Chapter Text
It’s the makings for a peaceful morning. Late fall in Osaka is always bustling, filled with people rushing through the cold weather to get to their next destination swiftly. Restaurants and cafés are always full of citizens trying to warm their chilled fingers over a cup of coffee and a meal, so of course this little coffee shop is no different.
Kujo Jotaro has holed up in the back of the café with schoolwork spread out before him, a cup of untouched tea nearby. He’d intended to drink it when he’d bought it, but the paperwork ended up leaving a bad taste in his mouth. His pen remains unused in his pocket.
By all means, it should be a pleasant way to spend his Saturday. The atmosphere is quaint and warm. Simple.
And Jotaro is unbearably bored.
The faint chatter of customers and bland pop music playing in the background are ticking him off. He rests his head on his fist. Unfortunately, returning home was off the table. Mom had said Jiji was going to be arriving today, something about needing to talk to the two of them. The idea of dealing with his grandfather at the moment was far more infuriating than the whisper of the restaurant occupants.
Someone slips into the seat across from him. He sighs. The place is pretty packed; it was only a matter of time until someone tried to take the unused side of his table. That ought to be his cue to finally get out of here. Maybe he could wander for a little while. At least then he could get away from the sounds of people.
“Kujo,” the person murmurs, his voice quiet and sure, slick like ink. Jotaro holds back a sigh, but he keeps his face carefully blank. Of course someone had to recognize him from school. “Kujo Jotaro. You look like you’re struggling with that work you have there. Need some help?”
Jotaro says nothing. He gives no indication that he heard the other’s voice. He’s not in the mood to deal with a classmate right now. The stranger clicks his tongue.
“It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, Kujo. Then again, I haven’t seen you say a word since you got here, so I suppose it’s in character,” he says. “You’re seventeen, and you’ll be turning eighteen in a few months from now. You get good grades even though you hardly attend class. You always cause trouble for others, picking fights with the wrong people in the wrong places. You’ve never lost.” He pauses. “I wonder, just how did you piss him off enough to get him to send me after you?”
Jotaro looks up slowly. The person sits before him with his chin resting in one palm, his other hand tapping perfectly manicured nails against the table. He wears a pleasant smile, but his eyes, covered by maroon bangs, are sharper than a razorblade. Jotaro raises an eyebrow at the green uniform; it’s clearly from his school.
“Who the hell are you?” Jotaro says gruffly.
“Kakyoin Noriaki,” he responds with practiced ease. Kakyoin reaches forward and takes Jotaro’s long since cooled tea and takes a sip without once breaking eye contact. “Chai. You have good taste, though I prefer mine with less milk and more sugar. Try the cafe a few blocks up the road. Their tea is to die for.”
Jotaro narrows his eyes into a glare. “What are you playing at here,” he asks, though it isn’t phrased as a question.
“What?” Kakyoin says, and he looks genuinely offended. “Can I not get to know my newest target?”
Target. Some kind of f*cked up assassin? As far as he can remember, Jotaro hasn’t done anything to warnent cold blooded murder, but he has beaten up a lot of people. Damn puss*’s, angry enough to hold a grudge but too scared to come and kill him themselves.
“Cut the crap, what do you want?” Jotaro says.
Kakyoin ignores him in favor of picking up one of the paper’s scattered across the table. “English, huh?” he says, pinching it between his index and thumb as he flips it back and forth, before bringing his hand up to trace the letters. “I always do fine in that class. Your grammar seems fine, but your handwriting is truly awful.”
“Like I care,” Jotaro says. He grits his teeth.
“You really should. Your handwriting is how you present yourself, you know. What about if you send a letter to that grandfather of yours, you think he’d like to see that you can’t write in a straight line?”
Jotaro goes rigid. Seems like he’d managed to attract not only an assassin, but also a stalker. How delightful. “Leave him out of this,” he spits the words out with enough vitriol to burn. “If you’re here to kill me, just go ahead and try it. I’m not in the mood for this sh*tty little game.”
“Seems like my reconnaissance was right about a good deal of things,” Kakyoin says. He finally brings his hand away from his cheek. “You’re aloof, but care desperately about family,” he begins to list off on his fingers. Jotaro’s lips curl into a sneer. “Harsh with your words, smart as a whip. Blunt and no nonsense. Your Stand’s name is Star Platinum. Mine’s Hierophant Green, by the way.”
So he’s a user too. “Great job, you managed to successfully stalk me. The hell do you want, a pat of the damn head?” Jotaro hisses, leaning forward.
“I simply like being correct, is all,” Kakyoin muses. “I guess we’re the same in that way.”
“Shut your stupid f*cking mouth and get on with it.” You don’t know me, he wants to say, but holds his tongue.
Kakyoin’s casual smile falls. All it leaves in its wake is those cold and calculating violet eyes, tracing carefully over Jotaro’s face. He looks like some kind wildcat watching a rabbit, eyes narrowed into slits, fangs bared in a silent snarl so as to not scare away its prey. It’s a look Jotaro has seen countless times right before his foe snaps their teeth.
Something glints green around Kakyoin’s neck, but Jotaro’s isn’t able to process what it is because in an instant he’s on the floor, that green thing warping around his neck and closing up his airways. There’s the shout of people, the flooding sound of the doorbell ringing as the residents rush out, and then Kakyoin comes into view, looming over him. His eyes are observing and remorseless, as silent as the wildcat he personifies.
“A shame I’ll have to kill you now,” Kakyoin murmurs. The grip on his neck tightens. “And here I thought you'd be able to put up a fight.”
Adrenaline, electric and red hot, surges through Jotaro’s chest like a wildfire, eating Kakyoin’s words up as fuel. Jotaro kindles that feeling, festering it like the infection it is, baring his teeth in a twisted grin as he clamps tight around the tentacles and tears.
“You said it yourself, I never lose,” Jotaro hisses, and lunges as fast as a lightning crack. The assassin weaves to the side and darts for the door, leading him into the cold streets. Seems like his morning won’t be all too peaceful after all.
Kakyoin fights with his teeth, it turns out. He scratches and claws and sneers so wide that it’s as much a wild grin as a declaration of his deadly intentions. Blood runs hot on his cheeks and skin sits heavy on his fingers, sweat and tooth and nail. He plays dirty, knocking Jotaro down and pinning just to end up being the one pinned, swapping the hunter and rabbit around every corner.
Kakyoin grapples up the side of the Umeda Sky Building with his Stand slung over his back, tentacles wrapping around every available handhold. He shouts curses everytime Jotaro’s lunges get close to his ankles. Jotaro returns in kind by snatching his pant leg and pulling as hard as he can, which ends up electing more screams.
Wind whips wildly through his tangled hair, his hat barely still attached to his head, blood pumps through his veins, and he feels alive. He can feel the ache in his limbs, the burn of his muscles fighting to keep up with his competitor. The glass against his palms, the howling of air rushing past and singing in his teeth, and the Hierophant’s tentacles crushing under his hands. He feels more than he has in years, and he leans into the sensation.
“Damn menace!” Kakyoin yells as he clambers over the edge of the roof. Jotaro gathers Star Platinum’s strength in the palms of his hands and the soles of his shoes, and he leaps. He jumps far over the assassin. Building sprawls out far in front of him, cut through by the river running through the city. The afternoon light dances off the water in a sparkling display of rays. It catches his eye as he reaches the crest of his jump and a laugh bubbles up in his chest. Star Platinum, always quick to jump the gun, curls its callused fingers around reality with uncharacteristic softness and coaxes time to a halt. Jotaro breathes in the brisk air, relishes in the image and commits it to memory.
