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When Noriaki Kakyoin was eleven-years-old, someone told him he wasn’t special. He was of average build, average looks, average intelligence. His future would be nothing special, by that logic, since he didn’t stand out and didn’t have what it took to stand apart from a crowd.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
Among hundreds of dance students, he somehow found a spot for himself. On the stage, he could make himself known. On the stage, people cheered and applauded him. He was seen, and he was accepted. No one knew about his flaws or shortcomings. No one knew he used to be so painfully dull that his future seemed dimmer than a distant star in a city sky. He could hide it well enough if he kept his distance from other people, lovers included. There was no space for such a thing in his life as he pursued greatness. Other people would be a distraction, and that was something he had no time for.
He made space for Jean, because Jean was as equally determined as he was to make something of himself, and it always helped to have at least one ally. But no more.
“Just tell me what you need.”
He wanted and longed for nothing, except money. Money was what kept him able to continue his modest lifestyle while he spent his days occupied with practicing and bettering his form and technique. There was no way he could work a regular job, even in the off season; he needed to get better, he needed to improve because it would never be good enough until he was finally recognized on the international level.
The gifts he started receiving during the latter half of his performances for A Midnight Summer’s Dream made him salivate. It was almost enough to distract him. Other dancers glanced at him in envy, and Jean was beside himself with shock that someone was going lengths to give him earrings, bracelets, and cologne.
“What if it’s a stalker?” Jean asked warily.
“And what if it’s not?” Noriaki said, smiling. “I should at least hear him out.”
Jotaro Kujo made Noriaki realize how much he was missing in life by focusing only on the things right in front of him. For instance, he never knew there could be such good steak au poivre in D.C. or cabernets from vineyards he couldn’t find on a map if he tried. He’d told Jean after one date the name on the bottle of wine he’d had, and Jean had informed him that it was a well renowned French vineyard whose bottles were extremely exclusive and hard to come by.
So with time, Noriaki evolved.
His dancing grew more soulful, more expressive and his body loosened, stretching and twisting in ethereal ways. His face learned new expressions he knew not before; lust, desire, the feeling of being wanted beyond comprehension.
It was as if Jotaro was the missing piece to what his dancing needed all along: a muse. Inspiration. Urgency.
Noriaki was so impatient.
He wanted to know so much about Jotaro, but Jotaro was content to simply listen to Noriaki talk about his life. It was a strangely vulnerable position to be in, one where he opened up and bared what little he had to share in hopes that it would be reciprocated.
“I need some discretion. I hope you can understand.”
Noriaki was very understanding. After all, Jotaro was so generous; how could he not be? Jotaro took him out to eat all the time, and Noriaki was a bad cook. It was embarrassing to admit, but when he tried to make dinner at home for the both of them, Jotaro had taken one bite, looked at him, and sighed.
“I wish you had said something sooner. I could have bought you cooking classes or something.”
The humiliation of being discovered to be a poor cook was short lived, because Jotaro took them out to eat immediately, moving past it as if it weren’t even a serious issue. He was compassionate. The least Noriaki could do was return the same energy when it came to the fact that Jotaro was cheating on his wife.
It was shameless, the way Noriaki still threw himself at Jotaro despite knowing better. Getting involved with a married man was destined to fail, but something about this felt different. Jotaro, for starters, clearly did not love his wife. He seldom spoke of her, whether good or bad. He was indifferent. She wasn’t even ugly, but perhaps she lacked something special, unlike Kakyoin.
Kakyoin was over the moon to be considered special . Special enough to cheat with. Special enough to be a secret. He received gifts and attention in ways he never experienced before Jotaro, and it went to his head.
He didn’t ask questions, like why Jotaro held such disdain for his wife, or why he chose Kakyoin. He only cared that Jotaro’s attention was all focused on him. He bought tickets, supported the company, and bought him gifts. Jotaro took him out and spoiled him. He took Kakyoin back to his apartment and kissed him so deeply it made his heart hurt until he choked on air, crying out when Jotaro fucked him so hard it should have made him concerned for his well being. He gave Noriaki the money for a new apartment, even when he got fed up with the cheap one bedroom he’d been staying in.
“If I’m going to spend so much time here, I might as well be comfortable,” Jotaro explained. Suddenly, Noriaki was being moved into a whole new luxury apartment with new amenities and views, and better soundproofing in the walls.
Jotaro loved spending money on him, so much so that Noriaki finally had to ask.
“I’m a researcher during the day, but I have a side job I help my grandfather with at a club.”
Maybe that was the moment Noriaki started looking beyond the surface for deeper answers. Four months of a fast and heavy love, to be moved into a new apartment was bound to raise questions, but Jotaro brushed them off with ease. I work two jobs. I have another account my wife doesn’t know about. I can tell her I have to go out of town any time. Don’t worry, baby.
You’re the only one for me.
But the way the dancers at the club reacted to seeing Noriaki for the first time only raised more questions. They were inquisitive, and excited. They didn’t seem to be pretending when they said they had no clue about Noriaki.
