For a moment, Dio's gaze became a hateful glare, but in the space of a breath he managed to rearrange his features into a placid smile.

"You don't seem to be having a very good time either," said Dio lightly. "What's wrong, JoJo? Have none of the girls you've been trampling over all evening caught your fancy?"

"I'm not sure I'd tell if you if they had."

"JoJo, I'm hurt," said Dio, placing a hand over his heart. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do," said Jonathan quickly.

He knew from the narrowing of Dio's eyes that he had been caught in his lie, but Dio, for once, did not press the point.

The music of the quadrille soon faded, and when the scattered applause of the guests died away a peaceful hush took its place, broken only by the low hum of bush crickets and an occasional laugh on the other side of the manor's stone walls. Jonathan slid down the length of the column to sit on the ground, the warm buzz of alcohol in his veins putting him at ease.

In time, the opening notes of a slow, sweet waltz crept in on what had become an almost companionable silence. Neither Jonathan nor Dio moved from the spot.

"Cutting the final waltz, JoJo?" said Dio. "How rude. There's some girl in there with your name in her dance card, weeping from heartbreak..."

"Weeping from relief, probably," said Jonathan with a strained smile. "I've been treading on ladies' feet all evening, as you kindly pointed out."

"Some gentleman you are, that you don't even know how to waltz."

"Perhaps you ought to show me, if you know so much about it." Jonathan rose to his feet and held out his hand. "May I have the honor?"

Dio gazed scornfully at the proffered hand, as if doing so could compel Jonathan to sheepishly withdraw, but Jonathan did not budge. Seconds passed, and then a minute; but in the end, Dio relented.

It was the clumsiest waltz Jonathan had ever danced. Jonathan led, Dio steered—but Dio, for all his efforts to maintain the appearance of sobriety, still stumbled occasionally over his own feet, and Jonathan fared even worse. At some point Dio accidentally kicked over the champagne bottle, sending it rolling away down the drive, and Jonathan had to bury his face in Dio's shoulder to stifle a laugh.

"Ah, Dio," said Jonathan with a sigh, "why can't it be like this always?"

"What are you talking about, JoJo?" said Dio, his voice low and soft in Jonathan's ear. "We're friends—aren't we?"

Jonathan did not answer. He had already been caught in one lie tonight, and had no wish to spoil the evening's surprisingly pleasant turn with another.

If Dio found Jonathan's silence odd, he said nothing of it. They swayed together in time to the music until it ended, Jonathan with his head on Dio's shoulder, the waltz abandoned entirely.