It’s been so long since he was able to let loose.
Star unwinds its grip, allowing time to slip through its fingers, leaving only a faint imprint in the form of Jotaro’s mind. He lands on the building roof, hard, but he doesn’t hesitate before swinging a punch at Kakyoin. The assassin feigns right, dropping low and kicking at Jotaro’s knee, bending it unnaturally backwards. Pain flares a blinding white, and he grabs the collar of Kakyoin’s olive school uniform before his knee buckles. He can feel Star Platinum grappling with Hierophant in the background as he drags Kakyoin down to the ground, phantom tentacles wrapped tight around his shoulder blades.
His palms bear into Kakyoin’s collarbone. It groans under his weight, and the assassin barks out a cry in kind, kicking widely and thrashing. His leg hits Jotaro’s knee full force. “f*ck!” he shouts out and his grip loosens momentarily. Star Platinum spazzes under the pressure, and those false tentacles race to choke him out, surging around his neck and drawing harsh around his torso.
Jotaro doesn’t notice how Kakyoin’s face goes gleeful until it’s too late, until he’s already been rolled over on his back. Flush with the floor, the sky wide overhead, the sun’s light blocked out by the assassin’s grinning face.
The concrete is harsh against his head, and the assassin digs his skull further into it without remorse. The stand, green and glinting with the same elation as its predecessor, presses its tentacles tight against Star Platinum, pinning it in place. Its grip is bruising, but nowhere near as bad as Jotaro’s sprained wrist, nor the cuts lacing up the assassin’s arms, so he doesn’t dwell on it.
“Slimy f*cker,” Jotaro rasps out.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” Kakyoin muses as he presses him into the building’s rooftop before bursting out coughing. The early marks of bruises splatter his neck. Serves him right.
The assassin slams Jotaro’s head into the floor once more, snapping him to the present. Blood drips hot down his forehead and lands on his eyelashes, his vision painting itself red, shrouded by his sweat plastered hair falling messily in front of his eyes. Kakyoin has death in his eyes and the ability to kill with it.
But Kujo Jotaro will not die here.
A purple fist crushes the tentacles trapping his Stand, ripping them apart and leaving them to fall limply to the floor. Hairline cuts race up the assassin’s hand and through his forearm. His grip lapses. Jotaro throws Kakyoin off himself with his teeth bared.
Kakyoin slides back against the burning concrete, landing harshly on his ribs. “Damn fighter,” he curses, but when he meets Jotato’s eyes, he gleams with thrill. The rush of a good fight, one with bruises and blood and so much feeling, sings in his gaze. “Dio would kill to have someone like you on his side.”
“Dio?” Jotaro shouts over the whirling wind rushing past. The air pressure is boisterous this high up, a never ending stream of unbridled current. “Is that the bastard who sent you after me?”
Kakyoin freezes. His eyes go wide, and his chest, once choking for breath, goes still. It’s as if he’s staring right through Jotaro and into another world. Even his Stand has stopped floundering in Star’s grip. The only movement on him is the whip of his bangs in the blustering wind, falling in front of his vacant eyes.
“You there, jackass?” Jotaro yells. Kakyoin’s breath stutters. He blinks. Startles. “I knew you were crazy, but I didn’t know you were dumb enough to zone out in front of an opponent.”
Kakyoin sneers. “If I’m stupid for freezing, then what does that make you for not attacking?”
“Someone with damn morals, that’s what.”
“You chased me up a building.”
“And you tried to kill me.”
“So did you!” Kakyoin yells, blinks again, glances out at the skyline. He looks as distant as the clouds on the horizon. “And it’s deserved, so-”
“Was it?” Jotaro questions. He doesn’t remember beating up any Dio recently, nonetheless enough to send a hitman after him. “Tell me, what’d I do?”
Kakyoin stares at him blankly. His mouth opens to say something, and then closes again. His hands keep clenching and unclenching in some kind of internal war of whether or not to punch Jotaro or not. Jotaro raises an eyebrow.
“What’d I do?” Jotaro repeats.
The Hierophant disappears out of Star’s grip and Kakyoin’s hands stay unclenched. “I’ll be back for you,” the assassin hisses out with glazed eyes, furious and brimming with something Jotaro can’t quite identify. He believes, though, that some part of it is a sick anticipation. The iridescent Stand reappears on his back as Kakyoin brings himself to his feet, and in an instant, he sprints off the nearest edge, tentacles grabbing onto the next building over and swinging him away like some comic book hero.
Jotaro’s lungs ache and his knee still burns. His muscles are exhausted, his uniform is covered with blood and sweat, all his papers long abandoned in the coffee shop miles away by now, and his neck is surely bruised with the marks of thin tentacles. He’s in more pain than he’s ever been in before.
He feels all of it, and he grins.
—-
Jotaro doesn’t head home. Can’t. Jiji’s probably already there, and the idea of explaining that, yes, some of this blood is mine, and no, I technically didn’t beat the opponent, yes an assassin was sent after me for some piss ass reason. No, Jiji, I don’t need to go to the hospital, and no, you can't beat up the assassin, you’ll throw out your back old man, give him a headache just thinking about it.
So, he wanders off. Down the fire escape, across the streets, down bends. The district they chased each other into isn’t recognizable, so he has to be a few miles away from home. He wanders until the odd glances people keep sending him get unbearable and enters into the first hotel he sees, taking a low class room with as few words as possible.
He tosses the little belonging he still has onto the thrashed, slightly stained bed. A grimace crosses his face as he looks over his flip phone. He should let mom know he’s alright, or else she’ll worry, and then she’ll tell Jiji and he’ll worry, and he’ll locate Jotaro with Hermit Purple.
He mutes his phone and enters the bathroom.
He doesn’t spare a glance to the mirror before stripping and stumbling into the shower, and the warm water rushing down his back feels heavenly after being stuck in a sweaty heavy coat for the last few hours. Tipping his head back, running a hand through his inky hair, he finally lets his muscles untense.
The adrenaline crash is finally hitting him. It weighs heavily on the limbs it once fueled with the thrill of the chase. Slaps like the damn bitch it is, Jotaro grumbles internally as his eyes slide shut. His thoughts start to wander like he would if he wasn’t so dead on his feet.
Kakyoin Noriaki. He’s crazy, that's for sure. Damn pretentious asshole wore the same uniform for his school too, just exchanged the rich black for an olive green. He’s never seen him around school before, and he has a feeling he’d know if he had, with that flamboyant attitude of his.
He fought like hell though, Jotaro muses to himself. His hand clenches, unclenches, darkened blood stained the water rushing down his arm. That burn, the thrill of the fight, the anticipation before every strike and dodge, weaving against another person, someone who can deal out what he dishes. It’s exciting. It’s something new.
Sparring with Avdol, while still a challenge, is nothing like fighting against Kakyoin. He’s been trained by Avdol since he manifested his Stand as a kid, as Jotaro insisted he had to understand how to use Star Platinum properly.
“I don’t wanna hurt mom,” he remembers whispering to Avdol, freshly thirteen and newly awakened with his Stand. His hands had clenched as he stared at Star Platinum’s inquisitive eyes that reflected the same cerulean as his. Star had been slightly smaller, slightly leaner back then, but still punched with enough force to shatter bone. “It’s violent.”
