Chapter Text
In one hand, held a zippo, and in the other lay a cigarette between two fingers. His thumb shifted down and unhinged the cap, a small yet powerful spark lit the wick of the lighter. It’s warmth spread toward the end of his cigarette, smoldering the paper and tobacco.
“Smoking in the locker room again Kujo?” sneered someone.
No reply.
“Typical.”
He listened in on the other men in the locker room. How they would jab at each other, smack each other around, and call each other names.
“Don’t be such a fag.”
That one was used often. It ignited a response within him that he didn’t want to confront. There was no point in confronting it. It wasn’t about him, so he had no reason to care. For that matter, it didn’t even apply to him in any sort of way.
Within his vicinity a few men were gathered within listening distance. They slung towels over their bare shoulders as they stepped in and out of their soaked sweat clothing to change into something more casual. It was after practice and few extracurricular activities ran this late after school. Unless some poor son of a bitch had the role of being president of said club.
“We need some posters and banners done for the homecoming game, someone needs to run up and go talk to the head of the art club.”
Another voice came in, “I don’t want to do it, what if he tries to hit on me or something? He's a fuckin' freak.”
And then a third, “Like hell I’m doing it, I’ve got shit to do.”
The men around him began to bicker and argue about who was going to go out of their way, and why they shouldn’t have to do it. The conversation he had been listening in on began to drown in his sea of thoughts. The words blended together, and sounded like unintelligible noise. That’s what it practically was anyways. He stared at the cold hard tile beneath his sneakers, fixating so deeply on one spot as he subconsciously inhaled the potent fumes of his cigarette. He had never met anyone who was gay, or who at least admitted it. He was unfamiliar with it, and didn’t know how to feel about it. Did it really matter if somebody was gay? It was definitely an alternative lifestyle. One that definitely didn’t suit him for that matter.
“Hey, Kujo! Why don’t you go talk to him. You don’t seem to have anything better to do while you sit there and-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Jotaro spat out, almost on instinct.
“Hey, hey, ease it up tiger. He doesn’t bite.” An amused laugh spurted from the jock, “but maybe you’ll be the one to find out if he does?”
Silence.
“I mean, you are co-captain of the football team. Daryl left already to go do his captain shit I guess. Makes sense for you to do it right?”
Jotaro rose from his seat on the bench in front of his locker, exhaling smoke harshly as a statement of reluctance.
“Posters and banners for the game, is that what we need?”
“Atta’ boy Jotaro! Yea, the president of the art club should be in the art room.” The other man began to snicker again, so full and proud of his shitty jokes, “if you’re not at practice tomorrow, we’ll know that he sucked you in and ate you up.”
Not wanting to engage in unnecessary conflict, Jotaro left without another word.
Where the fuck is the art room? He walked alongside the football field, heading toward the elevated path that led to a set of broad shallow stone stairs, leading to the back entrance of the school. The doors opened without restriction, allowing him into the building. Art room, art room, art room… It wasn’t required to take studio art as your art credit, just highly recommended and looked good on college applications. With that, it was given that he didn’t know where this damn room was. Stumbling through the halls of a school he’s attended for two full years, and now onto his third, he finally comes across a door decorated with decals of art brushes and paint splatters. He knocks before coming in, not wanting to intrude completely. The door--to much of his surprise--is unlocked, and opens for him.
Jotaro glances around the room, taking in the sight of the art room before him. In front of him are seven large wooden tables with stools. Adjacently and on the left, is a teachers workbench of sorts, where demonstrations of shading and inking techniques are displayed. Stippling, hatching, cross hatching, contour-mapping, scribbling? In the corner a teacher's desk, poorly organized with sketchbooks piled high for grading, and other crude work coming from the freshman.
There’s another room connected to this one, where Jotaro finds himself walking past the tables and through an archway where a door should have been. In this room, student work of all different mediums were displayed on the wall to his right. He noticed a particular piece, which showcased an oil painting that pictured an underwater scene with vibrant aquamarines, cerulean blues and other pigments of the same family. Within this painting it also contained sea life. Tursiops, Helicolenus dactylopterus, Enallopsammia rostrata… It was very well done and the marine life was immaculately drawn.
“Uhm… Do you need something?” A polite voice poked.
Jotaro turned around, only for his gaze to be directed a little more downwards to meet the eye contact of a starkingly different person in style, demeanor, aura, and quite literally everything.
“Uh-...” Ah, now he remembers why he hates having to interact with people he doesn’t know well.
