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1). 17
Jotaro Kujo doesn’t think he’s ever liked anything half as much as he likes Kakyoin’s smile.
It’s a goofy, inelegant thing. His mouth is just a little too wide, his lips a bit too thin, and his white teeth are ever so slightly crooked. It near splits his face in two when he laughs, and his eyes will crinkle at the edges as his brow furrows, his nose scrunching up in delight.
It’s brilliant as a fucking sun, and every time he sees it, Jotaro’s insides do something strange.
Sadly, it’s not something he gets to see very often. Their trip to Egypt isn’t a joy ride, after all; Dio’s minions are trying to kill them, and even if they manage to survive all the attacks, there’s still the main event to contemplate. It would have been nice to get to know Kakyoin before all of this, he often thinks; to get to see his smile outside of the handful of times on this trip where something has gone right.
Then again, Kakyoin had gone to another school before he tried to kill Jotaro, and they weren’t taking the same sorts of classes.
Maybe they’d never even have met.
It’s a weird thought, one Jotaro doesn’t care for.
Because now that he’s gotten to know Kakyoin, now that Kakyoin has gotten to know him, he doesn’t think he could ever deal with having to go back to their school alone, with the silence.
Kakyoin is… weird. He seems to know a little bit about everything, which is both endearing and disconcerting, and his hobbies range from pretty normal to completely esoteric. He has talked to Jotaro for hours about all the times he’s spent in arcades - which games are notorious for cheating and where you can exploit the bugs to get a super high score. They have discussed sumo wrestling at length, going over their favorites, and how they train in and out of the ring.
But he has also pointed out various rocks to Jotaro, pressed little tumbled stones he’s found into the palms of his hands, promising they’ll bring him good luck in battle, or good health. He has waxed poetic about the benefits of meditation and yoga and mindfulness. And on the nights that they’ve spent in the countryside, too far away from civilization for a hotel, infinite little pinpricks of light shining down on them from the heavens, he has drawn up all their star charts, asking Jotaro detailed questions about when and where he was born, and told Jotaro what his strengths and weaknesses are as an Aquarius.
(With a certain teasing glint in his eyes, he’d also explained that Aquarius and Leo were two of the most compatible signs of the Western Zodiac. He’d laughed as he said it.
Jotaro is still trying to figure out how he feels about that.)
A lot of the time, Jotaro doesn’t really know what to do with the information Kakyoin gives him. But he’s easy to listen to; something about his earnestness has always intrigued Jotaro rather than annoyed him, and as the trip wears on, he finds himself looking forward to whatever topic Kakyoin will bring up that day.
Today, it’s ice.
“Did you know the ancient Persians used to transport ice down from the mountains and store it in ice houses called yakhchal?” he asks Jotaro. He’s twisted around in the front seat of the car so that he can look Jotaro in the eye, ignoring whatever Polnareff is muttering under his breath in French.
“No,” Jotaro replies.
“Huh,” the old man offers, scratching his head. “How’d they keep it cold, though? Persia was in the middle of the desert!”
“It didn’t melt?” Jotaro asks.
“Well, I’m sure some of it was lost,” Kakyoin goes on, returning the full weight of his attention to Jotaro. “But they used a special kind of material called sarooj that was particularly good at keeping out heat, and the conical shape of the buildings funneled the warm air up and out through a small hole in the roof!”
“Huh,” Joseph says again, shrugging. He’s clearly not very interested, only humoring Kakyoin because he’s the only one who’d thought to bother entertaining them.
Kakyoin doesn’t seem too put about by that, though. He’s still looking at Jotaro, only seeming to care what he has to say about all of this.
“Did you know Persia is thought to have actually invented sorbet?” he asks, smirking.
It’s not a true smile, not the brilliant one Jotaro is pretty sure he’s the only one to have witnessed. But the way his lips curl up in slight derision, one eyebrow quirked in a little bit of challenge, is nice too.
“No, no, no,” Joseph says, shaking his head. “Sorbet is Italian, Kakyoin. You know - sorbetto.”
“That’s not quite true,” Kakyoin says, polite even as he’s correcting the old man. “Though stories were no doubt passed around by the Italian nobility of the Middles Ages about the invention of sorbet, to make them seem exotic and worldly. Most scholars believe its true origins were in Persia.”