“It is,” Avdol had said patiently. “But it is still you. You simply must train yourself alongside it, and everything will be alright. You are in control of your own actions.”
Really, the only person with a Stand he’s ever truly fought is Avdol. Brawls with his grandfather don’t count in his mind, because Jiji always either plays dirty or outright doesn’t use his Stand. Avdol fights with intention. His movements are each calculated and even, as steady as his unwavering confidence. Each step he takes has meaning. Fighting against him means a constant game of strategy and trying to figure out his opponent's next move.
Kakyoin fights on the opposite side of the same coin.
Fast-witted and cunning, Kakyoin moves with the same amount of purpose as Avdol, but with the reflexes of a firecracker. He jolts around the battlefield like flying sparks, banter on the tip of his silver tongue, leading the battle like the conducting roll Jotaro has always fallen into. Falls into step with his competitor, leading them into a damned choreography that’ll lead them to be both black and blue.
The way Kakyoin froze is what Jotaro’s still hung up upon. He’d gone from a pouncing leopard one second to deer in the headlights the next, all at the mention of some Dio jackass. The best guess Jotaro’s got is he wasn’t meant to say his employer’s names and freaked when he messed up, making him run off with his tail between his legs.
But he wasn’t scared, which is what his mind keeps circling back to. Jotaro knows fear. He knows the electric taste of it sitting hot on his tongue, the way it sings in his veins like a sick cousin to adrenaline. The swirling needs to run that pulses through someone's eyes right before a hit lands. That blank look that clouded over Kakyoin was not fear. No one looks that empty when they’re distressed.
But for the life of him, Jotaro cannot place what emotion that really was.
Jotaro slams the shower off. To hell with this, stupid thinking. He’s meant to be unwinding, he refuses to let the emotions of some batsh*t assassin overcome him. Toweling himself off, he slips on his still slightly sweaty clothes, though he opts without the coat or hat. Too hot with that thing aways.
He exits the fogged up bathroom with a sigh, letting himself fall ungracefully onto the stiff bed. The sun has fallen lower onto the horizon, but the sun is yet to set. It’s far too early for any normal person to retire for the night, but damn it all if Jotaro is ever considered a normal person. Societal norms can suck up their sh*tty ass sleep schedule.
He falls fast asleep without ever checking the mounted missed calls and messages on his silenced flip phone.
—-
The sun has barely started to rise when Jotaro comes to. The hotel room is near silent, save for the faint rumbling of cars coming through the closed window and the buzz of the bathroom light he’d never bothered to shut off.
Jotaro sighs. Pries himself away from the bed with monumental effort. Nightmares from that night cling heavy on his mind, but he should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to sleep easy with an assassin after him. He hardly remembers it, nothing more than a flash of red and green, a glint of a foreign sinister gold. Mostly gibberish.
He stumbles over to the bathroom and splashes some water on his face. It’s bitingly cold, sending a shock through his system that gets blood pumping through his body and to his head. Star hands him a hand towel that he uses to dry off his face, and when he breathes in, his mind is no longer clogged up with the lingering drawl of sleep.
He draws his gaze up to the mirror stretching wide across the wall. Eyebags no longer stain his face, washed away with his night of rest, and his hair has dried wavy from falling asleep with it wet. He combs his fingers through his hair a few times before strapping on his hat and throwing his coat on. Though blood stains his shirt, he doesn’t look as dead on his feet as he had yesterday, so he calls it an improvement and steps out of the bathroom.
Frail curtains flitter in the wind. A soft breeze beckoning through the window carries the chill of an autumn night along with it, brushing past him with quickly fading starlight on its cusp. The smell of it reminds him all too much of early fall mornings, waiting for his dad to return from his last tour.
Jotaro freezes. The window was closed just a few minutes ago.
“Thank god you finally woke up,” a smooth voice says. Kakyoin, with two take-out coffee cups in his hands, sits in the wooden chair by the coffee table. His posture is perfect and his hair is pristine, chin leveled and clothes ironed. The olive green uniform has been swapped out for a loose pale dress shirt and cleanly fitting pants. Every aspect of his drips with confidence. That is, at least, until you look a little closer and see the bandages weaving through his palm, how his teeth are grit just a bit too tight to be normal, and the awkward hitch of his breath hinting towards a rib injury.
Looks like I did a number on him.
Kakyoin takes a sip from one of the cups. “Stopped by earlier and you were as asleep as the dead, so I went on a coffee run.”
Jotaro stares at him. He blinks, takes a deep breath, and says slowly, “You have got to be f*cking kidding me.”
“Come sit, we have stuff to talk about,” Kakyoin says, far too jubilant for five in the goddamn morning, and outstretches the paper cup.
“If you're trying to poison me, I’m gonna be pissed,” Jotaro sighs and steps forward before sitting in the chair across from the assassin. He takes the cup, and finds it to be pleasantly warm in his hands. “That’s a sh*tty way to try and kill someone.”
“I may kill people for a job, but I take honor in my work,” Kakyoin assures. “I don’t cheat. Plus, that’d be a boring way to take out a genuine opponent like you.”
Jotaro pops the lid off the lid and lets Star inspect the drink. The Stand takes a tiny sip and lets the taste sit on its tongue for a few moments, staring at the warm brown liquid with an intensity that rivals that of a preying lion. It swallows before throwing Jotaro an approving nod and passing it back to him.
“Told you,” Kakyoin says Jotaro clips the lid back on and takes a tentative drink of it. It’s chai, with extra milk and no sugar, just like how he likes it. Damn Kakyoin and everything he stands for. “I wouldn’t waste an opportunity like this by taking the easy way out.”
“An opportunity,” Jotaro repeats. “An opportunity to get beaten up again?” He keeps his tone carefully even, noncommittal, relaxed.
Kakyoin claps his hands together and grins. “More like a business opportunity. Really, this will help both of us out.” He reaches out his right hand, and for a split second, Jotaro braces for an attack. “Join me.”
“No,” Jotaro replies immediately, crossing his arms. Kakyoin’s hand falls away.
“You didn’t even hear what I had to say yet.”
“And? You asked me if I wanted to help be a part of some weird ass murder job, and I have ethics, so no.”
Kakyoin clicks his tongue. “Well, that’s actually not what I was going to ask, so shut up and listen.” He pauses, looks like he’s expecting some rude comment, and then is surprised when nothing comes. Jotaro raises an eyebrow. “I want you to come meet my boss.”
“If he wanted to meet me, he should’ve come to kill me himself.”
“You aren’t worth his time,” Kakyoin’s eyes go a bit hazy, but his voice stays level. “His name is Dio. He’s quite incredible. Strong, perceptive, oh and he pays fair wages.”
“Fair wages… for assassinating people,” Jotaro says.
“Yes, as I was saying-”
“So he basically runs the mafia.”
Kakyoin opens his mouth, pauses, shuts his mouth. Looks like he’s thinking really hard. He’s really starting to look all blank again, and Jotaro narrows his eyes. Seems like talking about Dio too much makes him zone out, he notes.
“What’s his goal?” Jotaro asks.
“That’s not something you're privy to,” Kakyoin says as his eyes go pointed. “You know, I had a whole speech planned out and you're really ruining it.”
