Chapter Text
The scratch of a sudsy sponge against a plate crusted with sauce crackles in Kakyoin’s ears. He grimaces, a shudder of disgust running through his shoulders, before remembering he’s supposed to be listening to whatever Joseph is saying to him on the other side of the phone.
Lightly rolling his shoulder in a vain attempt to adjust the hold of the house phone that’s pinned to his ear, Kakyoin scowls at the plate in his hands. Seriously, his roommate is such a slob…
Couldn’t he have at least rinsed this thing when he was done? Kakyoin sourly questions, wrinkling his nose. He scrubs the plate a little harder, the flakes of sauce giving way under the sponge’s ministrations.
“-So, I already felt bad,” Joseph croaks into the phone, and Kakyoin blinks, remembering he was in a conversation.
“Right,” Kakyoin says absent-mindedly as he leans down to slide the clean-enough plate into the dishwasher. He hisses a sharp breath as his spine creaks in protest, warning tingles of pain spreading up from the small of his back.
He straightens slowly, wary of if jumping back up to a straight position would just make it hurt worse. No new flashes of pain emerge as he straightens, but the dull ache that’s always present remains.
Kakyoin sighs before turning back to the sink, eyes narrowing at the last remaining bowl sitting in the basin.
“He’s a good kid…I know that much. I really wish I had been there for him,” Joseph sighs into the phone. Kakyoin avoids rolling his eyes at the self-pity. Did Joseph really need to call him about this?
He feels a flash of guilt over the thought, though; of course he does. He can’t really talk to anyone else, after all; his wife certainly won’t hear his woes over his illegitimate son, Polnareff is off somewhere in the Mediterranean last Kakyoin heard, Avdol is entrenched in all the work that comes with being the head of the Speedwagon Foundation’s stand department, and Jotaro…
Kakyoin’s lip picks up into a snarl unrelated to the disgusting bowl he’s cleaning, this time the dish dirtied with dried ice cream -- or was it gelato? Kakyoin can’t remember which one his roommate prefers -- rather than sauce.
He sighs but gets to work. As much of a pain as it is, Kakyoin is the most available set of ears for Joseph to chat to in terms of workload and willingness…even if he’s a good chunk of the world away in Greece.
“Apparently he’s taken to the news of me being his dad fairly well,” Joseph says, his voice shining with something a little lighter in pitch than the soft, sad wheeze it had been.
“Oh?” Kakyoin questions just to be polite, gritting his teeth as the bowl slips from his soapy hands into the warm water of the sink.
Kakyoin avoids growling audibly and instead brings his arm to his face, clenching his teeth around the fabric of his sleeve and jerking the cloth up to keep it from getting soaked.
Kakyoin then sends the hand into the sudsy depths, eyes narrowing as he tries to find the bowl again.
“Yeah…” Joseph sighs, the sound surprisingly not pitiful. Kakyoin would almost call it proud, but Joseph doesn’t know his son enough to feel pride over him. “He’s really adaptable, it seems. But it makes sense; apparently, he has a stand too…”
Kakyoin blinks.
“Does he?” Kakyoin adjusts his hold on the phone with another roll of his shoulder, pinning it more comfortably to his ear, setting his elbows against the sink’s basin.
“Yeah,” Joseph’s croaky phone replies. “Calls him…Crazy Diamond, I think?”
Kakyoin hums. Crazy Diamond… “That’s a nice name for a stand. Do you know what it does?”
Joseph sighs. “I…I know I was told, but I…I don’t…” He trails off.
Kakyoin allows him the moment to try and dig through his memories, a small seed of concern planting itself in the soil of his chest the longer Joseph stays silent.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to-”
Joseph snaps his fingers, the phone just picking up the sound over the static of long-distance. “Oh! That’s right! He can fix anything. Just a touch and things revert to their original state – even people!”
Kakyion blinks, becoming conscious of the dull ache in his back again, the nerves rolling under wave after wave of discomfort. His fingers lose grip of the sponge, hands falling lax into the warm dishwater. “Must be nice,” Kakyoin murmurs.
Joseph hums. “Yeah…”
They both stay silent for a moment.
“Oh, sorry, I got off-track,” Joseph’s creaky voice comes through the phone. Kakyoin huffs out a breath quietly before reaching down into the depths of the warm, soapy dishwater to grab the sponge again.
“He’s a good kid, is what I mean,” Joseph backtracks. Kakyoin hums as he grabs hold of the bowl again, gently fishing it out of the sink, water sloshing as he pulls it out. Kakyoin blinks at it; it seems the soak in the water did it well, as most of the ice cream stains are gone, now.
Swiping around the rim of the bowl with the dripping sponge, Kakyoin tunes back into Joseph’s venting.
“Basically, I already felt bad about not being there…but now his grandfather is dead too. His funeral was yesterday…or what it the day before? Japan is pretty far ahead of New York’s time zone…” Joseph rambles in a soft, breathy tone that comes out creaky from a throat worn out after a lifetime of use.
Kakyoin’s brow furrows, absent-mindedly setting the bowl on the counter rather than risk bending to put it in the dishwasher again.
“Poor kid…” Kakyoin murmurs, bracing his elbows against the brim of the sink again before leaning his weight on them. “That’s a lot of changes in a short period of time. Didn’t he also just start his first year of high school?”