“Kakyoin, son. My wife is Italian, you know.”
“Yes?”
“And I spent my youth in Venice.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard you mention that.”
The look Joseph gives him is the same one he often gives Jotaro, the one where he’s suggesting he knows so much more about, well, everything than they do. It’s fucking annoying, and Jotaro nearly shoves him in the shoulder, to get him to knock it off. But Kakyoin’s still looking at Jotaro, violet eyes gone steely, and Jotaro knows he’s not going down so easily.
“So I think I know a little bit more about these things than you do!” the old man says, laughing.
Jotaro can’t help but snort at this, and his grandfather eyes him. “You don’t even speak Italian,” he points out. “You just got lucky Grandma Suzie speaks English.”
Joseph splutters. “I most certainly can parlo italiano!”
“Say something then,” he challenges. When Joseph tries to weasel his way out of it by claiming he already has, he scowls and adds, “Something else.”
“Oh, fine!” the old man cries, throwing his hands up in the air. “Let’s see here… Latte! Caramelle! Salami! Io ho bisogno del bagno!”
“...those are all foods.”
“They were not - that last one was a full sentence! And besides,” Joseph protests. “It still counts!”
“It does not.”
“It does too! Just trust your old man on this, Jotaro! I know a thing or two, you know!”
Jotaro considers. “No,” he says finally. “I believe Kakyoin.”
“What?” Joseph yelps, affecting a wounded look.
At the same time, Polnareff looks at him in the rearview mirror, a scandalized, “Quoi?” bursting from his lips. “Over your worldly, well-traveled grandfather?”
Jotaro rolls his eyes and looks out the window. “What are you, his cheerleader?”
That sets off another round of bickering, and Jotaro laments the peaceful afternoon they could have been having. The noise sets him on edge, makes him cranky, and when they finally get out of the car, somewhere about a hundred kilometers from the Pakistani border, he nearly bolts into the streets, barely hearing his grandfather telling him where to go to find the hotel.
He’ll get to it later, he’s sure. This town is small, and there are only so many places to stay.
He finds himself wandering the rest of the afternoon, walking around in circles until the tension bleeds from his shoulders, the scowl eases off his face. He’s left feeling tired, and his feet hurt; his school loafers aren’t exactly the best type of shoe for this. But evening is fast approaching, and that means sleep and peace and quiet, and so he sets off for the hotel.
He stops by a street vendor a couple blocks away, selling cold treats out of a cart.
Jotaro thinks back on what Kakyoin had told him earlier in the day, the Persians and sorbet and yakhchals. It doesn’t look like this guy’s selling anything even remotely resembling ice cream. Everything’s pre-packaged, little frozen popsicles in a variety of shapes and colors.
Considering how hot it is outside, he thinks it’s close enough.
Jotaro buys two and slaps some money into the guy’s hand, hoping they won’t melt before he can find Kakyoin.
He’s in luck; Kakyoin is sitting just outside the hotel’s front entrance, sketching something during the last few minutes of daylight. His lip is tucked between his teeth as he works, brows drawn down into a look of concentration.
He looks up when Jotaro walks over, grinning as he sets aside his notebook.
“Hey, Jojo.”
Jotaro grunts.
“What’s that?”
Kakyoin’s noticed the popsicles in his grip, and is staring at them curiously. Without further ado, Jotaro hands one over, brusquely shoving it into Kakyoin’s hands.
“Here.”
Kakyoin opens the packaging, eyes lighting up when he realizes what he’s holding. “Oh, this is - thanks, Jotaro. It’s so hot out, a popsicle sounds nice. Where’d you find these?”
Jotaro makes a vague gesture behind him. “Over there.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I guess I walked into that one.”
His popsicle is red, and he eagerly sticks it in his mouth, lips widening around the icy treat.
That too makes Jotaro feel strange, though in a different way than usual. He isn’t sure what to make of it, and forces himself to look away, opening up his own popsicle to eat.
It’s blue, and tastes vaguely of berries.
After he’s eaten about half of it, Kakyoin laughs. “Jotaro, you -”
“What?”
“The popsicle,” Kakyoin replies, grinning into his hand. “It’s turning your lips blue.”