Jotaro glares with enough venom to kill a man. Horrible enough, Kakyoin only revels under his anger. “Don’t waste my time,” Jotaro snaps. “Give me one good reason I should meet the asshole who recruits high schoolers to do his dirty work.”
“I was going to tell you if you hadn’t kept interrupting me,” Kakyoin matches his glare before taking a deep breath. “Listen, Dio wants to wipe out the Joestar bloodline.” Jotaro tenses up, but a harsh look keeps him quiet. “You care about your family, almost too much. I’m saying that if you come with me and try to get a job with Dio, you may be able to spare them and yourself.”
“And why shouldn’t I just kill you now?” Jotaro bites out, words laced with fire. The stone cold grip of Star Platinum’s hand on his shoulder tells that his Stand is looming over him, a threat in and of itself.
“Bold to assume you could kill me,” Kakyoin says, taking another sip of his drink, “but in the hypothetical that you did, another assassin would be sent after you. Then another. And another. And you may be able to withstand them, but could your mother?”
“Leave her out of this,” Jotaro says. It takes everything in his power to keep his voice even. “Is someone after her right now?”
“Nope. I was given the task of taking out both of you, and so long as I’m alive, it’ll stay that way. Plus, I don’t have a time limit, so as long as you cooperate with me, then I won’t really have a reason to go after her.”
Jotaro grits his teeth. “So either I go with you or you kill my mom.”
“Correction, I kill you and your mom. And for the record, I’d prefer to go with the former rather than the latter,” Kakyoin says, and then his nose wrinkles up. “I don’t like going after someone who doesn’t want to fight back.”
“Oh great, you’re not as much of a jackass as you could’ve been. Here’s a gold star.”
“Kujo, will you join me or not?” Kakyoin asks.
“f*cking hell,” Jotaro scoff. “Fine.”
“Great!” Kakyoin says as he finishes off his drink. It occurs to Jotaro that he still doesn’t know what it was, but he really doesn’t care enough to ask. “I already booked our plane tickets-”
“You were that confident?”
“-so we're leaving tonight. Meet me outside this hotel by twelve PM sharp.”
“And where the hell is the plane heading?”
“Oh, Dio’s in Egypt, but we’re going to make a little detour. Twelve PM sharp, got it?”
Jotaro tips the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Good f*cking grief.”
—-
Jotaro stares down at the fourteen missed calls from mom and ten from Jiji, and sighs. Maybe he should’ve sent a text. Maybe he shouldn’t have muted his phone, or maybe he should’ve just gone home. Maybe then this whole thing would’ve been avoided.
But going home would’ve drawn Kakyoin closer to mom, and then she would be in even more danger than she’s already in. All his tokens lay on Kakyoin being true to his word about no one else targeting them. He hadn’t lied about the poison, but that isn’t all too much to off, especially someone who had looked so elated mid fight.
Jotaro ignores the part of him that had reveled in that battle, pushes that away to unpack at a later date.
A new message pops up on his phone. He glares at it like the whole situation was it’s fault.
Mom
Jotaro, please answer us. We just want to know if you’re safe. Papa keeps saying Hermit Purple isn’t giving us enough information to know where you are. All the photos have you covered in blood. Please just let us know you’re alright. Sent at 12:09 PM
He reads it. Twice. Stares at the time it was sent and hopes Kakyoin is pissed off by his tardiness. Mom’s going to worry herself sick if he doesn’t respond, and it sounds like Jiji is getting frantic, and when the old man gets stressed, he gets stupid. Or, morerather, he has the capacity for intelligent thought when stressed, but refuses it in turn of taking the worst option possible. He’s going to make a dumbass decision if Jotaro doesn’t respond.
I’m safe, he types out, stares at it some more, deletes it. I’m okay. Can’t come home, you guys are in danger. Stay with the old man and tell him not to do anything stupid. Sent at 12:13 PM.
He snaps his phone shut with more force than necessary and shoves it in his pocket, turning in his heel and out of his hotel room.
—-
“You’re late, Kujo,” Kakyoin says. He leaned up against a rather ordinary car, one foot propped up on its tire, observing his nails boredly. A good few of them are chipped or broken, Jotaro notices, and the claw marks over his collarbone pulse with heat. “I had half a mind just to leave without you.”
“Wish you did.” Jotaro flings the back door open, slings his mostly empty suitcase into the seat. He’d gone out and bought it soon after Kakyoin had left, along with a few changes of clothes and other necessities. He’d prefer not to sleep in his school uniform for the duration of this trip, thank you very much.
“Rude,” Kakyoin scoffs. He rounds the car and falls into the driver's seat, and Jotaro follows suit into the passengers. “Really, Mrs. Holly seems so kind. I have no idea how she raised someone with as little manners as you.”
Jotaro takes a deep breath. Kakyoin pulls out of the parking spot. He already has the insatiable urge to punch Kakyoin in the face, and it's only been a few minutes. The airport is a half hour drive away. “Stop talking about my mom like you know her,” he grits out.
“But I do know her. I had a nice chat with her over tea just a few days ago. She was much better at conversation than you, you know.”
“The hell?”
“I wanted to know whether I should go after you or her first. She didn’t seem like the kind who wanted to fight, so I went after you instead.”
Jotaro says as he looks over to Kakyoin, who keeps his eyes firmly on the road. His mother had tea with an assassin, and he hadn’t even known. He wouldn’t have been there to protect her if Kakyoin had deemed her his first target, and though he knows she’d be able to defend herself with La Ciruela if it came down to it. The problem is that it might have come to that if Kakyoin had chosen differently.
“Stay away from my family,” Jotaro says slowly. A purple fist encloses around Kakyoin’s arm, tight enough to threaten. “Understand?”
Kakyoin makes a sharp left turn. “That’s the whole point of you coming with me.” Star Platinum’s grip tightens silently. He winces, but keeps his voice level. “If you plan on threatening me, Kujo, at least do it over something relevant.”
Jotaro raises an eyebrow. “You want me to threaten you? Because, trust me, I will make sure each threat comes to fruition.”
“You sure do make big promises,” Kakyoin grumbles, and sighs. “Fine, I’m not gonna hurt your family, okay? Happy now?” One last warning squeeze, and then Star’s hand falls away. His puffy dress shirt wrinkles in the vague shape of a hand, and Jotaro is sure fresh bruises bloom underneath, curling around his arm like a spreading vine of violets.
It seems like Kakyoin’s pretty set on ignoring it, so Jotaro opts to ignore him, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. It’s stupidly quiet, with the only sounds being the A.C. unit pumping the car full of air and the purr of the engine. Someone else might call the atmosphere awkward, but Jotaro prefers it this way, hoping Kakyoin finds the lack of conversation unnerving.
If he can come here and uproot Jotaro’s entire life for a murder cult, then he deserves an uncomfortable car ride.
A button clicks, followed by the sound of a warm set of piano chords. Jotaro blinks, glances down to the empty CD case sitting on the dashboard. Never For Forever, it reads in a looping font, coupled beside a few vague images of animals.
“Can’t believe you're a Kate Bush fan,” Jotaro mutters as an airy voice begins a linting melody. “‘Course you listen to American music.”
“You know her, so that’s got to stand for something,” Kakyoin says.
“Yeah, ‘cause my grandpa listens to her. Listening to the same music as a geriartic ain’t something to brag home about.”
“You just got one cool ass grandfather.”
