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The third night of their journey around the world (“—in eighty days, or, well, fifty in our case,” Joseph often likes to interrupt grandly, to which Jotaro always mutters, “shut up, old man”) Kakyoin is nervous. He sets his bag of what few articles of clothing he owns on his bed, perches on the edge, and sighs.
“Jotaro,” Kakyoin starts gently. The response he receives is a grunt of acknowledgement. Predictably.
Despite that, he presses on.
“Have you noticed anything weird about my sleeping habits?”
“... What," Jotaro says finally.
“It’s just—” breaking off with a grimace, he resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. What a terrible way to start this conversation; of course Jotaro wouldn’t know what he was talking about, it’s only been two days since they began traveling. Best to just be straightforward, then he can shut up until morning. “I sleepwalk occasionally. I’d been meaning to inform you, but I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. So if I do something weird in the middle of the night just ignore me.”
Jotaro doesn't say anything, but he does look over at Kakyoin as he settles into his own bed, eyes narrowed.
“I’ve been told by my parents that I walk around, or fold clothes and put them in random places. Harmless things like that. I just wanted to let you know so I don’t alarm you.”
“Fine.” Jotaro pulls the bill of his hat over his eyes, folding his arms behind his head.
That marks the end of the conversation. But Kakyoin knows it had to happen despite the awkwardness that the whole affair evoked. The last thing he wants is Jotaro accidentally assuming he’s under the control of an enemy stand in the middle of the night. He slides under the covers of his own bed and stares at the ceiling until he slips into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning he drifts into the breakfast lounge with a slight headache and heavy eyelids, gravitating towards the hot water for morning tea.
“I thought I was a goner, for real this time—” drifts to him from the table where Avdol and Joseph are sitting, “a thousand foot drop below me and a thousand year old pillar man above, but Caesar caught me at the last second. You’ll never guess how he did it,” Joseph boasts merrily, giving Kakyoin a wave and a smile.
Avdol shrugs. “I’m at a loss.”
If it weren’t for his current state of post-waking cataclysmic misery, Kakyoin might have considered participating. Instead, he just sits down at their table and pillows his cheek in one of his hands.
“Icicles!” Joseph bellows. That earns him an eye roll from Avdol, who politely sets his coffee mug back on the table.
“What a story. You’ve truly outdone yourself.”
“I swear it happened! On— On my grandson! And speaking of, good morning, Jotaro—”
“Shut up,” Jotaro snaps, looking every bit on the outside how Kakyoin feels on the inside. He ducks through the doorway and immediately goes for the tea. Really, a choice of beverage should not have any bearing on Kakyoin's judge of character, but anyone that chooses tea earns his approval. How Americans constantly drink coffee is a mystery to Kakyoin, it’s too bitter a beverage for eight in the morning. He’s glad he is not the only one who has some form of common sense.
Jotaro joins him at Joseph and Avdol’s table, leans back in his chair, and shuts his eyes.
“Sleep well, Jotaro?” Kakyoin can’t help but ask, even though he knows the answer is probably going to consist of: ‘no,’ ‘shut up,’ or silence.
“How often do you sleepwalk?”
The question throws Kakyoin off, but he recovers quickly.
“Not very, as far as I know. Did I wake you?”
Jotaro shakes his head, black curls peeking out from under his hat swaying with the motion. Then he says,
“You messed with the alarm clock.”
“Ah,” Kakyoin replies. “I apologize. Usually I can’t remember anything the morning after.”
“It’s fine,” mumbles Jotaro. “You aren’t what kept me up.”
“What did?” Kakyoin wonders aloud, too exhausted to think better of it. All he gets is a shrug, but he is able to guess that he’s not the only one feeling apprehensive about this trip. It’s a comforting thought.
Anyway, he takes that response as his cue to occupy himself with his tea before Joseph gets the idea that Kakyoin’s input is vitally necessary to the conversation.
-
Polnareff is a character, to say the least. Kakyoin finds that he doesn’t mind him, despite the fact that he is currently being boisterous and loud, insisting that they all go to a bar since “the dashing young men are of age, technically, and there’s no point to rotting in another hotel room.”
He’s charming, which is why Kakyoin assumes he’s so drawn to the older man, being everything that Kakyoin’s not: he’s overly confident and comical—
“Haven’t you stared long enough,” Jotaro mutters.