Joseph sighs, a burst of static coming through the phone’s speakers. “Yeah. I feel so bad…he shouldn’t have gotten caught up in stand business…”
Kakyoin blinks, fingers curling against his palms. “Wait, what? What stand business?”
Joseph sighs again. “Well, when the news about Josuke came out, I used Hermit Purple to get a spirit photo, if just to check in on him…but I saw- I saw…something concerning.”
Kakyoin huffs out a breath; he already knew this part, but… “Okay…”
“So, that was part of why I sent Jotaro to Morioh to meet Josuke in my stead…he was also sent to take care of any trouble.”
Anger is a strange emotion. It usually burns, usually starts from the stomach as a glorious wildfire before using one’s blood as a trail of gasoline; but this time, Kakyoin feels it start as a slow, lukewarm infestation in his chest, spreading to his stomach, down to his legs, up to his arms. It moves along more with his breathing than his heart pumping. He shivers, teeth clenching.
“What does that have to do with Josuke’s grandfather dying?” He asks, getting an idea of where this was going, but needing confirmation anyway.
“Oh,” Joseph’s voice sounds so sad, so weak, the old, crinkled texture of his tone more pronounced, and it only makes something pop in Kakyoin’s stomach, makes the anger spread faster, up to his neck, rushing past his ears. “Well, I guess Hermit Purple gave me a warning rather than a picture of Josuke himself because Josuke’s family was…is in danger.”
Kakyoin inhales slowly. “Okay, right, and wasn’t…”
His face twists into a scowl, but he tries to reign in his temper at least audibly as he says, “Wasn’t…your grandson supposed to stop that?” His voice comes out flat.
Joseph hums before he sighs. “Yes, but I guess he wasn’t fast enough…when he called earlier, he said the stand user got the jump on Josuke-”
“And why wasn’t he there himself? Wasn’t that the whole point of sending him?” Kakyoin seethes into the phone, bordering on a growl.
“Kakyoin,” Joseph warns. Kakyoin huffs and says nothing, grinding his teeth together. “…But yes, it was. Though Jotaro was right outside when it happened. He wasn’t slacking…just…” Joseph lets out a long sigh, and Kakyoin almost feels bad for letting his anger blind him to his old friend’s grief. “Oh, my poor boy, Josuke…he really is a Joestar, unfortunately, huh?”
Kakyoin hums some sort of response, but static that has nothing to do with the poor connection of the phone is starting to fill Kakyoin’s ears.
His fists clench in the water of the sink, and Kakyoin angrily jerks a hand out to pull the plug on the water, staring at his soapy reflection as the water drains. He has bags under his eyes. His brows are furrowed, the shadows around his mouth rather pronounced with how deep his frown is.
“I feel so bad…I want more than anything to check on himself myself, but-” Joseph sighs, and he sounds his age, all 79 years packed into a single sound, “but…traveling is hard for me. I wouldn’t be able to get there for a few weeks…”
Kakyoin hums, sympathetic, leaning against the phone next to his ear. “I’m sorry, Mr. Joestar,” he says, voice soft despite the lukewarm anger in his veins slowly heating up, minute by minute, like a pot setting to boil.
Joseph hums. “…This is part of why I called you, tonight.”
Kakyoin nods. “Yeah, I can guess. It makes sense you’d want to talk about this kind of st-”
“It wasn’t just to talk,” Joseph interjects, voice firmer and so much more like the old man Kakyoin knew ten years ago that it makes Kakyoin almost freeze. “I…I have a favor I want to ask of you.”
Kakyoin pauses, ribbons of surprise dancing in his chest. “Oh. Yes, of course, what is it?”
“I trust my grandson,” Joseph starts, voice still firm, but cracks breaking it apart from the illusion of his younger self, “but I- I just- I worry. Jotaro is there to focus on stands now that he’s met Josuke in my stead. So I…”
Joseph sighs and Kakyoin hums in encouragement.
“I know…I know you’re planning on going for your doctorate soon,” Joseph says, and understanding slams into Kakyoin, briefly washing away traces of the anger that had climbed him from head to toe, “but I also know you haven’t actually started yet…and it would only be until the stand business is taken care of, which shouldn’t be too long, I don’t think. Just…I’m asking if can you go to Morioh and watch over Josuke?”
Kakyoin doesn’t respond for a moment, surprise still weaving around his heart, but honor at being trusted with something so important blooming in his stomach, the petals of it almost tickling him from the inside out.
“Kakyoin?” Joseph questions and Kakyoin takes a breath.
“Mr. Joestar…are you sure? Don’t get me wrong, I’d be honored you’d entrust your son to me, but-”
“I’m sure,” Joseph affirms, “You’re a capable young man, Kakyoin. And I remember how good you were with the baby on our trip!”
Kakyoin freezes then, flashes of Death 13 and the morning following his defeat zipping through his mind, and he has to bite his tongue to avoid chuckling in disbelief.
“So you’re not bad with kids either. I know…it’s a lot to ask, but-”
“I’ll do it,” Kakyoin interrupts, fingers flexing. “I’m honored that you’d ask me. And beyond that, your grandson clearly can’t manage to do his job right on his own. Your son also means a lot to you, even if you haven’t met him…so I’d just hate for something to happen to him before you do.”