So his wife was an open secret in a club full of other gay men, but not Noriaki, his boyfriend? And why did Jotaro seem so insistent that no one knew, or talked to him?
Noriaki watched Jotaro drag one man off in particular to somewhere he couldn’t see, his usually stoic face suddenly full of anger and distress. Noriaki wanted to follow, but one of the other dancers stilled him with more questions about himself. Remaining in place, Noriaki made small talk with the man with a bob and the bartender who kept feeding him drinks, assuring him it wouldn’t go on Jean’s tab.
Coming to the club seemed to be a mistake.
He didn’t know what was going on, or how often things got out of hand, but in the short amount of time he’d been there, Noriaki had seen his boyfriend come out of character upon greeting him, been treated coldly by his best friend, and watched Jotaro get punched in the face by another security guard. Jotaro hadn’t seemed too phased about what transpired, and although they shook hands on it after, it only led to more questions.
Noriaki was only there to see Jean, but now he had things he needed to bring up to Jotaro.
“Why did that guy punch you?”
Jotaro was silent. That wasn’t out of character, as he usually needed time to gather his thoughts, but on the drive home, Jotaro sighed.
“Pettiness.”
“What do you mean?”
Jotaro said, “Jealousy.”
Noriaki’s stomach twisted. “Jealous of you being with me?”
Jotaro didn’t respond immediately. Then, he said, “Miscommunication.”
Sometimes, Noriaki hated how cryptic Jotaro could be. He loved the whirlwind romance they lived, but when he wanted answers it was like pulling teeth. Oftentimes, Jotaro responded to certain questions with, “Don’t worry about it,” which only served the opposite of their purpose. Noriaki was naive, but he wasn’t so naive that he would let obvious red flags flash by his face.
But he would when Jotaro took him out to brunch the next day to enjoy bottomless mimosas, then took him home to have sex until Noriaki had no choice but to pass out. He let the burning questions sit while Jotaro went back to his wife, but started spending more time with him instead, buying clothes that stayed at Noriaki’s apartment and creating a double life. He even pretended to be unphased when the next season started, and Jotaro brought his wife once again to the ballet and took pictures with the happy couple, while Jotaro’s hand traveled down his pants, out of view of the camera or anyone else.
Noriaki smiled and posed, just like he always did. And he was waiting at home–his home with Jotaro–for him to eventually come back, no matter how long he stayed up.
Jean didn’t like it at all. Maybe Jean was his only moral compass because he was the only person who knew about this, but from the moment he’d found out about their relationship, he’d been pressuring Noriaki to end it all.
“This is wrong , Nori,” Jean pleaded. “Jotaro’s married, how can you sleep with a married man?”
Noriaki shrugged. “He isn’t happy in his marriage. I know he doesn’t want to hurt her–”
“Hurt her?” Jean scoffed. “They have a daughter together, and he’s doing this. He’s not a good person, Nori, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
A daughter. Noriaki hadn’t known about that. Jotaro never spoke of her and he never indicated that there was anything else holding him back but his wife. Noriaki didn’t like the fact that he had to find out about this through Jean, but he held his tongue.
He also didn’t like the other things he found out through Jean, who apparently was sleeping with Jotaro’s friend from college, the other guard in the club. Jean played dumb in front of Avdol, but he’d overheard their conversations many times: why was Jotaro so hesitant to divorce his wife, and what money was involved that he didn’t know about? What was hidden in Jotaro’s past that clearly neither of them knew about?
“I can tell you for sure, he’s not lying about the ‘Jojo’ thing,” Jean reassured him. “His grandfather’s name is Joseph, and his last name is Joestar, so Jojo. Jotaro’s father’s last name is Ku jo , so again, Jojo. I don’t know if it’s intentional or what, but his daughter’s name is Jolyene, so she’d be a Jojo too.”
“That’s so weird,” Noriaki murmured. “But Avdol won’t tell you anything about their college days?”
Jean shook his head. “I can’t even get Mo to tell me anything about his life in general. It’s so weird, he’s the first man I’ve ever been with and I trust him not to physically hurt me, but he won’t even give me a hint about his past.”
Jotaro never treated him any differently, but his hesitancy to open up was starting to weigh on Noriaki. He was supposed to be special , he was supposed to be the one who could control things, and yet here he was playing a guessing game via his own friend.
Jotaro came and went as he pleased; Noriaki was beholden to his whims.
Jotaro worked his nights at the club, surrounded by gorgeous men with far more sex appeal than Noriaki, who could move their bodies in ways he couldn’t. He’d watched as Jean, who’d been the shining image of technical prowess in ballet, turned into something more akin to a lascivious sex kitten swinging around a pole and baring his body for all to see.
It was the first time in a long time that Noriaki had felt insecure. He sat through another set where a slim yet muscular man danced even more suggestively than Jean and had more money thrown at him in a shorter amount of time. He watched as the man with the bob haircut put on a performance that could have made a porn star blush, and realized just exactly why Jotaro didn’t want him around at the club.
“Hey, have you ever slept with anyone you work with?”