Jotaro scowls, not amused at how funny Kakyoin finds this. He chomps off one last bit of popsicle and then throws the rest in the garbage, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“You look like you’ve got hypothermia.”
“Yeah, well, you - yours are red.”
Kakyoin just giggles at this, completely unbothered. “My lips are always red, Jojo. But thanks for noticing.” Gathering up his things, he stands and moves a little closer to Jotaro. “Well, we should head inside. I think your grandfather mentioned something about dinner.”
The smile he gives Jotaro is ghastly, too wide lips pulled back to reveal teeth stained scarlet. It’s like something out of a horror movie, one of those slasher films Kakyoin likes so much. But it’s also warm and genuine and kind, and Jotaro is struck with the sudden, stupid desire to kiss him, to see if the popsicle he’s eaten was cherry or strawberry flavored.
The strange feeling from earlier makes more sense now, and he tugs on his hat to hide the blush he feels warming his face.
Kakyoin walks by him before he has a chance to do anything stupid though, his arm brushing up against Jotaro’s shoulder.
“Coming, Jojo?”
He’s stopped at the top of the stairs, looking back with his eyebrows raised.
Jotaro swallows and nods.
“Yeah. Coming.”
2). 18
Kakyoin is smiling.
Dio had nearly killed him, and he’s grinning from ear to ear.
It’s not always been the case; Jotaro has seen him make a lot of faces these past few weeks. A grimace, born of whatever pain he’s currently experiencing, whatever setback the doctors have told him. A scowl, when he’s frustrated with how slowly his body is healing. Sometimes, there’s not even an expression at all; then, Jotaro knows, he’s bored, tired of sitting around in a hospital room with nothing to do, tired of waiting.
These are all easy feelings for Jotaro to understand. He’s sure he’d be the same, in Kakyoin’s position. For even though he knows Kakyoin is grateful to be alive, to have survived Dio’s attack, there is still so much more for him to go through, and it’s -
Hard.
Sometimes, when they’re alone and quiet and Jotaro is drifting off to sleep, he’ll hear a sudden, sharp intake of breath, or a wet, rattling choke. He’ll look over then, to see if Kakyoin is alright, if something is wrong - he’ll look away just as fast, knowing Kakyoin doesn’t want Jotaro to see him cry. He never actually does, that Jotaro can remember; he's always able to push it down, at least until Jotaro is gone for the night, and he’s by himself again.
Jotaro wishes he didn’t do that. He doesn’t want Kakyoin to feel like he has to hide anything from him.
But today, Kakyoin is smiling.
Today, Kakyoin is getting discharged, and together, they are finally going home to Japan.
He beams at Jotaro as the nurses help him out of bed and get him situated on the crutches he’ll need to use until he regains full mobility in his legs. “Look, Jojo,” he preens, gesturing down at his too-thin body with a hand. “On my own two feet and everything.”
“How’s it feel?” Jotaro asks.
“Kinda weird,” Kakyoin admits, laughing.
He’s been bedridden for the better part of two months, after all. It’s only been the last week or so that the doctors have let him get up and move around, and even then, only with supervision. He’s noticeably shaky, even with the crutches, and Jotaro is glad he has Hierophant to keep him steady.
“But I have to start somewhere,” he continues. “At least I can still feel all my toes-”
He winces then, as something pulls, and Jotaro takes a cautious half-step forward, one hand already reaching up to help. But Kakyoin shakes his head, righting the offending muscle, and takes a deep breath.
“Are you alright, Kakyoin?” one of the nurses asks, noticing his stumble.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Be careful - and go easy on yourself.”
“Of course.”
“We’re going to go and get your discharge paperwork sorted out now, if you want to head downstairs. There should be a car waiting for you.”
“And the paperwork?”
“We’ll bring it out when you’re done.”
Kakyoin nods, and thanks each of them again for taking care of him. They smile and offer him their best wishes, cooing over him for being so brave and strong. All of it is true, Jotaro thinks. But he smirks knowingly when Kakyoin gags as soon as they’ve left the room.
“God, I’m so glad I can go home,” he admits. “They treat me like -” He shudders.
“You’re their little trooper,” Jotaro teases, unable to resist.