Joseph is quiet for a moment. Kakyoin’s heart is beating, and he’s not sure if it’s out of apprehension or the return of the slowly, but surely, warming anger in his system at the mention of Jotaro.
“You’re sure?” Joseph asks, tone heightening in hope, and Kakyoin knows he couldn’t say no now.
He lets out a breath. “Yes, I’m sure. Your grandson doesn’t seem to prioritize Josuke’s safety, so I will.”
Joseph hums softly at that. “You two should really talk.”
Kakyoin barks out a sardonic laugh. “You should really give that lecture to him then.”
Joseph is silent for a beat, before saying, “Okay…if you’re sure you don’t mind. I just…want to ensure he’s safe, is all.”
Kakyoin breathes out slowly. “Of course I don’t mind. He sounds like a good kid.”
“He really does…” Joseph murmurs, before clearing his throat. “Alright. Thank you, Kakyoin. Let me know if you need anything while you’re over there, okay?”
Kakyoin laughs, the sound as plastic as the phone against his ear. “I will.”
“Okay…thank you, again Kakyoin. You’re always such a good listener, and now this?” Joseph says.
Kakyoin bites back any flash of guilt over the listener part – he’s let Joseph rant, of course, but he only has the peace of mind to actually listen only half the time at most – and says, “…It’s the least I can do.”
Joseph hums, his voice as creaky as an aged deck’s floorboards. “…I’ll call the Speedwagon Foundation, then.”
Kakyoin blinks. “Wh- huh? You don’t have to-”
“I want to,” Joseph says firmly. Kakyoin closes his mouth. “Besides, their sea fare is the quickest and more comfortable in the world. If you’re going to Japan on my behalf, it’s the least I can do.”
“…You don’t need to expend resources on something I’m already willing to do,” Kakyoin counters quietly.
Joseph chuckles. “Of course not. But the Speedwagon Foundation would be more comfortable with more of their people on the ground in Morioh anyway, and they also have a soft spot for me.”
Kakyoin can hear the wink in the last part of Joseph’s sentence, and it startles a laugh out of him. “Nepotism isn’t something to brag about, Mr. Joestar.”
“It’s not technically nepotism,” Joseph counters. “I was never a blood relative of Robert E. O. Speedwagon.”
Kakyoin snorts, leaning onto his elbows to give his feet a break, something his back murmurs about as he’s moving, before quieting down as he settles. “Okay, Mr. Joestar, whatever you say. Definitely not a point of interest that you have the definition of nepotism memorized.”
“ Anyway, ” Joseph huffs, and Kakyoin snickers again, something in his chest loosening. “I’ll call the Speedwagon Foundation. Great accommodations, you know? Just take it as a recommendation from an old man.”
Kakyoin stays quiet, chewing on his tongue.
“Avdol would funnel you cash once he finds out you’re headed there to help with the stand situation anyway,” Joseph comments, and Kakyoin exhales, “so it’s either now or later when you’d eventually get some SPW support. Might as well have a pleasant trip in that case, right?”
“…Fine,” Kakyoin grumbles.
“Great,” Joseph’s creaky voice says. He sounds smug; Kakyoin can just imagine the smirk on his face and the set of his sky-blue eyes. “I’ll call them once we’re done, then. They do work fast though, so you’ll probably be shipped out tomorrow…”
“That’s fine,” Kakyoin says, ignoring the ache in the shoulder that’s been holding the phone to his ear for a while now as it also strains to hold his weight. “It’s not like I’m doing anything here for myself anyway.”
Joseph hums. “Okay, then. Call me when you wake up and I’ll let you know where you need to be and when for pick up.”
Kakyoin huffs but nods before saying, “Yeah, okay.”
Silence settles between the connection as both Kakyoin and Joseph wait for - something. Kakyoin doesn’t know what, exactly.
“…Jotaro may be- surprised, to see you,” Joseph starts cautiously, and Kakyoin rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” He snorts sardonically.
“Ka-” Joseph starts, his voice sad, but Kakyoin interrupts him.
“So, it’s a good thing I’m there for you and not him then, huh?”
Joseph goes silent again. Kakyoin’s hand squeezes and releases from a fist once, twice, his fingernails digging into his palms, the muscles shaking with the pressure before relaxing, over and over.
Joseph finally sighs, the sound loud enough to lead to a burst of static. Kakyoin grimaces at the noise.
“Just…try and be nice,” Joseph says. Kakyoin chuckles once, twice, before erupting into a series of snickers. He can hear the disapproving expression Joseph must have on his face, but Kakyoin doesn’t care. Joseph certainly can’t judge him over anything, given current circumstances.
“If it helps you sleep at night, I doubt he’ll even come near me. So long as he leaves me alone, I’ll treat him with the same courtesy.” Kakyoin eventually manages to stop the snickers long enough to say, his voice colored in dry amusement.
Joseph sighs into the phone. Kakyoin feels a flair of anger, one vicious strand of white-hot stretching across his chest before it fades.
“I guess…that’ll have to do,” Joseph says. Kakyoin’s eyes narrow.
“In your own words, I’m there for your son, Joseph,” Kakyoin says lowly. “If anything gets in the way of that main objective, I have no problems moving them back out of it.”
