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Jotaro slumped against the battered steel walls of the steamer, shivering under a towel that felt like sandpaper and reeked of mildew, his stomach cramping as he fought the urge to vomit. (So much for getting his 'sea legs', he thought bitterly) His sodden clothes were glued to his skin, his hair was matted with blood, and worst of all, his nose was beginning to run. He wanted—no, craved a hot shower, but memories of that god-forsaken oil carrier kept him rooted to the floor. An enemy stand user who was also a goddamn orangutan and had a taste for young female flesh. What the fresh hell.
He hated this entire journey with every fiber of his being. He hated the hurt look on Grandpa Joseph's face when Jotaro didn't laugh at his lame jokes. He hated his father for playing free-form jazz in the Bellagio while his wife was struggling to breathe on her own. He hated his mother's knowing smile as she lay on her futon nodding along as the old man tell her everything would be okay. Drying saltwater was seeping into a thousand cuts on his arms and legs and he just wanted to go home.
The last time he had heard her voice, he was just stepping into the shower. He ignored her, as usual. Her words had been strained, barely above a whisper. Now he couldn't think of them without memories of his grandmother on his father's side flooding his brain: the odor of sickness lingering beneath the disinfectants, the snap of nitrile gloves, a woman looking far older than her 58 years gasping into an oxygen mask. Holly had quietly led him away as the nurse closed the curtains, a gentle hand on his small shoulders. The next time he saw Grandma Hatsuko, her photo was gazing down at him from a shrine, polished black hair tied in an elegant knot behind her head instead what was left it of spread out onto a threadbare pillow, her cheeks full and rosy instead of withered and sallow after years of radiation therapy. “It was the goddamn bombs that did it,” his father had muttered darkly.
Sadao Kujo knew what it was like to lose a parent. What would he have said to Jotaro if anyone had even bothered calling him? If Jotaro could remember the number to whatever hotel whose roof he was under instead of theirs. His whole body ached, but not the good kind of ache from an evening at the batting cage or slamming bodies into the wrestling mat. It was the 'I got the living shit beaten out of me and barely survived' kind. He blew a bedraggled strand of hair off his forehead, making a sound like a tiger pacing in a too-small cage.
Holly's voice echoed in his mind. 'Are you alright, Jotaro?' She had less than two months to live and she was worried about him. His mind tortured him with images of her feebly gripping the wall just outside their cavernous bathroom, face dripping with sweat, paralysis creeping into her lungs ever so slowly. He wasted his last chance to talk to her while she was awake rinsing shampoo out of his hair.
“Are you alright, Jotaro?” He looked up to see Kakyoin, who had materialized as if by magic less than a meter away from him. He had expected to see Joseph, perhaps Avdol, or maybe even that infuriatingly boisterous French tourist they had inexplicably become part of their entourage. But not Kakyoin, who buried his nose in a book and carefully maintain a two foot distance between himself and everyone else at all times, speaking only to play tour guide. The Joestar group had learned more about the symbolism of the Hong Kong orchid tree and how Tin Hau became the guardian deity of seafarers in the past few days than they had about Kakyoin himself.
“What's it matter to you?” Jotaro groused, not in the mood to pretend he found Kakyoin's quirks endearing. The other boy cringed ever so slightly. It was one of the most human expressions Jotaro had seen on that perpetually solemn face besides a tight smile that never reached his eyes. Kakyoin was pretty, maybe even beautiful, but in an aloof, poised fashion, graceful and mysterious without being attractive. It was hard to imagine him smiling and laughing.
Or crying.
“Let me at least get you a clean towel.” Kakyoin was now peering down at him with his hands on his knees. Jotaro wondered if he liked having the height advantage for once. “I'm sure Hierophant could find one in no time.”
“What's the point of a clean towel when the rest of me smells like dried seaweed.” He sounded petulant, like a sulking child instead of a man who had just punched a giant monster fish to death.
“Your wounds won't heal properly unless you rinse off all that salt water,” Kakyoin insisted, his diction oddly formal and stilted even in his native Japanese. It was as if he wasn't used to the back-and-forth of a regular conversation.