His voice is flat, the upward curve of his lips the only indication he’s joking. Someone who didn’t know him very well might not be able to tell if he was being serious.
Kakyoin, thankfully, does know him well.
He groans, and slowly begins to make his way to the door. “Shut up, Jotaro.”
Jotaro snorts as he grabs for the handle, pulling the door open so Kakyoin can walk through as quickly as possible. They have a plane to catch, and he knows Kakyoin is more than ready to leave this place.
Kakyoin stops at the threshold, straightening. “I should thank you, too.”
Jotaro blinks.
“For sticking around,” Kakyoin says, twisting over his shoulder to shoot Jotaro a soft smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He did, though. He’d needed to stay.
He’d called his mom, of course, and made sure she was alright, that her Stand had stopped trying to kill her, but -
Kakyoin had needed him, too. And he’d been a lot more banged up.
When he says as much, Kakyoin’s smile deepens. His gaze drifts across Jotaro’s face, searching, and Jotaro feels his cheeks heat. It’s as if Kakyoin is trying to find out some secret, something he’s kept hidden, and he swallows to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.
It would be the perfect time to tell Kakyoin the truth.
It would be the perfect time to tell him he thinks he might love him.
Naturally, Kakyoin chooses the very moment Jotaro opens his mouth to step outside the hospital room.
He doesn’t look back, and neither does Jotaro.
3). 21
Kakyoin is not smiling now.
Jotaro isn’t surprised. He isn’t smiling either.
Because he has just fucked everything up, ruined his entire fucking life, and that’s not really something you smile about.
“Jotaro.”
He flinches when Kakyoin lays a hand on his shoulder, the kindness something he doesn’t feel he deserves. Not when he’s hurt so many people with this, not when he’s been so fucking thoughtless.
But that only makes Kakyoin grip him tighter, and push a hand under his chin, forcing him to look up.
“It’s going to be okay.”
How could he say that?
He’s going to be a father.
A father.
He’s twenty-one years old, an immigrant in a strange, lively new country, and he lives in a five hundred square foot apartment. He’s subsisted on nothing but instant noodles and coffee and cigarettes for the past two months as he’s finished up his undergraduate thesis, he hasn’t done laundry in weeks, and he can’t remember the last time he ventured out of said apartment to go anywhere other than the library or the corner store.
He barely feels capable of keeping himself fed and watered and clothed sometimes.
And now he’s going to have to do that for a baby?
He was supposed to start graduate school in the fall. He was going to get his master’s, and then his doctorate, so he could do research on the topics that interested him, but now -
“I can’t,” he breathes. It comes out like a wheeze, dry and broken and rattling.
The girl he’d knocked up doesn’t want to marry him. She barely knows him, she’d said, doesn’t want to be tied to him just because they’d made a mistake.
Which, honestly, is pretty fair. Because Jotaro doesn’t really want to marry her.
But he’d asked, because that was what you were supposed to do when you fucked up like this.
He’s still a little ashamed at how relieved he was when she refused.
“You can,” Kakyoin insists. His hand has moved to palm Jotaro’s cheek, and though the gesture is familiar, intimate even, Jotaro doesn’t shy away from it.
Things between them have always been like this - since Egypt, at least. They are something more than friends, but less than lovers. The bonds they share are almost thicker than blood.
It’s not quite what Jotaro wants.
“How?” he rasps, unable to see this future Kakyoin thinks him capable of attaining.
“Well, what’s your custody arrangement going to look like?”
“We’re gonna - try to do it together. Until the kid’s old enough for dual custody.”
“Okay,” Kakyoin says, nodding. “So that’s two of you. A baby is a lot of work, but you’ll be able to rely on each other, at least. What about your mother?”
He blinks, confused.
“You don’t think she’d be willing to stay with you for a few months, help you all get settled?”
He hasn’t considered this - probably because he still hasn’t told his mother the news. But Kakyoin is right. Holly would come to America in a heartbeat if she knew Jotaro needed her, and his family definitely has the means. Nor, he admits, has she been subtle about the prospect of grandchildren. She’d be thrilled at the notion of helping with a new baby (his baby), he’s sure.
It’s… something. The vaguest bit of a plan.