Joseph is silent for another moment. Kakyoin focuses on keeping his breathing calm, conscious of the rise and fall of his chest. Unfortunately, making himself aware of his body brings forth a spike of pain in his back, and Kakyoin scowls.
“Okay,” Joseph finally gives in. “…Thank you again, Kakyoin.”
Kakyoin breathes out slowly. “It’s nothing. He’s your son, he’s a standuser, I’d get to go back to Japan…it’s not asking a lot, from me.”
“Kakyoin…” Joseph trails off, and Kakyoin feels a sense of fondness in-between the annoyance.
“I’m serious. You’re my friend. Friends do favors for one another,” he says.
“You’re a good kid, Noriaki.”
Kakyoin stills.
Neither of them says anything for a moment; the only sounds are the crackle of the phone connection, and the crickets Kakyoin can hear outside.
The silence stretches for only a beat before Kakyoin says, “I’ll call you when I wake up.”
“…Okay. Stay safe, Kakyoin.” Joseph’s voice crackles through the speakers again.
“You too,” Kakyoin says quietly. There’s a pause, but then there is the click indicative of the other line hanging up.
Kakyoin presses his lips into a thin line, eyes narrowing at the sink before he breathes out and hangs up himself, then places the phone onto the counter.
Kakyoin rolls his shoulders, his mouth creeping downward into a grimace when the motion makes the base of his spine ache, pain traveling in a sluggish wave. Kakyoin sighs before reaching over to grab the bowl he had placed onto the counter, pivoting to slide it into the dishwasher, too wary to simply twist his waist.
Kakyoin crouches to place the bowl into the tray, but his back protests like he had bent over anyway. Kakyoin grits his teeth as pain rushes from the spot, wailing softly into his ears, the cries ringing.
Kakyoin focuses instead on bringing the dishwasher door closed with him as he slowly stands back up again, his back crying out at every movement it’s forced to make.
Kakyoin just exhales through his nose, before clicking the dishwasher door into place.
Tapping at the controls, Kakyoin sets it to run a wash cycle, then turns back to the sink when the machinery kicks up, the synchronous sound of controlled water and soap washing over dishes overlaying Kakyoin’s ears. It makes it easier to ignore the cries of his back.
Kakyoin grabs a paper towel and dries his hands, before glancing at the trashcan in the corner of the room.
It’s only a few steps away.
Kakyoin takes one hesitant step, his walk slow like a deer creeping through uncertain territory. His back, while still hurting, doesn’t flare up in any particular pain. Kakyoin breathes out before taking another step.
As his heel connects with the worn tiled floor of the kitchen, sensation rockets up the back of his leg, getting caught in the tangled mess of nerves his lower back is now. His back cries in pain, fire seeming to spread across his waist, and Kakyoin sucks in a breath, eyes narrowing as he focuses on the trashcan.
Kakyoin tunes back into the dishwasher. The water is audibly being swirled around the dishes, sounding almost like rain, but with a trickle more similar to a stream. It’s cool in comparison to the fire of his back and Kakyoin clings to it.
Sighing, Kakyoin calls forth Hierophant, a tentacle appearing and gently wrapping around the rolled-up towel in Kakyoin’s hands. His stand’s skin is smooth with a waxy texture, and always cool to the touch; it’s another thing he clings to in addition to the audio of the dishwasher.
Watching as Hierophant tosses the rolled-up paper towel into the bin, Kakyoin can’t help the relief he feels when it goes in instead of bouncing off the rim. His face still sours at the notion, though. What a silly thing to be relieved about.
“Thanks,” He mutters, and Hierophant’s tentacle just waves before dissipating again.
Turning back to the sink, Kakyoin retreats the two steps to grab the phone again. His back grumbles with each thud of his foot against the floor, each adjustment between his hips, but Kakyoin refuses to dignify it with any attention. His back cries anyway.
Kakyoin buries his face in his hands and takes a long, long breath, his lungs stretching, the muscles tensing in appreciation. Kakyoin holds it for a moment just to keep the stretch going for longer, before he breathes out, the air getting caught in his cupped hands and warming his face.
Kakyoin stands there for a moment, very still, before he moves away from his hands and grabs the phone again.
Kakyoin drags his feet back over to the phone holder, glancing at the time the digital clock on it reads.
11 P.M…
Kakyoin exhales slowly. Time for his meds, as if his back wasn’t reminding him enough.
Shuffling to the transition of kitchen-to-hallway, Kakyoin grabs the crutches he left leaning against the wall.
Slotting his arms through the bracers haphazardly, Kakyoin hikes down the hall to the bathroom.
The metallic creaks of the crutches as they take and give Kakyoin’s weight is the only sound echoing in Kakyoin’s head other than the audible rush of blood throughout his system. His chest is cool in excitement – it’s been a while since he’s been to Japan – but his belly is stewing in something hotter, something that spills down to his legs and lets him ignore how tired they are. It’s confusing.
Kakyoin blinks as the door of the bathroom creaks while he shoulders past it. He shakes his head, his bangs brushing his forehead as he does. It almost tickles. He lifts one hand and flicks on the light, yellow overlaying his vision while he knocks the door closed with the end of one of his crutches.
