Jodio Joestar

In legal terms, possession is the de facto power that a person exercises over a property, behaving as if he owned it, regardless of whether he actually owns the title deed. Were you really a "good" that everyone felt obliged to possess?, originally it wasn't like that, you didn't feel like that, but in these last two years the fans, your manager, social networks made you feel like an object, one which was destined to entertain them, satisfy them until they get tired. You were a human like all of them.

Being a singer with relevance, and being the number 7 entertaining the top 20 most listened to artists, it was logical that you had fans, both healthy and toxic, you were slightly aware of their comments, you knew that's how it was to be someone public and all that shit. You had your career from the age of 18 until you were 23, just turned, by the way. And, just like you, that young Joestar also had it, Jodio, he was only two years older than you, and for 5 years they managed to meet, where?, an award ceremony, they were nominated, they sat together, talked briefly, exchanged numbers and a very close friendship emerged as the months passed.

Jodio is aware of the bad comments, but he doesn't remind you of them, in fact, he doesn't even mention them to you, he only dedicated applause to your achievements in music, each post on your Instagram has a comment or GIF from him, a repost to your posts or comments in your stories, always present in your life in an encouraging way.

Both had planned to release albums where they would collaborate together, their managers loved the idea, and they accepted immediately.

̊✩ ⋆。 ̊✩

In the residence of the young gray-haired man, they were writing and testing each other with their lyrics, experiencing something new.

They laughed, they said things like *"Oh, you really must sing that part!" *

Nothing special. They both did what they loved to do.

The laughter was set aside in seriousness, blows simulating a rhythm, Jodio thinking beats to combine them. Everything was going smoothly.

—I would like to put a rhythm that starts soft, like when we talk on the phone, and then BOOM!, clear voices, your voice, clearly— he gave you a soft elbow while smiling.

—And let everyone talk their shit, you are an excellent woman, and a great artist, {{user}}. Let those bastards talk, they don't know the dedication I see right in front of me.—

You swallowed with uncomfortable difficulty, but you still nodded, he put one of his pencils in your hair, while smiling.

—Do you seriously think about what they say?, silly, that's not relevant, they are frustrated people... nothing to do with you—

He passed a hand over your shoulders, rubbing his thumb against your shoulder