Jotaro stared at him from his work laptop. His face was annoyingly expressionless, carefully blank down to his eyes, and even his breathing remained even.
Still, he didn’t answer until Noriaki asked again. “Well, have you?”
“Why are you asking me this now?”
It wasn’t a direct answer. “Because you didn’t seem very happy about me showing up that one time.”
Jotaro sighed and closed his laptop. He turned to face Noriaki and said, “The dancers there are the kind to be messy and intrusive. They create their own narratives, and I didn’t want them telling you all kinds of things just because I hadn’t told them about you. I like to keep my private–”
“--life private, I remember you saying that,” Noriaki continued. “But why did you drag that one guy off to the back?”
Jotaro’s brow twitched for the briefest moment. “Because he in particular is the worst of them all.”
“Oh,” is all Noriaki said.
Unfortunately, Noriaki had grown accustomed to this new quality of life. He didn’t want to risk upsetting Jotaro, for fear that everything he’d accumulated would be ripped away and he’d be left alone again, regular and unloved. Confirmed to be average.
He wanted to have the courage Jean had to put pressure on Jotaro, the way Jean put pressure on Avdol. They’d argued a lot, but they’d also made up frequently, and Jean learned a little more each time. Maybe Jean was different from him, stronger and more confident.
Noriaki swallowed the bitter pill of reality that he was in position to ask questions, even if he deserved answers. He’d allowed Jotaro to sweep him off his feet and hold him precariously over this precipice that loomed over certain ruin if he so much as dropped interest in Noriaki.
So he held his tongue. Noriaki could play his part well enough, and could convince himself that being chosen to be the hidden lover of a man who had more secrets than he had words was an honor. He liked the money and attention after all; his dignity was a small price to pay to be special. Jotaro, to his credit, never seemed to pick up that Noriaki was having doubts and asking questions to himself about his integrity, but then what would have been the point?
Jotaro was cheating on his wife. Noriaki was party to that. Who was he to get jealous and possessive about the idea of Jotaro sleeping with other people? He never promised exclusivity, he’d only let his money do the talking, and Noriaki listened.
Every time Noriaki wanted to ask another question, Jotaro kissed him and made him forget what he was talking about.
Maybe Noriaki was weak. Maybe he was selfish. There were so many other options besides the glaring question sitting before him, and why did he care so much? What would it change? What did it matter?
If Jotaro did sleep with the strippers, what was that going to change about their relationship? If it was before they’d started dating, why would it matter? Noriaki knew he wouldn’t be mad about past lovers in any other context, so why did he care about the strippers?
Because they’re different. They’re special.
He even found himself jealous of the fact that Jotaro was watching Jean every night swing around a pole and shake his ass. Jean, who would sooner die than betray his moral code. If he couldn’t trust Jean, then what did that say about Noriaki?
It ate at him. It ate and devoured his gut until Noriaki was left with no choice but to tell Jotaro to leave one night when he came over.
“You won’t be honest with me, so I need you to go,” Noriaki said quietly.
Jotaro looked hurt. “What is this about?”
“You never really answered my question from before,” Noriaki explained. “Have you slept with the strippers at your club?”
Jotaro looked torn, desperate to find a way out of this situation without risking everything he’d invested, but finally, he hung his head. “Yes.”
Noriaki stood motionless, staring at Jotaro in his doorway. Jotaro was avoiding his gaze and keeping his head pointed at the ground, shame emblazoned across his face. Noriaki was sick; he was angry and hurt, but again, he reminded himself, why did it matter?
“Why didn’t you just tell me before?” Noriaki asked quietly.
“I didn’t want you to know what I did before we started dating. I’m not proud of who I am.”
It shouldn’t have worked on him, but Noriaki could admit now that he was weak.
“You lied about everything,” Noriaki whispered.
Jotaro finally looked up at him, fear in his eyes. “No, not everything. I do love you.”
Noriaki bit his lip and clutched the door handle. “Why did you let me think you hadn’t been with anyone before me?”
“Because you’re so good, and you’re such a better person than I am. I was afraid you’d leave me if you knew how I really was–before I met you. I didn’t want you to know that side of me. You’re different from them, you’re someone I could see myself being with for the rest of my life.”
Noriaki closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His gut was warning him not to trust Jotaro, who’d lied by omission, but he wanted so badly to keep this all, and if he was honest with himself, that was a fair fear.
“I would never judge you for what you’ve done before we got together,” Noriaki said finally, opening his eyes. “As long as you don’t cheat on me–”
“Of course not,” Jotaro quickly reassured him. “Please let me in. I want to be with you tonight. I need you, Nori.”
What a silly train of logic. Noriaki knew he was lost when he accepted Jotaro’s apology. Jean would have kicked him out. Noriaki instead welcomed him in with open arms, and open lips. Whatever Jotaro wanted, Noriaki was ready to offer. How could he trust a cheater and liar at face value?
Because Noriaki was different from others. Maybe others would have shown their skepticism, but not him. He could trust harder and deeper than anyone else. He could love unconditionally, and it would pay off. Noriaki was different.
Noriaki was special.