Sighing, Kakyoin slips his arms out of the crutches and grips the bathroom counter. His hips are starting to hurt too, now. Great…
Gaze focused down on the gleaming silver of the sink, Kakyoin ignores the way his temples whine over staring at something so bright and shiny as he raises one hand to the bathroom cabinet, prying it open. He sees the flicker of movement in his peripheral, but he ignores the reflex to glance up at the mirror.
Pointedly directing his gaze to the cabinet, Kakyoin eyes the wall of medicine staring back at him. Everything from over-the-counter stomachache relievers to prescription painkillers Kakyoin could probably get arrested just for possessing if he had no medical reason for them all adorn the three thin shelves. Orange and white plastic bottles have been crammed together to make up for the lack of space, pill packets set on top of them.
Kakyoin sighs, braces one hand against the counter, and reaches up with the other. He’s leaning more over the sink onto his arm than he is on his legs. His bicep burns the slightest bit due to hefting most of his weight, but Kakyoin has come to enjoy the strain throughout the years.
Snatching his painkillers, Kakyoin hesitates for only a moment before placing the bottle down on the counter and reaching back up for a bottle of sleep aids.
Huffing, Kakyoin eases back on the arm he was bracing himself with and pops open the caps of the bottles. Snatching the sleep aid bottle first, Kakyoin shakes a couple of pills into his palm. Then, picking up the painkillers, Kakyoin pauses for a moment.
He shakes two pills into his hand but keeps the bottle tipped, considering.
Kakyoin stares at the reflection of the bathroom light glinting off the rim of the orange plastic. He stares at the small, oval-shaped pills in his hands. They’re smaller than his pinkie finger. His back twinges. Kakyoin’s eye twitches.
He shakes two more pills into his hand, thumb covering the instructions on the wrapper around the bottle.
Kakyoin quickly shoves his palm to his mouth, swallowing the pills down before he has time to backtrack.
Wincing at the feel of the pills sticking to his throat in their attempt to slide down without the aid of a drink, Kakyoin swallows repeatedly to help them along, putting the caps back on the pill bottles again.
Bracing one hand against the counter once more, Kakyoin shoves the bottles back into place in the cabinet. A couple of others fall from the harsh treatment, the shelves not wide enough to accommodate such force.
“For fuck’s sake,” Kakyoin mutters, jerkily snatching up the loose bottles before they roll off the counter – the absolute last thing he needs right now is to get onto his knees on a bathroom floor – and placing them back into the cabinet, motions gentler but seething.
Kakyoin shuts the cabinet door and collapses to his elbows on the bathroom counter, legs bent the slightest bit underneath him.
Kakyoin sighs, the sound coming out broken from the rocks of his throat before he blows a strand of hair away from his face.
He should brush his teeth, while he’s here.
Kakyoin glances up and catches his reflection. It’s much like the reflection he saw in the soapy water earlier; bags hang from his eyes like bats off a cave wall. His forehead shines just the slightest bit from sweat. His brows are furrowed. His hair makes him look like he’s on fire.
Kakyoin’s teeth clench and he hoists himself back onto his legs, letting out a heavy breath at the swift lift.
Ignoring how he can feel his face twisting into another scowl, Kakyoin snatches his crutches, slipping his arms into the bracers once more.
Kakyoin turns quickly from the mirror to the door, jerking out a hand to twist the knob with a turn of his wrist. The door opens, but Kakyoin’s hasty movements cause his crutch to bump into the door, closing it again.
“ Dammit-” Teeth bared in a full snarl now, Kakyoin retreats his hand, tightening his fist around the grip of his crutch with such force that his knuckles are white.
Hierophant’s tentacle appears at Kakyoin’s silent command, reaching out from him to twist around the doorknob instead, yanking it open.
Kakyoin nudges the door further with his foot before storming out into the hall, walking the few steps from the bathroom to his bedroom quietly, save for the soft creaks of his crutches. The sound echoes in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull, drilling into his brain, just like the fleshbud once did.
All the ice of excitement in Kakyoin’s blood is now melted into something warmer, something thicker, and it’s almost suffocating. Kakyoin feels like he’s breathing in sulfuric gas. Kakyoin feels like it’s coming from himself.
Once again using Hierophant to twist the knob, Kakyoin gently kicks open his door, the hinges creaking softly in protest as it swings inside the room. Kakyoin rushes himself inside and closes the door with the butt of one of his crutches.
He sighs, his lung slowly deflating with the exhale. It helps to make the wildfire in his veins feel a little less stifling.
Kakyoin rests his head back against the door, adjusting his weight to be held solely by his crutches rather than his legs.
He takes in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs if only to feel the stretch of the organ again. He is alive, and damn does it hurt.
Adjusting his weight to lean against the door and one crutch, Kakyoin lifts one arm and wipes the thin sheen on sweat on his forehead, sighing as he does so. Gross…
Kakyoin drops his arm, hand finding its place on the grip of his crutch again. It’s clammy with sweat. Kakyoin rolls his eyes before hoisting himself back up.
Letting out a sigh, Kakyoin walks the few steps to his bed, nudging aside a couple of articles of dirty clothes that didn’t make it to the hamper. He sits down on his bed gingerly, the springs creaking under his weight. His back does appreciate being able to sit fully down, at least. The painkillers might a factor in that though.