Jotaro scoffs. “He called me on my seventeenth birthday only to sing Dancing Queen by ABBA.”
“Go ahead and check the glove box for me,” Kakyoin says as he turns left onto one of the many roads crossing the Yodo River. The noon sun glints off the water, and Jotaro watches passively as it goes by.
He rolls down the window and inhales the fresh smell of water. “Why, got a trap set or something?”
“Just trying to prove a point here.”
Jotaro tears his eyes away from the river, pops the glove box open, and groans. Staring back at him are CD’s of countless albums, some Japanese, others American, even some French thrown in there as well. But worst of all, Arrival glares back at him.
“Young and sweet,” Kakyoin says under his breath, and Jotaro slams the box closed with more force than needed. The latch cracks. Oops.
“You have the music taste of an elderly woman,” Jotaro glares, “and I hope that keeps you awake at night.
“Only seventeen.”
Jotaro pulls his hat over his eyes and tries to resist the urge to dive out the window.
—
The airport lobby is crowded at just past one o’clock. It’s crowded, filled with chattering families, business people, and security. Jotro hates it. Hates the way people stare at him when they pass, eyes caught up on his height or outfit. He hates the people who deliberately avoid his gaze even more, like he’ll beat them up just for meeting his eyes.
He keeps his eyes trained down as much as possible, though Star Platinum makes him acutely aware of every glance sent his way.
“Kujo,” Kakyoin says. Jotaro doesn’t look up. “Take your ticket.” The blue and white paper is waved in front of his face. “You know, I’ve never met someone more intent on ignoring me-”
Jotaro snatches the ticket and tosses a pointed look at Kakyoin. Unfortunately, it seems like the assassin is incapable of taking a hint, or morerather, finds Jotaro’s complete and utter disdain amusing, as he doesn’t shut up. Just as he hadn’t on the car ride here. Or at the bag check. Or at any other point in this already hell destined trip.
“-than you. It’s honestly impressive,” he finishes. The only thing that’s currently stopping Jotaro from punching him square in the jaw is that they’re in public, and he’d rather not prove all those people staring at him like a zoo animal right. “So, have you ever been to Paris before?”
That makes Jotaro pause. “What?” he says, glances down at the ticket, and then back to Kakyoin.
As it turns out, that “little detour” Kakyoin had mentioned wasn’t quite as little as he had made it seem. Kakyoin, vexation incarnate, apparently considers traveling to France to be little detour from Egypt. Egypt, a country which is on an entirely separate continent.
Although Jotaro resists from socking the assassin upside the jaw, he does grip the collar of his stupid ass dress shirt and pull him close enough that the rim of his hat casts a shadow across Kakyoin’s forehead and over his eyes. Without the midday light glinting off Kakyoin’s violet eyes, that airy confidence is missing, leaving only a cold calculation behind. “Is this a f*cking joke to you?” Jotaro hisses, and Kakyoin sighs.
“You do realize that this is in your favor, right?” Kakyoin says. Jotaro searches for something, anything other than unreadable cunning in his eyes and comes up with nothing. “The more time it takes for us to speak with Dio, the more time your mother doesn’t have to deal with any assassins being sent her way.”
“And what’s in it for you, huh? Why bother doing all of this?”
Kakyoin hums. “Well, if Dio does decide to take you up as an employee, then I’ll probably get a raise for recommending you or something. And I’ve always wanted to travel the world. I mean, I did tell you it was a good opportunity for both of us.”
Jotaro drops Kakyoin’s collar. “You wrinkled my shirt,” Kakyoin says. “Again.”
“Maybe you should stop pissing me off if you don’t want wrinkles.”
“This shirt has to be dry cleaned and I’m going to use your money to pay for it.”
“Touch my wallet and you’ll have more than wrinkles to worry about.”
“I’m sure I will,” Kakyoin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out Jotaro’s wallet with a grin, handing it back to him. “You know, I was curious if you were ever going to notice it was gone.”
Jotaro takes it just as their flight number is read over the intercom, and they both get up to board.
—
Unsurprisingly, a twelve hour long flight directly beside Kakyoin is miserable. The last time Jotaro had been on an airplane was last summer, heading to New York to visit Jiji with his mom. The flight had been long and the jet lag worse, not to mention the motion sickness which decided to gut punch him, and he remembers thinking it had been one of the worst plane rides he’d ever experienced.
Since then, it seems like goddamn Japan Airlines thought it was an incredible plan to install miniature television screens in each row of seats. Usually, that’d be a good thing. A great thing, even if he happened to sit next to any other person than Kakyoin Noriaki. Kakyoin, who is hell bent on driving him off the deep end.
Kakyoin, unfortunately, knew about this new TV development, and took it upon himself to bring movies. sh*tty American rom-coms, to be specific.
Jotaro managed to sleep through the first few hours of the flight and zone out for another hour, but a man can only think for so long before the thoughts start to delve into existentialism. Quite frankly, Jotaro doesn’t have enough energy to think about the consequences of deciding to join Kakyoin, so he reluctantly turns his attention to the movie.
Kakyoin is in the middle of The Princess Bride when he notices that Jotaro has actually started watching. “Does your grandfather watch Rob Reiner films as well?” he asks with a laugh. Jotaro doesn’t bother dignifying that with an answer.
The worst development about Kakyoin realizing he was watching the movie, is that he starts talking. He’s the kind of person who talks through the entire movie too, trying to predict the plot, and awfully, he gets nearly all of his guesses right. Way to ruin the story for him, damn it.
Stepping off of that plane is the best thing that’s ever happened and ever will happen to Kujo Jotaro. He believes that if he was forced to listen to Kakyoin’s horrible, too smooth voice any longer, he would’ve snapped.
The sun has begun to fall over the horizon, backlighting the Eiffel tower in the distance. Air here has a different lilt, laying thick in the back of his throat like a rich spice, nutmeg or cinnamon. He flags down the nearest taxi and hops in as soon as possible, swiftly followed by Kakyoin popping in through the other door.
Kakyoin says something in fluent French, and the driver begins to drive.
“So, Kujo, you remember how I was telling you I booked a hotel for us?” Kakyoin says. Jotaro takes a deep breath, reminds himself that there is an innocent bystander within the same vehicle as him and that he is a better person than getting a citizen involved with Stand bullsh*t, and keeps his mouth shut. “Well, I never did say what hotel, did I? It’s the Le Cinq Codet, five stars. You know, the building was made back in the thirties, and it’s right in the heart of Paris. Really beautiful architecture as well, it had many different famous architects work on it-”
Jotaro sighs and subsides himself to tuning Kakyoin out for the rest of the drive. A drive which, grievously, is an hour long. Another hour of being subjected to the prattling speech of an ostentatious assassin who threatened him into a road trip from hell. He’s beginning to wonder if it would’ve been better to just kill Kakyoin and deal with the consequences. The only thing stopping him is that it would upset mom if she found out.
By the time that they arrive at the hotel, the sun has long since dipped below the skyline, and Jotaro allows Kakyoin to do all the talking at the receptionist desk. Mostly because he’d rather feel the sweet embrace of death than have a functioning conversation with another human being, but also because he can’t speak French. The majority reason is the former.
“I’m incredibly excited to finally stay here,” Kakyoin says as he unlocks the door to their room. Jotaro pushes past him, throws his luggage onto the floor, and crashes onto the nearest bed.