It’s enough for Jotaro to take a deep breath, forcing down the fear that has been eating him alive since he found out. But Kakyoin hasn’t finished yet, and as he opens his mouth to speak, Jotaro looks back at him, his thumb edging dangerously close to the curve of Jotaro’s mouth.
“And…” he drawls, “You have me.”
Jotaro’s eyes squeeze shut, unable to bear the gentleness in Kakyoin’s eyes. “No,” he says quickly. “You can’t -”
“What?” Kakyoin’s voice is sharp, his head tilted to the side. “Help my friend raise a child?”
Jotaro swallows. “You were going to go to New York.”
Kakyoin shrugs. “It can wait. I don’t think New York is going anywhere.”
“Kakyoin-”
“You repeated those last few months of high school with me, even when you didn’t have to. You stayed behind in Egypt until I was ready to go home. How is this any different?”
Because Kakyoin has given so much of himself to Jotaro already.
Kakyoin has almost died for him, to reveal the secret of Dio’s Stand.
All Jotaro has to offer in return is his love - and even that, he can’t truly give, because he’s never been able to find a way to say it. Even now, when he’s reminded of how very much he adores the man sitting in front of him, how much he values him, how much he needs him, he can’t say it. He always chokes, right at the last minute, desperately hoping somehow that Kakyoin would just know-
But that’s unfair of him.
Just like it would be unfair of him to ask Kakyoin to help him raise this baby.
His eyes drift open, and he feels a little like crying.
It must show on his face, for Kakyoin pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to him, finally taking his palm away from Jotaro’s cheek to give him time to blow his nose. He waits only as long as it takes for Jotaro to clean himself up and then he’s back, gently pressing at Jotaro’s eyes, wiping away the tears that have yet to fall, and putting an arm around his shoulders.
“You’ll figure it out,” he insists. Then, smiling, he adds, “We’ll figure it out.”
Jotaro does cry then, though he does his best to keep it contained.
Kakyoin’s smile never falters.
4). 25
“Daddy! Look at Nori!”
Jotaro looks up from his work, and almost chokes at the sight before him.
Kakyoin’s lips (and, to be fair, the areas surrounding his mouth) are painted a terrible orange-red color that clashes with his complexion. Lipstick, most likely, something Jolyne’s borrowed from her mother - something that would complement the warm, olive tones in her skin. On Kakyoin, still pale and freckly despite having lived in Florida for six years now, it’s garish.
“Isn’t he pretty?” Jolyne demands. She’s already reaching for a tube of what Jotaro thinks is mascara, which is probably a bad idea. Her fine motor skills aren’t quite perfect, and she’s as likely to stab him in the eye with the wand as she is to coat his eyelashes.
Kakyoin seems to have the same thought, for he quickly wrestles the tube out of her hand and gifts her a palette of pink and purple eyeshadows instead.
“Here, Jolyne,” he says, picking up a brush. “Why don’t you use these on my eyelids?”
Jolyne is easily distracted, grabbing onto Kakyoin’s suggestion and shooting him a wide, toothy grin. “Okay!”
Jotaro watches as his daughter cracks open the palette, cramming the brush into a violently pink pigment. She swirls it around, gathering up a good amount of powder, and then tells Kakyoin to close his eyes. He does, and she gets to work.
“Daddy, you didn’t answer me,” Jolyne points out, drawing big circles around Kakyoin’s eyes. Combined with the lipstick and his red hair, he’s beginning to resemble Ronald McDonald, and Jotaro struggles not to laugh.
“What did you ask?”
“Isn’t Nori pretty?”
“Yes, Jotaro,” Kakyoin says, shooting Jotaro a pointed look. “Aren’t I pretty? Don’t you like my makeup?”
“It’s… bright.”
Kakyoin puts a hand to his heart, frowning. “Jojo, I’m hurt.”
Jotaro snorts. “You’re no such thing.”
Though Jolyne is only four, she recognizes his tone, and the scowl she sends over her shoulder is solid, physical proof that she’s his child.
“Don’t be mean to Nori!”
“I’m not,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just-”
“You’re next!”
It sounds vaguely threatening, and Jotaro lays down his pencil. He doesn’t think he’s going to get any more work done this afternoon.
