Chapter Text
“The customer you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please—“
“Good grief” Jotaro muttered, inhaling the last of his cigarette and then dropping it down on the ground. He agitatedly stomped on it with his shoe; grinding it back and forth into the ground for a good minute until the pavement was smeared with black ashes. He adjusted the grocery bag in his grip and continued on his way.
The two of you had been going out for almost a year now, so Jotaro knew pretty much everything there was to know about you. The same could be said for you about him.
So he knew something wasn’t right. Even when you were sick from school you still managed to give him a quick text or phone call.
It so wasn’t like you to just ignore his calls and not show up to school for days. Every day you had been absent, the more concerned he became until finally Jotaro had reached the final straw.
He pondered getting Kakyoin to use Hierophant Green to open your apartment door, but decided that this was strictly between the two of you.
It was no secret that you took antidepressants and got homesick from time to time; missing your home country and feeling alienated when your classmates joked about some Japanese reference you didn’t understand. Later on the rooftop during lunch you always asked Jotaro to explain them to you, and he couldn’t help but hear the sad note in your tone as you asked.
He hoped this wasn’t the case today.
The man had been so occupied thinking that he didn’t even realize he had already made it to your front door.
“I don’t want to involve Kakyoin” he muttered, lightly turning the knob to check that it was, indeed, locked.
So instead, he simply conjured Star Platinum. Jotaro watched as he extended his index and middle fingers, flattened them, and stuck them in between the small crack of the door. It took the Stand mere seconds to unlock the offending door and push it open for his user. He then disappeared into thin air.
Jotaro was met with darkness throughout the apartment. He cautiously stepped in and removed his shoes at the mat, placing the grocery bag down on the ground gently.
“(Y/N)?” He called softly, flipping on the lights and closing the door softly behind him. He was relieved that there was no sign of a struggle, but the darkness wasn’t a good sign.
He noticed a string of your clothes leading to the bathroom; immediately recognizing the light pink bra and matching thong that accompanied it (it was his favourite set). He also noticed the bathroom light illuminating the crack of the door and when he listened closely, a faint tune could be heard coming from that direction.
He immediately didn’t like the look of the situation.
Crossing the living room with his gargantuan legs was a simple task and it took him a mere second to reach the door.
Not wanting to startle you, he rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles and said softly, but loud enough for you to hear, “I’m coming in.”
He listened for a second, but heard no objections, so he entered.
It was as if his fears had come true. You were sitting in the tub stark naked and shivering, holding your right forearm out like you had contracted a flesh eating skin disease. Beside you on the ledge were various objects; including a small red speaker which was where the music was coming from, a can of opened pop, and (his heart jolted) a small silver razor blade. The water droplets around it were tinged a reddish orange.
He then took in your appearance, noting your matted, greasy hair and makeup that tracked down your face as if you had been crying recently.
You jolted in surprise at suddenly seeing your boyfriend. You hadn’t even heard him come in, never mind announce his presence. Ashamed, you covered your bloody inner forearm and looked away, expecting an angry remark or a good lecture. Fresh tears began to form in the corner of your eyes.
Jotaro said nothing.
You heard him rustling around so you turned to look.
He carefully shrugged his uniform jacket off and placed it neatly on the counter beside the sink. Then he turned his attention to you.
He got down on his knees and stuck a finger into the water. Bah, it was cold. So he pulled the plug and filled it with fresh, warm water; maintaining his stoic silence throughout the ordeal.
You wanted to say something; apologize or something, but your mouth refused to open; it felt like your whole mouth and your throat were covered in a sticky glue. The fear of rejection or a lecture was overriding all of your senses.
Jotaro took a loofah, massaged it with a bar of soap and gently took your forearm in his huge hands. He lightly washed the blood away from the offending wounds. It was amazing how someone so rough could be so gentle in that moment.
“Are you angry?” You finally whispered, feeling the tears fall from your face.
For a moment Jotaro was silent, intent on making sure the area was clean first before he spoke. “Of course not” he replied softly. And as if to solidify his answer, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead and resumed gently wiping your wounds clean.
When he was satisfied, he put your arm underwater and rinsed the soap away.
He then started with your hair, reaching for the jug and filling it with water from the bathtub and slowly pouring it over your head. You closed your eyes as he lathered your hair and massaged the wonderful smelling shampoo into your scalp. When your hair was nice and lathered and he was satisfied, he rinsed it clean.
“Stay here” he said, standing up. He held the button on the speaker until the music turned off and collected it. He also took the razor blade carefully between his thumb and forefinger and walked out; leaving the door ajar.
You continued to cry. The humiliation was too much for you; overriding your senses and making you blind with tears. You never wanted Jotaro to see you like this.
He came back with a pair of matching flannel pyjamas and proceeded to pull the plug and extend a hand to you. You took it, not minding your nakedness in his presence, and stepped out.
He even helped you dry off, lightly massaging the towel into your thighs and legs as you stood there awkwardly like a three year old.
When he was satisfied, he handed you the flannel pyjamas; watching you carefully as you buttoned up the front of the shirt and slipped on the bottoms.
“Come on. I brought ice cream from the store” he said, holding his huge hand out to you. Lips trembling, you took it gently and let him guide you out into the living room.
He guided you to the couch, then made for the kitchen; his socked feet barely making a sound against the floor as he went.
He came back with two spoons and the bag from the front door and sat down beside you. While you had chosen to sit with your legs up and slightly to the side, he sat straight with his feet on the floor.
“I even got you your favourite” he said, holding out a spoon to you. His voice was different from his usual harshness, you noted. It almost sounded like he was trying to keep his tone light and airy; as if you would break if he said anything too harsh.
You ignored the spoon in your face and instead climbed up into his lap; straddling him. Together you sat there for a moment with your head buried into his neck and soon your quiet sniffles turned into sobs.
“I-I’m s-sorry” you stuttered out, feeling like the lowest scum of the earth at that moment. You were humiliated and ashamed. Never would you imagine that he would see you like this.
He lifted your head off his shoulder to take a proper look at you and then wiped the tears flowing down your face. “Good grief, you’re a mess.”
This made the corner of your lips twitch.
He continued, his voice going a little gruff and hard with agitation, “Next time just call me, you fool”
“But—“ you tried.
“—You can handle me at my worst, so this is the least I can do.”