“I'm not gonna tell you again to back the hell off and mind your own business.” Kakyoin wilted under his glare, something so raw and hurt in his wide violet eyes that an awkward half-assed apology was on Jotaro's lips before he forced it down. He could make out the bruises on Kakyoin's jaw from when Star Platinum had brutally pummeled his stand into the ground.
“Kakyoin...wait a second.” He'd almost reached out to grab Kakyoin's sleeve but thought better of it. The other boy stopped halfway to the door but didn't turn around.
He was so tired of hurting people.
“I...” Jotaro never apologized. He didn't apologize the first time he screamed at his mother, even after he heard her crying softly in the rose garden. He didn't apologize to the shy first year he'd sent fleeing the art room in tears when he rejected her handmade Valentine's Day chocolate. He didn't apologize to Joseph when the old man had found the postcard he'd sent from New York last year crumpled up behind Jotaro's fish tank. Tears dried, bruises faded, awkward silences filled with patient smiles and obnoxiously hearty laughter.
He slammed his fist into that Noguchi kid's stupid swollen face again and again. Or maybe it was Nishikawa. He didn't give a shit. All he cared about was the shiver of pure satisfaction that ran up his spine when his new classmate spat out broken teeth and mumbled words that might have been apologies past his split lips. He jammed his knee into the other boy's gut with all his monstrous strength. One blow for every time he and his cronies had pelted Jotaro's beautifully maintained schoolboy cap with raw eggs and tripped him and called him a hafu.
“Jotaro, stop!” Holly's voice rang out, bewildered, appalled. He released his grip on the second year's school jacket, letting the body slide bonelessly into a pool of his own blood. Jotaro rounded on her, eyes blazing, towering over her even though he had just started middle school. She took a step back, hands clasped over her mouth, afraid of him, afraid for him.
“Why can't you mind your own business, you stupid fucking bitch?!”
“I'm sorry, alright? I know you're just trying to help.” Kakyoin faced him, one sculpted eyebrow raised. “It's just...well...”
'I swear if you make me say it out loud I'll feed you to the seagulls', he thought.
“You can't exactly go slaying vampires if you crack your head open passing out in a shower stall, huh.” Before Jotaro's brain could even register that something resembling a joke had come passed Kakyoin's lips, the other boy suddenly became very interested in the ceiling tiles.
“I can help you, if you want,” he said after several uncomfortable seconds in a voice so small Jotaro barely heard him.
“With...showering?” Jotaro said incredulously. “Do you make offers like that to every guy you've known for all of three days?”
“I could just stand outside to make sure you don't collapse. There would still be a curtain between you and me, if that makes you more comfortable. And I'm certainly keeping my clothes on.” Without waiting for Jotaro to reply, he started speaking very fast, as if he was afraid of losing his nerve.
“Look, I'm not oblivious to how, uh, unorthodox this situation is. But Mr. Joestar and Mr. Avdol are busy making arrangements for our safe passage into Singapore...and if you stay under that disgusting towel any longer you're going to grow mushrooms on your head,” Kakyoin finished with a hint of a smile.
“...Fine. Lead the goddamn way.” He reached out a hand, and Kakyoin took it.
After an embarrassing amount of effort, Jotaro staggered onto his throbbing feet. He half expected to send Kakyoin tumbling into his lap with one good tug, but to his surprise, Kakyoin gripped his hand with both of his smaller ones, planted his feet like an Olympic powerlifter, and heaved with every fiber of strength in his lanky body. He draped Jotaro's arm around his shoulders, and they were so close Jotaro realized that Kakyoin's head would fit neatly under his chin. He hadn't been this close to another human being since the day he met Kakyoin, when Holly had stood on tiptoes to press a goodbye kiss to his cheek.
With every step they took down the hall, the ship lurched sickeningly, knocking Jotaro off balance and pressing him further and further into Kakyoin; he leeched the heat from his slender body, felt the faint throb of his heart. Hair tickled his jaw, soft as a cat's. The burnished red-orange color couldn't have been anything other than natural, given how it matched his brows and long feathered lashes. When Kakyoin gracefully slid out from under Jotaro's arm as they reached the showers, he felt a strange sense of loss.