“I’m going to sleep. Now. Don’t kill me while I’m passed out, and don’t wake me up unless someone is trying to kill me,” Jotaro says, closing his eyes.
“Sounds like the flight is getting to you.”
“Shut up,” he says, and then hesitantly tacks on, “please.” Huh. The exposure to this yammering idiot must be really getting to him.
Surprisingly, Kakyoin obliges. There’s sounds of shuffling for a few minutes, then the click of the shower turning on. Jotaro’s asleep soon after.
—-
“Morning Kujo,” Kakyoin says with a smile plastered to his face and pep in his step, the dreadful morning person he is. “I got breakfast! The restaurant downstairs is really nice, we should go there for dinner tonight.”
Sunlight streams through the window, casting a silhouette over Kakyoin’s face as he sets the plates of food out on the coffee table. The morning light twists through his maroon hair so thoroughly one could classify it as rose gold, the fleeting moments of sunrise still dancing along the horizon and catching themselves in his curled locks.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Kakyoin says after a moment. Jotaro blinks the image away.
“f*ck off,” Jotaro grumbles, pulling himself out of bed and heading over to the table. Kakyoin nudges a plate closer to him, an omelet with all sorts of berries and pastries at its side. Jotaro looks at the plate, looks at the hotel, and then at Kakyoin.
“Where’d you get the money for all of this?” Jotaro asks, sending him a suspicious look.
“I told you already, Dio pays fair wages,” Kakyoin says before passing him a sly look. “Another bonus if you decide to join us.”
Jotaro scoffs, but takes a bite. The egg is rich and the vegetables mixed in fresh, seasoned pleasantly. Not bad. “Seems like a little bit more than ‘fair’.”
“We are talking about the price of killing people here, you know,” Kakyoin says pointedly. “I wouldn’t do assassin work for nothing. And neither should you.”
“Wasn’t really planning on getting into the murder business,” Jotaro says.
“It’s not as bad as it may seem. Who knows, maybe you might want to reconsider,” Kakyoin flashes him a grin. Jotaro sighs. “Oh! I wanted to tell you about the plans for today. We only have a week in France-”
“Only?”
“- so I was thinking we should make the most of it while we’re here.” Kakyoin pulls out a small note pad from his back pocket, the cover of which reads in perfect handwriting Vacation Plans with Kujo! :D. Jotaro decides it's best to pretend like he never saw the title. The assassin flips through a couple of pages until he settles on one. “I planned for us to do some sightseeing on the first day, get some lunch, and then visit the Louvre museum. How’s that sound?”
He really did plan a vacation with the person he was meant to kill. Huh. “Fine.”
—
Three days of tourism with Kakyoin and Jotaro feels like he may die. He may simply combust into a million pieces if he’s forced to listen to another fun fact about artists or architects, or whatever is relevant to the location they’re currently in. Jotaro has never met someone who is capable of talking as much as Kakyoin.
He won’t lie, some of the museums have been… interesting. Like the art ones. The art exhibits are cool, especially if he recognizes the paintings. The history parts are boring though. And it seems like Kakyoin really likes the history parts, as well as telling Jotaro all about said history parts. He has it all memorized like some kind of textbook too.
“I’m going out for a walk,” Jotaro says slowly as Kakyoin suggests they visit some famous gardens. “Don’t follow me. I’ll meet you back at the hotel by sunset.”
Disappointment flashes fast across Kakyoin’s features, only to be covered up with a blank look a few moments later. “Right, see you then,” he responds, a bit too quickly, before disappearing into the car he rented.
Jotaro allows himself to wander, if only for a little while. The act of directionless motion is familiar no matter if the buildings are recognizable or not. It’s easier to let go of thoughts when he’s moving. Dodge around a group of giggling tourists, turn the corner, become another face in the crowd. He’s never been great at blending in, but he’s found that when he doesn’t perceive himself, other people are less likely to see him as well.
The ball of frustration welled tight in his chest begins to loosen. Not quite dissipate, but subside enough for his shoulders to untense and a heavy sigh to fall past his lips. He’s wound up, he realizes. Stuck with a little bundle of energy jittering around without an outlet to release it.
Maybe going for a run could help. He brings his eyes up to peer at his surroundings, figure out just where his feet had taken him. A building looms high above. Weathered stone, old as time, builds up dualling intricate towers that reach at the sky; a relic of when mankind was still in its youth, dreaming to touch the stars.
It’s the Notre Dame Cathedral, some distant part of his head recognizes, recalled from studies he doesn’t consciously know. Jotaro finds himself tipping his head back to better gaze at the designs latticing the cream stone bricks. The sun, beginning to lower, brings a gentle glow to the western edge, like the deity it is made to worship running a finger along the stone and bringing it to life.
“Hey,” an accented voice says, and a finger taps on his shoulder. Jotaro whirls around with a glare, hands clenched. His senses brighten and amplify, an indicator that Star Platinum now stands besides him. “Oh! That’s threatening.” The stranger peers over his shoulder, watching his Stand. Jotaro narrows his eyes. Another user? “Aren’t you that Jo-something guy? The one Dio wanted dead?”
The stranger is nearly as tall as Jotaro is, at least, not accounting for his ridiculous hair, silver and surely held up with enough hairspray to cause lethal harm to the man’s scalp. The one strapped shirt he wears is ill fitting for the chilled weather.
“Dio sent you,” Jotaro says, guarded, “to kill me?”
“No, you're someone else’s target. That red head is meant to be after you,” the man says, then pauses, “But Dio would probably want you dead, no matter who kills you. I bet he’d be pretty happy with whoever ends up wiping you out.”
Jotaro stares the man down. “Do we really have to do this? Right now?”
“Why, monsieur, I don’t believe you understand how great this could be for me, getting in Dio’s good grace,” the man says as a grin spreads across his face, grand as a lion's sneer. “Maybe he’ll even appoint me as his right hand man. Oh, but how rude of me, I’m yet to introduce myself!” He backs away before falling into a bow, a silver Stand with a rapier appearing at his side to mimes his movement. “My name is Jean-Pierre Polnareff, accompanied by my Stand Silver Chariot, and I will kill you!”
“Good f*cking grief, I came here to get away from annoying ass assassins,” Jotaro mutters.
The man, Polnareff, narrows his eyes. His rapier flashes. A blur of motion, so fast he can’t even perceive what happens, only a sudden pain in his hands. Star Platinum has caught the sword with its bare hands, of which was stabbed towards Jotaro’s throat, the point mere inches away. Twin cuts spring up along his palms.
“You're fast,” Polnareff grins. “But no Stand in the world can match my speed.”
Jotaro feels something smug well up in his chest. “Are you-” he starts, then pauses. The world comes to a halt. The rustle of wind has gone quiet, tourists frozen in place, even the sly smile on the man’s face is stuck. He tucks his hands, beating hot with pain, in his pockets. He strides forward. His footsteps, his breath, his heartbeat, they’re all deafening loud in his ears, like the very hum of the universe has fallen silent at Star Platinum’s command. “Would you, Star?” Jotaro asks softly, but it still sounds like an explosion of noise.
Sound rushes back to his ears, the universe gasping after holding its breath. Jotaro grins. “-sure about that?”
Polnareff whips around. “What?” he says, wildly looking between where he once stood and where he is now. “What?! How the- how the f*ck-”
“I said, are you sure about that?”