Kakyoin sighs. Whatever the case may be, he’s just glad the cries of it have shut up a little.
He glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Bright, neon green letters read back 11:23 P.M. Kakyoin sighs again.
He lays down on the bed, keeping his legs swung over the side. He stares at the plain white ceiling of his room. White like his painkillers. White like the hospitals he’s been in and out of for ten years.
Kakyoin closes his eyes.
He figures he’ll pack in the morning.
The small Speedwagon Foundation cruiser slows as it nears port, which makes the rocking of the waves against the vessel more noticeable. Kakyoin is sitting in the tiny cabin, the plush seats colored a soft, bright red. It contrasts against the dark wood of the deck nicely, in Kakyoin’s opinion.
The crew of the ship moves about outside to prepare for docking, calling to each other both to banter and to give orders and confirmations. Kakyoin can’t make out any specifics, though. Boats have never been his specialty, at least not the logistics of sailing one.
Kakyoin’s crutches lay on the long bench beside him – the only bench that’s able to squeeze into the cabin. It wraps around three of the four walls of the room, with a small table in the center. Kakyoin sits facing the door – theoretically, he could look out the windows to see the shore inch closer, but he stays staring at his undrunk cup of green tea.
It stopped steaming a while ago. It’s probably cold by now, Kakyoin figures. He still stares at it as if he’s considering drinking it any moment now.
His fingers flex and relax incrementally in his lap. Kakyoin isn’t sure if he’s tired or alarmed.
There’s a knock on the cabin door.
Kakyoin blinks before he pushes his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Uh- come in.”
The captain pushes through the door, nodding his head in polite greeting toward Kakyoin. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kakyoin. We’ve almost arrived in Morioh Port – it will only be another ten minutes or so until docking.”
Kakyoin nods. “Yes, thank you.”
The captain tips his hat and Kakyoin huffs out a chuckle. “It’s not a problem, Mr. Kakyoin. Anything for a friend of Mr. Joestar’s.”
Kakyoin hums, dropping his gaze back down to his tea.
“Good luck,” the captain says abruptly. Kakyoin looks up, eyes narrowing.
“Huh?”
The captain chuckles bashfully. “Just- good luck. Joestar business is usually…messy business. So, good luck.”
Kakyoin laughs, the sound ringing in the small quarters. “Ah, yes, I guess that’s true. Thanks.”
The captain tips his hat again. “Yeah. Some of the boys will help with your luggage once we doc-”
“Ah, that’s okay,” Kakyoin interrupts, voice a little too cheery. “I don’t have much, and what I do have, I can handle myself.”
The captain eyes him, and Kakyoin huffs before summoning Hierophant’s tentacles, stretching them over to the corner where Kakyoin shoved his duffle bag when he first boarded. Hierophant dutifully hoists the bag into the air and brings it over to sit on the opposite side of Kakyoin from his crutches.
The captain jumps as the bag seems to float all on its own to Kakyoin before he laughs bashfully. “Right! Standuser. Okay then, if you’re sure,”
Kakyoin nods.
The captain tips his hat one more time before leaving. Kakyoin rolls his eyes.
“Even if I wasn’t a standuser, I could handle one damn duffle bag…” Kakyoin grumbles under his breath. Hierophant pats his knee with a tentacle placatingly. Kakyoin retrieves the stand back into himself.
He sighs, leaning against the back of the bench, his head lightly thunking against the window behind him. Ten minutes, then. Ten minutes to figure out what to say…
When Kakyoin called him the next morning, Joseph had given him a rundown of the current situation in Morioh and a warning that the Speedwagon Foundation had told Jotaro another standuser was on the way.
“I don’t think they mentioned it was you, just that another pair of hands was coming in to help on my behalf,” Joseph had said, voice a little anxious. “So, Jotaro will be waiting for you when you dock.”
Joseph probably was worried that Kakyoin would blow up at that news – which he supposes he can’t blame the old man for. However, he didn’t throw a fit.
Truthfully, he just felt numb over the prospect of seeing Jotaro again. He’s sure that’d change once he saw his face, but right now, he only mildly dreaded it. What would he say? What could he say?
He might not have to say anything. It might only take Jotaro getting one look at Kakyoin walking off the ship with crutches before he turns away with a disgusted sneer. Kakyoin isn’t sure what he would do if that happened. He’s not sure if he hopes for that, or something else.
Kakyoin chuckles at himself before burying his face into his hands, sighing.
Even after everything, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted from Jotaro. He really was pathetic.
Kakyoin takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs, the muscles in his chest thrumming cheerfully at the stretch, before he sits back up, lowering his hands back down to his lap. Now wasn’t the time to get self-deprecating, at least. He’s sure Jotaro will do enough of that for him, verbally or otherwise.
Kakyoin glances at the crutches at his side. He wasn’t going to be able to rely on them forever – the change in elevation from Greece to Japan alone would probably cause his body to be confused for a few days, prompting need for his wheelchair. But having Jotaro see him like that…
Kakyoin runs a hand through his hair, forcefully tugging his fingers through the strands of his long bang. Some hairs pull loose from his low ponytail as a result. Kakyoin grimaces, teeth clenched behind his lips.