Jotaro takes in the appearance of the other student. Dyed red hair, a much more narrow face compared to how square and broad his own is. A certain femininity was present on the masculine features of the other student, he was also significantly shorter, and wore patched up and ripped medium washed jeans, a loose white t-shirt tucked in, an oversized windbreaker thrown over, and chucks. The last detail Jotaro noticed were these little cherry-like things dangling from his ears. To Jotaro’s astonishment, the boy before him was actually relatively attractive. Not that as a man he would ever truly be attracted to him, he was just trying to think of it in a woman’s perspective. Or somebody who would be attracted to him, because he definitely wasn’t. He had no reason to be. It’s not wrong to understand that a person has attractive features. Although, isn’t attraction biased to everyone’s own tastes?
“Helloooo, did the lightbulb fizz out in there? C’mon-”
He was ripped out of his thought process when he remembered that he wasn’t looking at an art gallery, but a breathing living human.
“I’m the co-captain of the football team-” Jotaro spoke firmly and with a strong foot forward. “-and we’re looking to have some design or posters done to help promote the homecoming game coming up.”
“And you want the art club to help out with that?” At this point it felt like the other student was tip toeing on teasing him.
“Well, I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He watched as the art student contemplated his thoughts, carefully planning what to say next.
“So, what’s in it for us then? The art students?”
Jotaro stood there dumbfounded, staring at a little twinky redhead in front of him. He didn’t suspect it would be this hard to get some damn posters made.
“I-...”
Well… shit. This was not where he expected to be right now. He stood there like a big meathead, fumbling with his logic and what would be a decent exchange for their services.
A chuckle erupted from the boy in front of him.
Wait, what-?
“I’m fucking with you, don’t worry about it. The rest of your teammates are real scumbags. I don’t get to talk with one of them normally without being physically threatened. Especially your captain, he’s a real douchebag.”
‘Who the fuck is this art kid?’
“You know what you remind me of? One of those ‘Stretch Armstrong’ toys. Y’know, like the really muscular beefed out blonde guy, the little toy that you stretch his limbs into elastic limp noodles-”
‘Stretch Armstrong? For fucks sake, this kid is more weird than he is anything else.’ Although Jotaro did find the corner of his lip twitch into a minuscule smile. Maybe it was to humor himself of this situation. Jotaro found himself amused, “You’re one to talk, you look like a humanized caricature of Gumby, especially with that green windbreaker on.”
He heard a bellow of laughter, “At least Gumby’s cute and fun, instead of how barbaric and deformed that stretchy guy is.”
Is this really what he was doing right now? Comparing some weird art kid to Gumby? What was he even doing still here?
“So was that all? Just some promotional posters to hang around the school for the homecoming game?”
“Yea, that’s about it.”
Silence, once again.
God, Jotaro sucked at talking, it was always quiet with a thick and dense awkwardness that hung in the air. So, did he just walk out? Did he leave? He didn’t need to talk to this kid anymore right? So why is he standing here, not budging.
“Noriaki Kakyoin.”
“Huh?”
“That’s my name, big guy.” Hearing anyone else call him that would have irked him. Yet in this situation it felt oddly fitting. He actually didn’t mind.
“Jotaro Kujo.”
“You act as if not everyone at the school knows your name.” Kakyoin was being smug with him, “regardless, I appreciate the proper introduction. You’re much sweeter than your teammates.” There was a sense of sincerity in his statement. As if he was surprised that Jotaro wasn’t threatening to pummel him out if he didn’t oblige to help make the posters. Yet, Kakyoin’s statement stuck with him in a weird way. “I caught you staring at that ocean piece earlier on the wall. Are you fond of the water?”
“You could say that.”
As he remembers forcing his grandpa to take him to the aquarium every weekend, and to the beach to walk along the boardwalk and collect seashells that washed up onto the sand from the powerful tides.
“Yea, I finished that piece about two weeks ago. I worked a month on it. I’m not familiar with using oils. I’m much more of a watercolor type of student, or graphite and sketches.”
“It’s nice. I think you did a really good job.”
Jotaro’s art vocabulary was very limited. He desperately wanted to express the feelings it gave him and his appreciation, but he didn’t know how to make it come out. “It feels personal, and it just looks really nice. I like it.”
“Wow, that was so deep. I’m moved, Kujo. Really.” He smiled and jokingly pushed Jotaro’s arm. “I’m messing with you. I really appreciate that. Especially coming from somebody like you. I’m astonished that at least one of the jocks has the brain capacity to appreciate art.”