Polnareff blinks. “Maybe not,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
He lunges. Jotaro weaves right and swings his fist. Polnareff dodges and drops low to kick out his legs. The blow is worse than it should be because his knee is still bruised to hell and back from his fight with Kakyoin, and he falters. Star Platinum catches his stride while he focuses on staying upright, blocking the next barrage of slashes from the Chariot.
They’re both close range opponents, so as they dodge and weave, they stay near. A mix of lighting flashes from their Stands followed by the thunder of their punches soon after.
“Where’d that speed of yours go?” Polnareff shouts once he lands another hit.
Jotaro elbows him in the jaw in return. “Wouldn't be fair to use that against you,” he says. “It’d bastardize the whole fight.”
“The hell?!” Polnareff ducks under an incoming punch. “You think I’m not good enough to go all out on? How dare you! Come at me with all you got, jackass!”
Jotaro grimaces as a hit lands on his ribs. That’s gonna bruise. “Do you want to die?”
Polnareff stops his onslaught of attack, and the Chariot comes to hover at his side. “I fight with honor, and I refuse to participate in a battle to the death if my opponent isn’t going for the kill. Either attack at your best or not at all.”
“You attacked me first,” Jotaro says. “I didn’t want a goddamn fight in the first place.”
“Because most people give it their all when someone’s trying to kill them! That’s common sense! You can’t just hold back because you don’t want to kill me, because then you’ll end up dead, and I will not be held responsible for murder.”
“The hell does that mean? Murder is still murder whether or not someone is fighting with honor or not,” Jotaro scoffs. “And, I am fighting with honor by leveling the ground between us. Your morals are just imbecilic.”
“Killing someone in a battle you rightfully won is honorable,” Polnareff says, saying it evenly like it’s a normal thought process. “It would be a murder if I killed someone who wasn’t planning on fighting their best. So, therefore, you have to use everything you have, or else I won’t fight you!”
Jotaro turns on his heel.
“Wh- wait! Where the hell are you going?” Polnareff yells.
“You said you won’t fight me if I don't try, so I’m leaving. I’m not gonna compromise my morals so some assassin who acts like it’s the middle ages can keep his chivalrous dignity.”
“I-” Polnareff stutters. Jotaro turns to meet his eyes. “Someone else isn’t going to have the same honor I do, you know. That thought process of yours is going to get you killed one day. And based on the kid coming after you, it’ll probably be soon.”
“Huh,” Jotaro says. “You think Kakyoin could kill me?”
“Oh, that’s his name!” Polnareff stops. “Wait, how do you know his name?”
“None of your damn business. Answer the question.”
“I mean, if you aren’t giving it everything you have, then yeah, probably. He was sent after you for a reason, you know,” Polnareff says. “You ought to stay out of his way as much as possible.”
Jotaro thinks back to the fight with Kakyoin. The way they had fallen in step into a battle of wits and power. Polnareff may have been able to attest to his speed, but Kakyoin had been able to counter everything he did. And not only that, he was able to throw it right back into Jotaro's face with a snarl and a snarky remark all the while. He wonders just how differently that fight would’ve turned out if Kakyoin hadn’t gotten distracted and run, what would’ve happened if Jotaro had used time stop against him.
But there was something there. Kakyoin himself had fought with everything he had in him and then some, but the Hierophant hadn’t. He’d never showcased his real ability, only ever grappled with Star Platinum. So he’s like me, then, Jotaro thinks. A power he doesn’t deem fair. A grin spreads across his face. Kakyoin Noriaki, what are you hiding?
“Maybe he could kill me,” Jotaro says, and a thrill begins to build, “if he really tried.” An opponent who could stand toe to toe with him and win. “I’d probably have to level the playing field first, though.”
“Oh, come on, so you’ll use your ability against him but not me? Why not?!”
“Don’t take it personally,” Jotaro says, waving him off. “You're not a bad fighter.” He starts walking away once again.
“I know that! But why?”
Jotaro pauses, clenches his fists, and looks to the cathedral. “He has passion.”
—-
“The hell happened to you?” Kakyoin asks as Jotaro opens the hotel room door. “That black eye looks nasty.”
“You should see the other guy.”
“Right. And why’d you get in a brawl? Someone look at you wrong or something?”
Jotaro hums. “Something like that.”
—-
A few blocks away from the hotel on the fifth day in Paris, Kakyoin and Jotaro sit at a cozy restaurant for dinner. Kakyoin has his little notebook held out in front of him, tapping the pen against his cheek. Jotaro pokes lazily at the remains of his chicken dijon with his fork.
“Tomorrow is our actual day in France since the day after that will be spent packing and getting on the plane. I left tomorrow mostly blank though. I thought you might want to pick our final activities since I’ve chosen all the other ones. Got any ideas?” Kakyoin says.
“I dunno.”
“Oh, come on, surely you must have something you want to do. Anything. We could go sight-see somewhere you think is cool,” Kakyoin begins to list, “visit a museum, that kind of thing.”
Jotaro sighs. “I don’t know anything to do in Paris. Can’t you choose? Surprise me or something.”
“But we already did everything I wanted to do while we’re here,” Kakyoin says. Jotaro stares blankly. “Do you really have nothing you want to do?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. What do you like doing normally then? Like if you were at home, what do you enjoy in your free time?”
Read the most recent Shonen Jump, listen to music, play video games. “Nothing interesting.”
“You’re really unhelpful. Do you quite literally have anything you like?”
Jotaro shrugs and sets his fork down. “I like,” he starts, only to find that his mouth has gone dry. Heat pulses under his collar and his hands grow cold. “Um.” Star flickers tentatively at his side. It scans around for a threat causing his distress, and when it finds nothing, rests its hand on his shoulder with a concerned look. Jotaro tips his hat down, though he feels his fingers fumble at the rim. “I like fish, I guess,” he mutters.
He braces for laughter, to be mocked. He’s ready to snap back an insult, to shut Kakyoin down, to tell him that he doesn’t care about marine life.
“To the aquarium it is!” Kakyoin says and scribbles something down on the notebook. “There’s one really close, actually. It was one of the first aquariums ever opened, did you know that? I bet it’s gotta be good then.”
“Yeah,” Jotaro says as he glances down at his hands, clammy and wringed tight together. He hates the way he has to struggle to control his breath. “I bet.”
—-
The aquarium is lively. It seems like countless families had the same idea about going to look at fish, if the wandering children are anything to go off of. The kids are damn annoying when they get in his way, but the ones that stare up at the aquarium in awe are sort of cute, in a nostalgic kind of way.
It reminds Jotaro of when he was a kid, wide eyed and innocent, a hand pressed up on the glass as a zebra shark languidly glided by. That tank had been huge, big enough that he couldn’t see the other side, leaving an abyss of blue that seemed to stretch on for miles. He’d longed to reach out and hold it in his arms, to be suspended in that endless void, drift through the currents and allow the tide to carry him away.
Unfortunately, the closest thing young him could achieve was placing his palm against the tank and pretending that if he wished enough, that blue would envelop him.
Even now, seventeen and without his father standing a few feet behind him with a smile, Jotaro still holds that awe. He keeps it closer to his heart than he had then, but it stirs awake as he gazes at the tank before him.
Kakyoin nudges his arm and points to a corner of the aquarium. “That’s a zebra shark,” he says. “They’re nocturnal. You see how it’s kind of sitting on its fins? That’s how they sleep. Kujo, do you know why they’re called zebra sharks?”