Jolyne uses a stick of eyeliner to draw a couple misshaped hearts above Kakyoin’s eyebrows, and then she spritzes him with a bottle of some kind of body spray. It makes him smell like a Bath and Body Works, and Jolyne is absolutely tickled with her creation.
Kakyoin is presented with a toy mirror to inspect his reflection as Jolyne waits for his critique.
“Oh, wow, Jolyne, this is - lovely. I, um, particularly like how you blended the hot pink with the lavender. It’s very avant garde.”
Jolyne beams at him.
“I have more makeup!” she announces suddenly, turning around and running from the room. “Mommy bought it for me! We can try it on you, Daddy! It’s blue!”
It’s only after Jolyne is a safe distance away that Kakyoin turns to Jotaro and winces. “I’ve looked better,” he admits.
“You’ve looked worse,” Jotaro shoots back.
That startles a laugh out of Kakyoin, and he smiles at Jotaro, delighted. “Asshole.”
Yes, well.
He’s never claimed to be a nice guy.
“You’re next,” Kakyoin says, patting the chair next to him. “Come on over.”
Jotaro complies, making sure to set his hat aside before he settles in beside his friend. He doesn’t want it to become a casualty of Jolyne’s first foray into cosmetics.
Without the band keeping it in place, several curls of hair spring forward, and he irritably pushes them back. Beside him, Kakyoin laughs.
“You know, you could always cut it shorter,” he muses. “Then it wouldn’t curl so much.”
It’s not like Jotaro hasn’t considered it. But between Jolyne and his classes and everything else, he barely has time to shave some mornings, let alone visit a barber, and he’s never really cared for people touching him like that.
“Don’t have time,” he says.
Kakyoin considers this. Then, tentatively, he says, “I could do it, if you want.”
Jotaro frowns. “You’ve cut hair?”
Kakyoin nods. A moment later, cheeks tinged pink, he adds, “Well, I’ve cut mine. It’s easier than trying to explain to stylists what I want, anyways.”
He’s let his hair grow out some since Egypt; it’s all one-length now, falling in gentle waves to his shoulders, though he still has that one curling forelock that falls into his eyes.
It suits him, Jotaro thinks. It’s pretty.
And if Kakyoin has made himself look this nice, this lovely, well -
“Yeah, okay,” he says.
Kakyoin blinks in surprise. “What, really? I…”
Jotaro lifts a brow. “Backing out already?”
“No, I just - I didn’t think you’d agree.” He swallows, looking almost nervous as he asks, “What do you want me to do to it?”
Jotaro shrugs. “Buzz it off,” he replied.
“What?” Kakyoin sounds almost scandalized. “Jotaro, no. That’s -”
“You were the one who said I should cut it.”
“Yes, but I mean you should trim it, not that you should shear yourself like a sheep.”
“What’s it matter? Not like it won’t grow back.”
“I… I suppose it doesn’t.” Kakyoin offers him a small smile. “Maybe I’m just being selfish.”
Jotaro shoots him a quizzical look, and he laughs, sheepish.
“I like your hair, Jotaro.”
The way he says it makes it sound like he’s saying something else, and Jotaro swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, tongue thick.
“Yeah?”
Eloquence has never been his strong point.
Kakyoin grins at him, reaching a hand out and ruffling his unruly curls, his fingers snagging in the strands. “Yes, Jojo. It’s pretty.”
“You-”
“Nori, why are you playing with Daddy’s hair?”
Jolyne’s emergence from her bedroom startles the both of them, and Kakyoin yanks his hand away. “Ah, I was just fixing it, Jolyne,” he explains. “Your dad has terrible hat hair.”
“Oh.” She giggles. “Now it’s poofy.”
Sure enough, Kakyoin has mussed his hair into a staticky mess, and Kakyoin and Jolyne both laugh as he attempts to tame it into submission. It takes him the better part of five minutes, Jolyne rushing over to “help”, and by the time it’s finally laying flat against his head, Jotaro is too exhausted to resist as his daughter starts applying bright blue-green eyeshadow to his face.
The smile Kakyoin sends him is knowing.
“What are you smirking at?” Jotaro demands, scowling.
Jolyne irritably taps his face. “No faces, Daddy! Keep still!”
He huffs out a breath and relaxes, even as he waits for Kakyoin’s answer.
“Just you, Jotaro.”