Kakyoin cocked his head, and metal scraping sounds came from just out of slight. A cheap metal folding chair arrived on a mass of twisting vines, glittering as if they were made of thousands of crushed emeralds. When Jotaro looked down, he could see the ribbon-like tendrils were coming from somewhere beneath Kakyoin's coat. He made a swirling motion with his index finger, and the chair was neatly deposited beneath the nearest shower head. “Thought you might need this,” was all Kakyoin said.
'All that just to move a fucking chair', Jotaro thought. He yanked the curtain closed and shimmied out of his t-shirt and pants, pausing at his boxer shorts. Kakyoin's faint outline could be seen through the curtain, looking as if he was leaning against the wall, facing away from him. It suddenly occurred to him that he was about to drop his used underwear in a pile at Kakyoin's feet.
“Staring at the tap isn't going to make the water any warmer.” Kakyoin muttered under his breath, only to visibly startle when Jotaro returned his jab with an indignant 'hmph'.
“Er, why don't you get me some clean clothes or something?” Jotaro griped.
“That would defeat the purpose of my staying close by in case you pass out. Hierophant can bring you whatever you need.” Kakyoin said, sounding like Jotaro's trigonometry teacher when he showed up without his homework. He didn't know why he had suddenly become so body-conscious. He was well aware of his attractive features. Hell, he wasn't even a virgin.
Fuck it.
Ice cold water blasted all over his body at once and he didn't know why he expected anything different. At least he was fully awake now. As the shower gradually heated up, he was further surprised when several bottles rolled under the shower curtain, along with a loofah and a comb.
“I take it these are yours?” He picked up a dark little bottle of shampoo with leaves and berries on it. Rosemary, citrus, and cedar, the label read. It smelled...nice.
“Didn't think you'd want to try your chances with whatever passes for soap around here,” Kakyoin said with a snicker, inches from his ear. “Is smelling like me really such a terrifying prospect?”
As the water became warmer and warmer, Jotaro shut his eyes and leaned back, breathing in the now scented steam, cloud-like foam and suds dripping from his abused muscles. The colorless mildewed walls and the flickering dull yellow light disappeared. Even the ceaseless undulation of the ocean turned to a tranquil roll. Back and forth, back and forth...
“Are you awake?”
Damn it.
“If you let the blood in your hair congeal any longer, you'll have to cut it out.”
He estimated each of his eyelids to weigh about two metric tons, but he somehow swam his way back to the waking world. “I just. Tired.”
“I know.”
Why was it so much easier to talk to Kakyoin when they were separated by a curtain? His eyes fluttering, he fumbled for the comb, working by touch. He somehow coaxed his numb fingers into working the knots out of his curls, causing blood to run in pink rivulets down his chest. Someone else's blood. Had he really killed two people, er, sentient beings in less than a day?
“Jotaro?” His chin was lolling on his shoulder, the comb dangling from one limb arm. When had he fallen asleep?
“Talk to me,” he slurred.
“About what?”
“Anything. Just keep me awake.”
“Have you ever heard of the SETI Institute? It's this new research organization that might be our best hope for finding existence of extraterrestrial life. They built this amazing radio telescope array that can detect electrical signals from deep space...”
“Jotaro.” A nudge.
“Jotaro.” Another nudge, more insistent this time.
“Jotaro!” A hand was shaking his shoulder. He was going to be late for school, he'd barely have time to eat breakfast if he didn't get out of bed...
“This isn't working. You're going to have to let me help you.” Since when did Mom's voice sound so deep?
“What? No, I...” His own voice sounded alien, as if it didn't belong in his throat.
“Jotaro, it's...it's alright. I'm not going to make fun of you. You got hurt saving all of our lives. The least I can do is stop you from falling out of a chair and breaking your nose.” Not even Star Platinum could have pried his eyelids open, though he didn't know if exhaustion or shame was keeping him from opening his eyes. “I want to at least get all this blood out of your hair if nothing else. Is that ok? You can hold the towel in your lap if you like.”
“Do what you want.” He heard the curtain roll back and braced himself. For what, he didn't know.