“It’s ‘cause they have zebra-like patterns when they’re born, which turn speckled as they grow. Those patterns normally begin to fade once they get about fifty to ninety centimeters long. And they’re the only member of the Stegostomatidae family. They’re real docile, especially with divers, and sometimes they’ll even take food from human’s hands,” Jotaro says.
“Oh,” Kakyoin says, laughing lightly. “That was meant to be rhetorical. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much all at once, Kujo.” Jotaro kind of feels like dying. Or like he’s died. He takes a deep breath, steadies his voice, and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah. Sharks are. Neat,” Jotaro says. Damn his stutter and everything that is holy. “I went diving. For my fifthteenth birthday.”
His father had said he really wanted to be there, but just couldn’t make it. Something about a big concert coming up, one he wouldn’t be able to miss. He ended up renting Jotaro, Jiji, and mom diving gear and an instructor for the day as an apology. Jotaro had waved him off, told him it was alright and not to worry about it, but he bit his tongue as he said it.
“There were zebra sharks there.”
Off the Eastern Japanese coast, freshly fifteen year old Jotaro had strapped on his scuba gear. The rock of waves had lulled the bitter image of his father, at least for long enough for wonder to overtake it. A laugh spilled past his lips as he gazed out at the endless rolling ocean, just like that huge tank all those years ago, but so much bigger, so much more real.
He tipped himself backwards off the boat as the instructor said and splashed into that great blue. Everything had gone quiet. But wasn’t that artificial quiet that Star Platinum creates, all the life sucked out and ringing it dry of color, leaving the world a still husk with only himself to blame, no.
The silence of the ocean was alive.
Pressure filled up his ears and hummed with inaudible whale song and the whirling of the tides, teeming with the pulse of life. That blue, so vast and great, surrounded him at every side, and for once, he felt at peace.
A blur of motion caught his eye. It was too smooth to be the movements of his family, drifting and tentative.
“They’re really friendly, you know. One even approached me all on its own.”
Spotted and sleek, the zebra shark swam up to him. If it weren’t for the oxygen tank hooked up to his mouth, he would’ve been laughing in awe. The best he could do is grin and outstretched his palm.
“And they have smooth skin too. It’s this weird mix of rough and soft. It’s part of what allows them to cut through water so easily, along with their fins.”
Its nose brushed his fingers hesitantly, then it pressed fully into his hand. Jotaro’s cheeks strained from how hard he was smiling. He grazed the top of its head before running his hand over its top fin, the pad of his thumb gliding across the base. He hadn’t ever thought he was capable of being gentle until it came to him naturally.
“It swam away after a little while, but they’re, um, really interesting to interact with,” Jotaro says, prying himself out of the memory. Obnoxiously, his face beats with heat, a fear that he hates to confront being thrown on full display, and vulnerability claws at his chest. He glances away from the tank to look at Kakyoin.
He appears to be in some sort of astonishment, but manages to pull himself together. “Scuba diving sounds amazing,” Kakyoin says, eyes starry. “Seeing such creatures up close like that… I’d love to do it someday.”
Jotaro huffs in lieu of a reply. Kakyoin seems like he hung onto every word of his story, and the more he thinks about that, the more he despises it, so he turns on his heel. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Let’s go… look at something else.” He pauses, then tacks on, “Dumbass.”
Really, he’s the definition of eloquence.
Kakyoin rushes ahead of him. “Alright, so all we have left is the starfish exhibit-”
“Sea star.”
“-huh?”
Jotaro coughs, turns away. “They’re called sea stars. They aren’t actually fish, they’re echinoderms, which are the same category sea cucumbers and urchins fall into.”
“You weren’t kidding about liking fish, Kujo,” Kakyoin says. A Cheshire Cat grin spreads across his face, and Jotaro feels an overwhelming dread overcome him. “Who would’ve thought that under all that delinquent act, you were just a huge nerd?”
“I am not a damn nerd,” Jotaro defends, lowering his tone. “I just think that marine life is… cool. If anything, you’re the nerd, with all your facts and stuff-”
“Dude. I never said it was a bad thing. It isn’t, it’s good you have something you're passionate about.”
Jotaro… doesn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, he doesn’t. He crosses his arms and walks away, over to the sea star exhibit, Kakyoin’s footsteps hot on his heels.
—-
“Hey Kujo, look at this one!” Kakyoin says as he holds a somewhat deformed orca stuffed animal in his hands. It seems like Jotaro has once again been dragged to a dreaded gift shop, forced to stare at tourist traps while Kakyoin picks through every item in the damn store. “It’s cute, don’t you think.”
Jotaro squints. “Its eye is lopsided and its patterns don’t even match up.”
“It gives it character.”
“There’s literally a whole shelf of perfectly good ones right there,” Jotaro says, motioning to the array of black and white plushies, all of which are consistent in shape. “Why that one?”
“He’s got personality to him and I love it,” Kakyoin says and glares. “If you're going to disrespect individuality, then leave.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last twenty minutes. You’re the one forcing me to hold all your sh*t for you,” Jotaro glares right back, glancing down to the armful of slightly disfigured stuffed animals.
“You’re just upset that a piece of fabric and stuffing has more charm than you ever will. I mean, I offered to get you one!”
Jotaro stops himself from hissing out another insult. Maybe getting a stuffed animal will be enough to shut Kakyoin up, and they’ll finally be able to go back to the hotel. Then, he’d be able to sleep and ignore all the embarrassment that happened today. That’d be nice.
He reaches out and grabs the first plush he can. “There,” he says, then raises an eyebrow. “Happy?” The poor stuffed animal squeezed between his grip is a bottlenose dolphin. It’s kind of scruffy, and he’s holding it tight enough that it’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out. Not the worst thing to have gotten.
“Yeah,” Kakyoin says, and then gasps. “Kujo, there’s mugs. Come look at the mugs with me.”
“Good grief. How the hell are you even going to fit all of this in your suitcase?”
“I’ll buy another one.”
“Good f*cking grief.”
“You act like this is a bad thing,” Kakyoin says as he races over to a shelf containing a disgusting amount of coffee mugs, all of which containing cartoon sea animals with some of the worst puns Jotaro’s ever been forced to hear. “The only thing I slay is my outfit,” Kakyoin reads as he holds up a cup with an orca whale in a dress on it. “I prefer fish over people, hey, this one’s perfect for you Kujo!”
“Kakyoin,” Jotaro says slowly. He prays he’s able to get through to him, for both their sakes. “This store is targeted towards children and middle-aged women.”
“And?”
“My f*cking mom used to take less time in these kind of gift shops, and, well, you met my mom. That speaks for itself.”
“You should bring her a souvegnier, then,” Kakyoin says, completely ignoring him as he continues to sift through the mug shelf. “She’ll love it.”
“The receptionist is glaring at us. She’s gonna kick us out.”
“We’ll leave after I look at the sweaters.”
“You already looked at the sweaters-” Jotaro starts to shout, then stops himself. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he doesn’t want any more attention than they already have, and sighs. Kakyoin adds a mug saying catch you on the flip side! with a dolphin doing a trick onto the ever growing pile of stuff in Jotaro’s arms. Suddenly, Kakyoin’s face looks more punchable than usual.
Jotaro is going to die in this damned gift shop.