He hopes the foundation Jolyne slathers on his cheeks hides his blush.
5). 28.1
“How long will you be gone?” Kakyoin asks.
Jotaro sighs, still staring up at the ceiling. “Dunno,” he admits.
He really, really hates the old man for this.
Cheating on his grandmother is one thing; to be honest, he’s not really sure it’s even cheating. The old man and Grandma Suzie have always been… open about their relationship, and the dynamics they’ve spoken about seem to indicate things between them are fairly fluid. But for him to hook up with a college kid young enough to be his grandchild? To knock up that college kid, and not take any responsibility for it until now?
Jesus.
If he’s being fair, it’s not like Joseph knew about this Josuke kid until recently. His mother hadn’t asked for anything; she’d never even tried to contact Joseph with the news. But seeing as how Joseph is now eighty and barely able to remember to eat his prunes in the morning, what had started off as his grandfather’s indiscretion has become Jotaro’s problem.
And Jotaro has enough problems as it is.
“A couple weeks, maybe.”
“Mmm.” Kakyoin finally steps into the room, handing Jotaro a cup of tea before curling up onto the couch. “More like a couple months.”
Jotaro winces, from the tea scalding his lips as much as the fact that Kakyoin’s probably right. Nothing is ever quick and painless where the Joestar family is concerned.
“Well, Jolyne’s always welcome with me,” Kakyoin continues. “You know that. I’ll clean out the spare bedroom for her. If you can write out her schedule, I’ll add it to my calendar so I can make sure I don’t miss anything.”
Jotaro nods, again struck by how very lucky he is to have Kakyoin.
He never had gone on to New York, even after he’d finished up his degree and Jotaro had settled into grad school. Instead, he’d gotten a job at one of the local Miami art museums, and he taught a few painting classes on the side. Sometimes, Jotaro feels bad about that - he feels like he’s held Kakyoin back, like it’s his fault his friend never got to move to the city like he wanted. But Kakyoin always laughs it off, and says that Miami has grown on him, how he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Occasionally, Jotaro wonders if Kakyoin stays because of him. If maybe he is waiting for something, or if he knows something Jotaro doesn’t.
He’s never said anything, though.
And so Jotaro doesn’t either.
“Can I ask something?”
Jotaro tenses, knowing what Kakyoin’s going to ask before he says it.
“Where’s Elaine? Shouldn’t she be taking care of Jolyne while you’re gone?”
Elaine.. wasn’t a bad person. She’d given up a lot to have Jolyne as young as she did, and she’s been as good a co-parent as Jotaro could ask for. She loves Jolyne - fiercely, and completely, the way a parent should love their child.
It wasn’t wrong of her to get married to someone she actually liked, to want to start a family with the guy.
But the custody arrangements have gradually shifted towards Jotaro in more recent years, and Jolyne is young and doesn’t quite understand.
“Jolyne… didn’t want to stay with her,” he admits.
“No?”
“Elaine’s pregnant and there’s lots of… baby stuff going on,” he said. “She doesn’t like it.”
Kakyoin sends him a flat look. “Baby stuff.”
“Yeah. You know.” Jotaro waves a hand. “Putting cribs together. Baby showers. Cupcakes and shit.”
“Ah. Yes. Cupcakes and shit.”
“She… she wanted to stay with you. She likes you.”
Kakyoin’s face softens at that. “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” he says, pausing to take a sip of tea. When he looks up again, he’s smiling. “You’ve done a good job with her, you know.”
“We.”
“What?”
Jotaro glances over at his friend before looking away, down at the floor. “It’s your influence as much as mine,” he explains. “Couldn’t have done any of it without you.”
It’s the truth, but Kakyoin doesn’t look like he wants to accept it.
“Jotaro,” he says, “That’s not-”
“It is.” He forces himself to make eye contact, to meet Kakyoin’s wide-eyed stare second for second, even if it physically pains him to do so.
Kakyoin swallows, setting his tea aside. “You’re giving me too much credit. You’re her father, Jotaro, you’ve done the bulk of the work. I’ve just -”
“Helped.”
Kakyoin nods slowly. “Yes. Here and there.”
Jotaro frowns, because Kakyoin’s assessment is, frankly, bullshit. He loves Jolyne, as much as he would a child of his own. He’s been there for her more times than Jotaro can count.