“Not fond of the football team I take it?” Jotaro relaxed a little more. “I don’t blame you. I get sick of their shit everyday. I’ll smoke myself to death before I ever join one of their dumbass conversations.”
There was more to it than just a simple deep disdain and grudge for the team. Kakyoin didn’t feel the need to tell the co-captain about the douchiness of his teammates and the bullshit they pulled.
A loud screech interrupted them, it came overhead from the speakers installed into the ceiling. “All students involved in after school extracurricular activities need to begin to head home. The school will be locking up in approximately ten minutes.”
“Well shit, there went my time to sit at an easel and paint the same shape over and over again for an hour.”
“I didn’t mean to take up your time like that...”
“It was amusing, Kujo. Don’t worry about it.”
Kakyoin turned to pack up his art supplies into a book bag of his. He shoved pencils and a sketchbook in. As he turned back around, expecting Jotaro to be gone, he was met with this big brooding figure once again. “You're just standing there. Are you waiting for me?”
Jotaro grabbed the brim of his hat and tipped it down, looking away awkwardly as an instinct. “I suppose so. It just seemed like the thing to do.”
“Well don’t force yourself to be too decent to me.” Kakyoin teased, slinging the book bag around his shoulder and walked right past Jotaro, almost as if he was implying that he would lead. He definitely walked like he had a certain confidence he didn’t like to emit when it came to interpersonal interaction. Jotaro followed behind, catching up with him as he turned off the art room lights, and exited the classroom.
“How do you get home?” Jotaro began to pry.
“I walk. It’s not close but it’s not far. I find ideas for some of my paintings when I do so.” He began to walk toward the parking lot at the far end of the school. “I’m assuming you drive?”
“Yea. I drive.” Jotaro offered a simple reply. "Uh. Do you need a ride or something?" Habitually, he stuck his hands into his pockets. He covered it up by looking for his keys, to make sure he had them and that they weren’t still in the locker room.
Kakyoin stared at him in confusion. Why would someone like him offer him a ride to his house? Was he going to jump him or something like that? It just didn't make sense. He squinted at the tall brooding man aside of him. "Are you sure about that?" To much of his disbelief, Jotaro nodded in affirmation.
"I'd appreciate that then." There was still a tense awkward feeling in the air. Two completely different people unsure of what to say to each other. Nor how to simply act around one another.
“So…” Kakyoin needed to fill the painful lack of talking. “What’s it like being a big athletic star at the school?”
“A pain in the ass.” An exhausted sigh heaved from Jotaro’s chest. “Can’t have a fucking minute without some bitch on my case.” It was difficult to get through the halls when there was a entourage of girls asking him dumb ass questions. Or someone from the announcements trying to get his attention.
“Sucks being popular doesn’t it?” Kakyoin’s voice was ladened with sarcasm.
He huffed in remark. “If you want to put it like that.”
They pushed through the doors that lead to the parking lot, stepping down a set of stairs that curbed the asphalt.
‘What does he drive?’ Kakyoin analyzed Jotaro’s character. Big, tall, brooding, and masculine. It was almost a slap to his own identity. Being able to wear whatever you wanted because your body was practically made for it. A twinge of envy radiated in his chest. Tapered jeans, Black, red and white jordans, A black tucked t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a black hat with a pin that he donned constantly. It was as if someone pulled a character out of “The Outsiders” and placed it right in front of him. Almost on queue, he watched as Jotaro lit up a cigarette.
He then saw how Jotaro took out his key fob and hit the unlock button. The bright lights of a beautiful black convertible muscle car glared at him from the adjacent lot they began walking toward. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Kakyoin nearly gasped while approaching the car.
“Huh?”
“You- You drive this thing?”
"It's not a thing, It's a 1969 Mustang Mach 1." Jotaro spat out, defending the credibility and name of his precious car.
Kakyoin came right up next to it and admired the spectacular vehicle in front of him. He began to whisper to himself, “Of course you do, what am I even talking about. Of course you drive something like this.” Kakyoin’s heart began to race with the adrenaline it filled him with.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, confused by Kakyoin's statement. He was left with a smirk in reply, as if he was supposed to know what something like that meant.