Gentle hands carded through his hair, each stroke of the comb butterfly light. He found himself leaning into every brush of those lightly calloused fingertips before he could stop himself. The tap shut off, but every so often, hot water poured slowly over his head, tilted back so the shampoo wouldn't run into his eyes. The woody, herbal smell of Kakyoin's vast array of bath products enveloped him, soothing his raw, abraded skin. Clean-smelling terrycloth caressed his back and shoulders, the soft touches working downward in a delicate patting motion, avoiding his cuts and bruises. He let out a groan of frustration when the hands withdrew. He hoped Kakyoin didn't hear, but how could he not when Jotaro was practically in his arms.
He'd been intimate with others before. He had explored all the secret places of another man's body, felt hard muscle crushed against his own, the rough scrape of body hair, their sweat mingling together as they caught their breath. But this was different. There was no heat pooling in his groin, no dizzying release that left him exhausted and drained, no frantic, almost primal need that drove his muscles like a piston. Just an aching tenderness that made his heart flutter.
“I brought you some clean clothes,” Kakyoin whispered. “But I have to take care of your wounds first.” As Jotaro's exhausted brain struggled to digest the words, he became aware of a cool touch on his left arm. Hierophant was pressing the edges of the largest laceration together. Kakyoin's long agile fingers flexed, and in the blink of an eye, the wound closed, bound together with tiny gossamer threads. Jotaro stared down at it in amazement.
“How-”
“Hierophant's been stitching up my cuts and scrapes since I was a child. There's just about nothing you can't do, is it?” He ran a single finger over one of his stand's snake-like appendages, smiling fondly. It shivered at his touch, and Jotaro thought he heard a faint, high-pitched trill, like the summer frogs in the lily pond back home.
Their eyes met for a moment, and Jotaro noticed for the first time Kakyoin was wearing make-up. His eyes were rimmed with dark brown, the lids dusted with soft grey. It reminded him of a sparrow's wing. He studied Kakyoin's lean, angular body, his awkwardly long legs, his too sharp elbows, his knobby knees. Nothing about him was inviting or sensual. Yet something stirred inside of him as he watched Kakyoin biting a glossy peach-colored lip in concentration. Not exactly lust, something he'd never felt before.
Once Kakyoin was done sewing him up like Frankenstein's monster, Jotaro had to somehow struggle into an old pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Kakyoin held him upright and even had to guide his legs through the holes. It should have been humiliating, having near-perfect stranger wrestle his stiff limbs into his own clothes as if he were a living doll, but Jotaro was too exhausted to care. With the help of Hierophant, Kakyoin maneuvered him on his feet, and they walked, arm in arm up the short flight of stairs to the cabin they would be sharing for tonight. Jotaro dimly registered that Kakyoin was asking him if he had any allergies, and then he looked down to find a glass and two little white pills Kakyion assured him were just Ibuprofen his hands. He swallowed them with a gulp of cool water and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Sometime in the night, Jotaro's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself staring at the sagging canvas above his head where he knew Kakyoin was sleeping.
“Kakyoin, are you awake?”
“No.” Alright, he deserved that. Swallowing a sarcastic retort, he tried again.
“Why did you...do all that? Three days ago, you tried to kill me, and now you're washing fish guts out of my hair. I hate to say it, but if the situations were reversed, I probably wouldn't do the same for you.” He ran a hand through his hair, softer than he ever remembered it. Maybe Kakyoin missed his calling as a hairdresser.
“I'm aware of that. But I probably wouldn't have pulled a mind-controlling parasite out of your head, either.” The canvas above him shifted slightly. After spending the entire evening trying to avoid eye contact, Jotaro now wished he could see Kakyoin's face. “But to answer to your question: it's really quite simple. You saved my life. More than that, you saved my soul. Getting soap suds on my uniform is a small price to pay for freedom.”
He remembered when Kakyoin had stepped blinking into the morning sunlight as they had left the sprawling Kujo estate, the first step of their long journey. As he reached out to catch a stray autumn leaf in his fingers, his austere and studious expression melted into a look of pure wonder Jotaro had never seen on a human face before or since. Three months of some demon digging into his skull, watching him at all times, controlling his every move. Jotaro thought he would go mad if he were in Kakyoin's shoes. The other boy had brushed his thumb over the rain-slick surface of the little red leaf almost reverently, as if he wanted to capture every detail in his mind. There was joy in his smile, as well as unfathomable sadness.
Jotaro leaned back and closed his eyes again. If he died tomorrow, he could rest knowing he'd at least done one good thing in his life.