He’ll think I’m weak anyway. It doesn’t matter if I’m using the crutches or the wheelchair.
The churning in his stomach doesn’t ease despite this. Kakyoin rolls his eyes at his own body’s dramatics.
The ship docks minutes later, just as the captain had predicted. He pokes his head into the cabin to inform Kakyoin, but he had already picked up on the change, considering he could see the docks just outside the window and could hear the crew calling to each other as they tied and anchored the ship down.
“Mr. Ka- Oh! I see you’re already rearing to go!”
Kakyoin hums some sort of response as he stands, the handgrip of the duffle bag slung onto the grip of one of his crutches, Kakyoin securing it by wrapping his hand around it. “Sure am.”
The captain laughs again. “Well, Mr. Jotaro is waiting for you just onshore. Good luck with your mission!”
Kakyoin grimaces, his bottom lip wanting to fall down into a frown, but his top lip wanting to pull back into a sneer. “Great. Thanks.” He says flatly.
The captain laughs nervously, before leaving Kakyoin to be. He feels a little bad over the rough dismissal, but he’s more focused on preparing himself for whatever Jotaro will – or won’t – say.
Kakyoin takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs before he makes his way out the cabin door. His steps are careful, precise; just because they’re docked now doesn’t mean the waves stopped rocking the boat, and there’s a fairly large step from the cabin door to the deck. The last thing Kakyoin wants is to fall on his face in front of Jotaro…
Kakyoin keeps his gaze trained on the ground. The less he has to see, the better. He just needs to make it to the Morioh Grand Hotel in one piece, preferably with his dignity intact.
“Mr. Kakyoin,” he can distantly hear a crewmate call, “the ramp off is just over here.”
Kakyoin nods. He feels freezing yet overheated at the same time. He musses with the sleeve of his cardigan on the bracer of his crutch while fingering his scarf with the other hand for a moment, before he continues the march off the boat, following the crewmate’s direction.
The creak of his crutches is the only sound Kakyoin can hear in addition to the gentle wash of the waves against the shore and ship. The sounds complement each other, strangely; both are soft and subtle, despite one being manmade and the other being natural. Kakyoin steps off the ramp.
At the top of his peripheral, he can see desaturated blue shoes. Kakyoin swallows. He can’t keep his tail tucked now.
Taking a deep breath, Kakyoin looks up.
An ocean surrounded by a field of snow. Jotaro’s sea-blue eyes are dreary, overcast, a storm-warning, his white coat and matching pants adding to the cold weather allure.
His eyes are weighed down by bags. His eyes are trained on Kakyoin’s face. His eyes are widened just so, just enough for Kakyoin to pick up on it like he used to. Kakyoin’s fingers twitch on the grip on his crutch.
“…Kujo,” Kakyoin finally says. His voice isn’t croaky, thank fuck. He tightens his grip on his crutches so his hands stop shaking.
Jotaro just stares at him. Kakyoin feels like bugs are crawling underneath his skin, scuttling over each other and scratching his tissues in their search for food. Maybe Kakyoin is the food. His eye twitches.
Kakyoin lets another beat pass in silence before he continues with, “Well, I need to drop off my luggage, so…”
There. A clear dismissal. They won’t need to talk anymore, at least for now. Kakyoin still feels too hot and too cold at the same time, the sweat forming on his back not sure if it wants to simply cool him off or outright freeze him. It feels like spiders crawling down his spine.
Jotaro still won’t stop staring.
Kakyoin’s face twitches, a band of white-hot iron stretching across his chest, settling his body’s debate over what temperature it wanted to be.
“What?” Kakyoin snaps, his throat ragged from the bugs digging under it.
“You have a limp now,” is all Jotaro says, his voice quiet and strained.
Kakyoin stares at him before laughing in disbelief. “I have a limp- are you serious? Ten years and I show up in the middle of a stand investigation, and all you can say to me is I have a limp?”
“It hasn’t been ten years,” Jotaro counters quietly, voice still strained and soft, as if, despite the fact they’re beginning to argue, Kakyoin would break if he raises his voice. Kakyoin grits his teeth, but it does nothing to stop his face from twisting into a snarl.
“Right. Because one phone call four years ago that lasted less than 15 minutes definitely counts. You know, I didn’t consider that legitimate for your sake, but if you want to include it, fine. Ten years and all you can say to me in that time are comments about my damn disabilities.”
Jotaro looks vaguely ill as if he’s going to throw up. His face is scrunched up and his brows are furrowed slightly. He has a grimace. Kakyoin hates it.
“Why are you here?” Jotaro asks quietly. It’s so direct that it makes Kakyoin pause. He had forgotten that Jotaro hated beating around the bush.
“I could ask you the same question,” Kakyoin scoffs. “I know how to board a bus and get to a hotel on my own, you patronizing-”
“When Jiji said they were sending someone else he seriously meant you?” Jotaro questions, seemingly more to himself than anyone else, considering how he hunches inward, voice so quiet it’s almost hard to hear over the waves.
Kakyoin blinks, the heat of anger pausing in his chest due to overwhelming shock at the pure audacity. Kakyoin blinks again, and the anger resumes, about 20 degrees hotter.