He’s been there for Jotaro more times than he can count.
But he’s tired, and he still doesn’t really know how to convey how very much Kakyoin’s presence in his life has meant to him these past few years, not in so many words, and so he just nods in agreement.
“Here and there.”
Someday, he thinks, he’ll find the words.
He hopes it’s soon. He’s so damn tired of waiting.
The next morning, Kakyoin and Jolyne see him off at the airport.
Jolyne cries, of course, and hugs him tight, the starfish plushie he’d bought her at the gift shop clutched tight in her arms. He makes her promise to be good for Kakyoin, and to not make a mess at his house. In return, he agrees to bring back lots of pictures and souvenirs.
He doesn’t expect anything from Kakyoin though, so when his friend slips in close and wraps his arms around him, he stills, every muscle in his body freezing.
“Come back soon,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jotaro’s cheek.
This, Jotaro thinks, this is the moment, the part where he finally, finally tells Kakyoin the truth, tells him how very much he means to him, how much he loves him -
If not now, he wonders, when?
But they are already running late, because traffic was terrible and it took them way too long to find a spot to park, and already, the flight attendants are doing a last call for his non-stop to LAX, and Kakyoin is pushing him towards the plane, urging him to go, even as he laughs at the stricken look on Jotaro’s face.
The smile on his face is knowing.
+1). 28.2
Jotaro returns from Morioh three and a half months later.
Kakyoin is there to meet him, lounging against the side of his car in an out-of-the-way corner of the airport’s pick-up lot.
Jolyne, he sees, is not.
“She’s with Elaine,” Kakyoin explains, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. “Jolyne wanted one last week with her before the baby gets here.”
Jotaro nods, throwing his suitcase into the backseat.
Then, gathering the courage it’s taken him ten years to build, he takes Kakyoin’s face in his hands and kisses him.
Kakyoin practically melts into his touch, lips curling up into a smile Jotaro feels rather than sees as he presses back into him, arms reaching up to wrap around Jotaro’s neck. The low, pleased noise he makes when Jotaro deepens the kiss is stunning, and Jotaro hopes he gets to hear it every day for the rest of his life.
When they finally break apart, for air as much as because an airport parking lot is really not high on the list of great make-out spots, Kakyoin’s smile is absolutely breathtaking.
“Jotaro, I -”
“I love you.”
The noise Kakyoin makes is very wet, half laughter, half sob. “I know.”
He leans in again, licking into Jotaro’s mouth, and now it is Jotaro’s turn to melt, thinking he has never tasted anything quite so sweet as Kakyoin’s lips, or felt anything as good as the long, lean press of his body against his.
They are slower to part this time, inching closer and closer to public indecency.
Jotaro, for once, does not give a shit.
“What took you so long?” Kakyoin demands, leaning in to press another kiss to Jotaro’s lips, as if he couldn’t bear to stay away for long.
Jotaro snorts, and presses their foreheads together. “Dunno.”
“You - are such - an idiot.”
Kakyoin punctuates each burst of words with a kiss, the heat in his voice betraying his true feelings. He shivers when Jotaro’s hand comes down to cradle his neck, catching the other so he can tangle their fingers together.
“Yeah,” Jotaro agrees. “Maybe.”
“It’s alright, though,” Kakyoin allows.
He presses their joined hands to his face, and Jotaro physically aches at the tenderness of it all.
“I love you anyways.”
Jotaro had suspected - had hoped.
It’s good to hear, all the same.
Later, as they’re driving back to Jotaro’s house, hands lazily linked over the center console, Kakyoin’s thumb tracing patterns into his palm, Jotaro looks over and frowns.
“What took you so long?” he asks. “If you knew how I felt.”
Kakyoin laughs, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “There was a bet, you see.”
Jotaro blinks, uncomprehending.
“Polnareff said it would take you ten years to tell me you loved me,” he continues. “I said it would be twelve.” He sighs then. “I suppose I owe him money now. Thanks for that.”
Jotaro snorts, tugging at the brim of his cap, not at all surprised. “I can take it back,” he offers. “Wait ‘til we’re thirty.”
“Don’t you dare.”
This time, Jotaro is the one who’s smiling.