Kakyoin snaps out of a daze, blinking at Polnareff (who is currently hanging off of Avdol’s arm, begging, “Please have a shot, just one, a little ieensy weensie shot—” “Jean, if you don’t get that abhorrent substance out of my face, I will not be responsible for my actions— ”) then down at his shot of rum. He turns his head to Jotaro, who looks for all the world like the brooding teenager he is, his own shot glass still full in front of him.
“He’s exciting, don’t you think?” Kakyoin offers.
“If you mean obnoxious and annoying, yeah.”
“I suppose,” unsure of where the hostility is coming from, Kakyoin doesn’t really know how to continue. Hostility is a constant with Jotaro, he basically exudes it, but in the past few weeks he’s begun to mellow out. This blatant agitation at Kakyoin’s interest in Polnareff is abnormal—it’s almost like Jotaro is being possessive. Kakyoin feels his face grow hot, and it has nothing to do with the empty cocktail glass next to him. “He’s definitely different. Maybe you should give optimism a try sometime, Jojo.”
“Give me a fucking break,” mutters Jotaro. The low rumble of his voice hangs in Kakyoin's ears and melts warmly down his spine. “Take a shot.”
Kakyoin does, wincing at the burn of it in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jotaro do the same without a single change in expression. When did he start to find the sharp angle of his jaw and flutter of his eyelashes attractive?
As they stumble into their room later that night, Kakyoin is pleasantly buzzed, the high of it rushing through him. He can tell by the light flush on Jotaro’s high cheekbones that he feels similar. Kakyoin is unable to help a smirk as he gracefully flops onto his bed.
“Shut up,” Jotaro mutters from the other side of the room.
“I didn’t say—”
“You never do. Just fucking shut it, Kakyoin.” He sits on the edge of his own bed, using his arm as a prop to support his weight.
“Aw, Jojo,” Kakyoin grouses. It’s really hard to put his words together when his tongue feels like a sponge, but he tries to say, “if I didn’t know you better, I’d have listened. You’re scary when you’re embarrassed.”
Jotaro doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t even move to pull his hat down over his eyes. He just stares openly at Kakyoin.
“Why… “ Kakyoin starts, narrowing his eyes. Maybe he’s had one too many shots. “Are you embarrassed?”
After a few moments of silence, Jotaro finally mutters,
“I'm not used to this. Having a friend to get shitfaced with.”
“I understand,” Kakyoin tells him, firmly yanking on the leash that’s tying his tongue to his brain. “This is my first real group of friends, I guess. Never had anyone to drink with when I was in high school, either, before…”
He shuts his eyes.
“Yeah,” Jotaro replies quietly. “I’m gonna pass out. Keep that smirk off your face.”
Kakyoin hears the bed sheets rustle. That’s about as close to a goodnight as he will get. A smile is brought to his lips.
The next morning, Kakyoin wakes up to an empty room, sleepily blinking in the morning light. Jotaro must’ve already gone to breakfast. Stumbling into the shower, head pounding slightly, Kakyoin blasts the hot water and marvels at how cold he was. Did he accidentally mess with the thermostat while the two of them were asleep?
After a good thirty minutes, he emerges from the bathroom, towel around his waist and atop his head, eyes closed in contentment. As he sits down and blinks, rubbing at his hair, he realizes Jotaro has returned. He’s staring at Kakyoin from where he’s sitting on his own bed.
“Hello,” Kakyoin says.
“Hey,” Jotaro replies, voice pitched low. He clears his throat. “Do you…”
In an attempt to escape the discomfort of being stared at so intently, Kakyoin pulls the towel from his head and wraps it around his shoulders.
“Do I… ?”
“Remember sleepwalking last night.”
Ah, Kakyoin must’ve done something in his sleep again. He shrugs.
“Sometimes I remember fragments, but it’s rare that I do. It was cold this morning... did I adjust the thermostat?”
Jotaro just narrows his eyes, mind seemingly elsewhere. “You really don't remember.”
Kakyoin asks, “should I?”
“Good grief,” shaking his head, Jotaro stands and walks to the bathroom. “Forget it.”
Kakyoin tries not to focus on the way his jeans hug his friend’s ass, and fails.
-
A few nights later, Kakyoin wakes peacefully. He feels so well rested that he thinks he might be dead. Whatever he’s lying on is unbelievably warm. He lets his fingers drift lethargically over soft skin.
Wait.
Kakyoin’s eyes snap open.
Oh no.
That’s Jotaro’s chest that his cheek is pressed to, and it’s Jotaro’s navel that his thigh is splayed over and—
Kakyoin glances up in panic, and Jotaro looks down at him, still half asleep. Before he has time to process anything, Kakyoin bolts up and darts out of the bed. Unfortunately for him, he forgets to untangle his legs from the sheets first. He hits the floor almost as soon as he tries to run.