“ Excuse me?” Kakyoin asks lowly, glaring as hard as his brows will allow at Jotaro. Jotaro jumps just the slightest bit and looks up like he forgot Kakyoin was there. Kakyoin almost wants to snort at that.
“You can’t be here,” Jotaro starts, voice firm, and Kakyoin feels a flare of fire in his arms, making him twitch. If he wasn’t holding onto his crutches, he probably would’ve punched Jotaro. “It’s too-”
“Don’t fucking talk to me about my right to be here,” Kakyoin snarls, voice spiked and angry like a red-hot needle. “You don’t have a right to be here yourself, so get off your high damn horse.”
“What are you talking about?” Jotaro asks, voice tired and gravely. Kakyoin wants to punch him in the throat. “I just mean it’s too danger-”
“Well it’s a good thing then that I can handle myself just fine, thank you, ” Kakyoin hisses, taking a step forward, the creak of his crutches almost deafening. Jotaro takes a step back and Kakyoin could almost feel vindication. “Just because I don’t punch all threats away like a child doesn’t mean I can’t handle them.”
Jotaro blinks, before his brow furrows, face darkening under the shadow of his own glare. “Don’t give me that. I’m just trying to look out for you. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me,” Kakyoin seethes, taking another step forward. “I don’t want you to look out for me. If you even dare to try while I’m here, I’m going t-”
“Kakyoin, you need to go, ” Jotaro insists, voice finally raising beyond the edge rumble it had become. He reaches a hand out like he’s going to hold onto Kakyoin’s shoulder or arm, but he flinches back as if burned when he consciously realizes. Good, Kakyoin thinks, exhaling sharply, don’t fucking touch me.
“You need to go,” Jotaro reiterates, and Kakyoin’s eyes snap back to his face from his hand. “You need to leave before you can get hurt-”
“And you need to leave before you get another person killed! ” Kakyoin yells, voice sharp and jagged like his throat is made of a rocky shore.
Jotaro flinches back, and Kakyoin notes this with a sick sense of satisfaction. “Wh- what-”
“The kid’s grandpa has already died under your watch,” Kakyoin continues, voice low and dangerous, like a predator lowering its body to prepare for a pounce to kill. “I am not letting anyone else die because you’re so fucking arrogant you think you can do it all by yourself.” Pounce complete.
Jotaro opens and closes his mouth once, twice, before he angles his head down and shields his eyes with the brim of his hat.
“I’m not going anywhere, especially not at your request,” Kakyoin finishes, chest heaving from fury alone.
Jotaro just takes it for a moment. He’s so still that Kakyoin can’t even see him breathe. Maybe he truly wasn’t in that moment.
“Kakyoin,” Jotaro finally says, voice so soft Kakyoin has to strain to hear it, “…go home.”
“If anyone needs to go home,” Kakyoin snaps, “it would be the person who already messed up to the point of an innocent man dying.”
Jotaro shudders once, the shiver running through his whole body before he returns to that unnatural stillness.
Kakyoin hates it.
“Kakyoin-”
“Kujo Jotaro,” Kakyoin snarls, stomping into Jotaro’s personal space, ignoring the slight whine in his arms caused by the force he used to swing his crutches forward, “Contrary to your belief, I am not useless. The Speedwagon Foundation thinks so. Joseph thinks so. I am here to help the kid and nothing more. If you say one more goddamn word about me going home, I am going to show you personally how capable I am.”
Kakyoin can’t see Jotaro’s expression, shielded by both the brim of his hat and the hand he’s using to keep it pinned down. He says nothing to the threat, just breathes quietly, Kakyoin barely catching the huff of breath past the waves and gulls of the beach.
“Joseph told me you’re trying a stakeout with the kid. Is that true?” Kakyoin asks low in his throat after a few beats of silence.
Jotaro swifts his jaw. “…Yes.”
“Great,” Kakyoin says, his voice dry and displeased despite his words, “then I am going to go with you to get this standuser to fuck off, and then we never have to talk again. But as long as that kid is threatened, I’m sticking around. Got it?”
Jotaro swallows. Kakyoin can hear his heart beat uproariously in his ears. He can hear the blood rush through his own veins. It burns like molten rock.
“…Fine,” Jotaro relents, still hiding his face, and Kakyoin rolls his eyes.
“Don’t say that like I needed your permission,” Kakyoin hisses. “But glad we can agree.”
Having said this, Kakyoin then wordlessly passes Jotaro, the only sound echoing between them being the creak of his crutches and the soft thumping of his duffle bag against his leg as it swings while he walks. Kakyoin knocks their shoulders purposefully, trying to alleviate some of the impulse he had to hit Jotaro with the action. It kind of works. Kakyoin will take it.
Jotaro stumbles back only a step from the impact, jaw clicking as he grits his teeth, but he keeps his head down and says nothing.
Good, Kakyoin thinks, but something thicker and colder than anger twists in his stomach over it.
Kakyoin walks up the beach to the road, sticking to the wooden boardwalk as he does so. He was serious about getting to the hotel on his own, after all.
Kakyoin sighs when he reaches the street, eyeing the bus stop just across from where he is as he runs a hand through his hair. This was going to be such a pain if Jotaro persisted.
Kakyoin rolls his eyes. What an arrogant asshole.