Jotaro proceeded to get into the driver's seat and put the key into the ignition. “Get in the car, I’ll leave your ass here.” He waited until Kakyoin got into the passenger seat and to shut the door until he put his foot on the break and started up the ignition. The car roared and came to life, forcing the V8 engine to go to work. It purred as he started to give it even the lightest amount of gas. “It gets loud.” Was the last thing he said before pulling out of the lot and getting onto the main road. Jotaro hit play on the cassette player installed into his car and it began to play some loud, brash, and heavy guitar accompanied by the crashing of drums and a powerful bass.
“Do you seriously still have a cassette player? I’d assume you’d try and install a CD player.”
“I like it this way.” He stated in his defense.
They approached a red light, sitting there and enjoying the feeling of the breeze on them from how open the car was. Kakyoin looked back over at Jotaro only to notice he now donned a pair of aviators, and removed his hat. “Jesus Christ…” This felt too surreal to be on the same wavelength as reality. “If you keep going down this street, you’ll eventually make a right at the corner store.”
“You know what, I actually expected you to be a much faster driver. Are you taking caution because I’m in the-”
The light turned green and everything changed from there. The engine roared loudly and fired up, and he watched as Jotaro gripped the wheel and hit the gas hard. There was a screech from the tires before he felt like he was being shot forward like a sling-shot.
“HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK-!” Kakyoin grabbed onto his seat and nearly started panicking. Pure unadulterated adrenaline shot through his entire system as he felt the car pick up speed quicker and quicker. It was to a point that he could barely get a glimpse at the actual speed limit. The engine, the sound of the wind, and loud thrash metal were the only things he could hear at this point. Eventually the car began to halt and came to a slow, the engine settling down as they came back down to what he assumed was 45. He looked over at Jotaro who looked like he had been driving 30 miles per hour this entire time. Deadpanned. Zero expression. It looked like a breeze to him.
“You could have fucking KILLED ME! Sweet fucking Jesus!”
“I don't know, you seem pretty alive to me.” There was a sense of underlying smugness to Jotaro’s words.
“I fucking hope so.” Kakyoin began to take in the scenery and the feeling of being in a convertible with such a deadly engine. He held his hand out into the wind and leaned his head over the edge of the door. The wind tangled and tousled his hair, sending it all over his face in all sorts of different directions. “I can’t believe you drive this everyday!” Kakyoin had to shout over the wind and the music. He didn’t pay much attention to Jotaro, but what he missed was the gentle tug of a smile on the corner of his lip, enjoying Kakyoin’s reactions.
After not much longer, they reached the neighborhood that he lived in, pulling through the corners and streets to eventually reach his house. It was actually a little disappointing to have to leave so early. “Thank you for the ride. I actually appreciate it a lot. That was a lot of fun.” Kakyoin smiled at Jotaro, grabbing his bag and opening the door of the car.
“Just let me know if you need one again.”
“Not if you’re going to drive like that again I won’t.”
Jotaro huffed in amusement, “Suit yourself.”
Kakyoin stepped out and shut the door of the car, heading up his driveway only to turn around half way and wave goodbye. “Thank you again!”
he watched as Jotaro gave a small wave of his hand before stepping on the gas and speeding off down the street.
His chest heaved as he watched the car go off. ‘What the hell was that?’ Kakyoin unlocked his front door and entered his home, slipping his shoes off once getting in.
“Mom! I’m home!”
A wave of the smell of his mother’s cooking hit him and he felt right where he should have been. Maybe a little too soon. Regardless, he made his way to his room. Upon entering he shut the door and set his stuff down. The first thing he did was lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and attempting to process the events that occurred only mere minutes ago. ‘Why did he give me a ride?’ Was Jotaro planning something against him? Was he really better than the other football players, or was he going to be a cold asshole to him tomorrow? Not that it would have surprised him or mattered all that much. It just didn't occur to him as to why the co-captain of the football team would be a decent human being to him.
Without realizing it, he felt a cool touch to his arm. Looking up he was met with a familiar green and silver figure in front of him. Hierophant Green. “Hey buddy, are you doing okay?” Well, odd question to ask your stand as they were a fixation and presentation of your soul... There was still characterization to Hierophant regardless.
He watched as his stand nodded, sitting in front of him on the bed. “Is that all you wanted? A little attention?” He chuckled to himself and patted Hierophant’s head who accepted it graciously. “Did you… Feel something? Around that guy?” There was a strange energy that emitted from Jotaro. Not in the way that he exuded the aura of a gigantic monster made of muscle, but in the way that there was a wavelength that hit into his own. He watched as his stand nodded it’s head, confirming his own suspicions.
“Maybe he’s a stand user…”