“Star Platinum,” Jotaro murmurs tiredly. Strong purple arms circle around Kakyoin’s middle, lifting him gently off the ground to deposit him in his own bed.
“Thank you,” Kakyoin tells Star, who just gives him a gentle shrug and an “Ora” before dematerializing.
“Usually you’re more graceful,” Jotaro mutters.
“What do you mean," wonders Kakyoin aloud, voice gravelly from sleep.
“Been like this for a week. When you’re not fucking with shit, you just… climb into my bed. I walk you back when I wake up.”
Kakyoin feels his face grow warm, but he’s not sure if it’s a result of the onslaught of Jotaro’s voice or the mortification at finding out he’s been accidentally sleeping with his friend for a week.
“I hate it when you fuck with the lamp," Jotaro mutters. "So you know.”
“Oh,” he intones. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
“Didn’t think it mattered,” Jotaro grouses, turning away from Kakyoin.
Clearly this conversation is over, but he still has quite a few questions. None of which are going to be answered at three in the morning. Kakyoin closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to sleep, but the effort is futile.
-
Kakyoin has retreated to his bed in the motel room, as he does every time he needs to be alone. The door clicks open but he doesn’t bother surrendering his sketchbook. When Jotato walks into his field of vision, he places a bottle of white wine on the nightstand right between the two lamps and alarm clocks. Then he hands one of the wine glasses he’s holding to Kakyoin, who takes it with a startled,
“Jojo, how did you—”
“Talent.”
“Right,” Kakyoin curls his lips between his teeth to keep from grinning. “A talent for sniffing out whole bottles of wine and two wine glasses in Kolkata? We're underage.”
“Be grateful, Kakyoin,” Jotaro uncorks the wine and pours a generous amount into Kakyoin's glass.
“Noriaki,” Kakyoin corrects, taking a sip of the dry alcohol. “How long do you think it will take for Joestar-san to notice this has gone missing?”
With a half smile that makes Kakyoin's breath stutter helplessly in his chest, Jotaro replies,
“Probably less than an hour. Drink up.”
“Well this is good timing, anyway," Kakyoin concedes, smiling over the brim of his glass. "I was just finishing up my sketch.”
“About time. You’ve been drawing for hours.”
“Spoken as though you don’t read ‘one hundered and one amazing sea creatures’ for five at a time.”
That gets Jotaro to pull his hat down to cover his eyes, flush adorning his high cheekbones.
“Are you blushing, Jojo?” Kakyoin asks impassively.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jotaro snaps, but he definitely is, and there’s no serious heat behind the comment.
They spend the rest of the evening in each other's company, getting more and more wine drunk as the night goes on. Everything is relaxed and easy up until they hear a loud bang on the wall next to theirs.
There’s a telltale,
“SON OF A BITCH— ” from the adjacent room.
Which, of course, just sends the two of them into a fit of laughter. And apparently being wine drunk makes sleeping rather easy, since Kakyoin passes out almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.
He wakes up feeling cold, covers pulled up to his chin. As he blinks at the pale grey scene of early morning cast over buildings beyond the window, he realizes that Jotaro is having a smoke right next to it. A light breeze carries the offensive byproduct outside of the hotel room. How considerate.
Kakyoin runs his hand through his hair to untangle some of the annoying knots, a motion which brings Jotaro’s attention to him immediately. Jotaro looks down at him over a sharp cheekbone, eyes strangely soft and deep blue in the morning light.
“Hey,” Kakyoin murmurs, something hot twisting pleasantly behind his navel. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” Jotaro tells him, and Kakyoin wonders why he sounds a little breathless. Maybe it’s just him.
-
Kakyoin’s sitting up in his bed, sketchbook on his lap, taken by a seamless vision. For some reason he can’t get it out of his head: the curve of a muscular neck, the flutter of dark lashes against skin.
He’s halfway through his sketch, drawing in sharp, angled cheekbones, when he is struck by a very intense fantasy.
Jotaro’s chest rises and falls with shaking breaths, his skin feels warm against Kakyoin’s lips. Moonlight floods over the ridges of abs as Kakyoin kisses his way down a toned stomach. He’s met with soft elastic, and he mouths at that, too, trails his lips further down, then—
There’s broad hands in his hair, drawing his head up. Jotaro looks down at him, breathing harshly through his nose. The sound is loud in the quiet room.
Then Jotaro sighs. He lifts Kakyoin up by his arms, making them both sit up so that Kakyoin’s thighs can wrap comfortably around his trim waist. Kakyoin is lifted up, carried to his own bed, and dropped unceremoniously onto the sheets.
He shivers. Jotaro pulls the covers over him.
The pencil tip snaps.
"Shit," Kakyoin whispers.
-
When Kakyoin manages to catch Joseph alone, they’re in the hotel lobby after Kakyoin has spent five suffocating hours in a car next to Jotaro with his newfound knowledge.
“Joestar-san, can I speak with you about something personal?”
“First you’re an accessory to the theft of my wine— which was an imported Italian verdicchio, by the way— and now you want my advice,” Joseph gripes at him, eyes gentle. “What can I do for you, Kakyoin.”
“It’s just…” he sighs, not wanting to do this but knowing he should. “I sleepwalk. It seems to be waking Jotaro in the middle of the night, so I was wondering if I could have my own room. For the sake of his sanity and mine, I suppose.”
For a moment, Kakyoin catches a hint of shock on Joseph’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by a laugh.
“My grandson isn’t one to complain about that kind of thing. Are you sure he minds? I was under the impression that you two were very close, being students, and all.”
Joseph winks at him, and Kakyoin’s face begins to feel much warmer than it should.
“What are you—”
“Nothing, nothing,” Joseph brushes over whatever he’s insinuating, leaving Kakyoin reeling. “I’ll get you a separate room for tonight.”
“Thank you," Kakyoin murmurs gratefully.
"Kakyoin," Joseph gives him a slightly worried look. “I know I’m speaking for my dear grandson when I say we all care about you and want you to be comfortable. Not a single one of us would mind sacrificing some sleep for you— least of all, Jotaro.”
Kakyoin nods, tongue going numb in his mouth. If only Joseph knew what happened last night.
-
When Kakyoin is given a separate key, Jotaro doesn’t even bat an eye. The lack of reaction makes Kakyoin equal parts disappointed and relieved. When they finally head to their rooms, however, Jotaro passes his own door and follows Kakyoin to his.
“What happened,” he demands sternly, not giving Kakyoin an out. Kakyoin can’t keep eye contact and talk about this, so he stares at the lapel on Jotaro’s uniform coat instead.
“I keep waking you up in the middle of the night," he mumbles.
“You remembered.”
Something in Kakyoin breaks. He nods his head. It’s just a small jerk, really, but enough to let Jotaro know that he is right.
“I’m going to go to bed," Kakyoin says quickly. "Sleep well.”
“Noriaki—”
But Kakyoin is already calmly fleeing to the safety of his own room, opting to hide behind a locked door. He slides down it with his back to the wood until he is seated on the carpet, head in his hands and lower lip between his teeth. Hierophant Green slips out of his subconscious to curl up next to him, leaning its head on his shoulder.
After what could have been fifteen minutes or two hours, Kakyoin slips out of his uniform. He curls up in bed, not bothering with pajamas, so emotionally drained that it’s all he can do to pull the covers over himself.
For some reason he can’t fall asleep without Jotaro’s steady breathing on the other side of the room.
-
Kakyoin wakes to the feeling of something soft, warm and entirely human under his cheek again. This time he groans miserably, shifting in the hold of Jotaro’s strong arms around him.
“Hey,” Jotaro mumbles. Kakyoin tries to sit up, realizing after a moment that he is utterly trapped. That fact becomes all the more apparent when Jotaro tightens his hold on him.
“Did I…" Kakyoin processes that he is now, in fact, no longer in his room and instead has found his way into Jotaro's during the night.
"... From the other room?” He finishes lamely.
“Yeah,” Jotaro tells him, smoothing his warm palm down the expanse of Kakyoin's arm. “Heard you run into my door at around one. You just… stayed there. I threw my shoe at you.”
“How kind. Did you open the door for me, too?” Kakyoin asks.
“Hierophant snuck under it and let you in," Jotaro corrects.
“Oh," Kakyoin says.
“Noriaki.”
Kakyoin looks up at him.
“You aren’t bothering me," Jotaro murmurs, his hand a steady presence on Kakyoin's bicep.
“Really,” Kakyoin replies doubtfully, "being sexually harassed in the middle of the night doesn’t bother you?”
“Your memory is shit.”
There is no time to process Jotaro’s hand coming to his chin, titling his head up. He places a gentle kiss on Kakyoin's lips, slow and soft.
Then he pulls back with a mutter of,
“Fucking amateur.”