Chapter Text
“She’s become unable to breathe on her own.”
That is what he’d just heard, wasn’t it?
Perhaps it wasn’t; Jotaro wasn’t the one on the phone, his grandfather was, and it was hard to hear clearly what the doctor on the other end of the line was saying in the bustle of people outside the restaurant.
But then he saw Joseph’s stony expression, and he knew he’d been right.
Perhaps Avdol was wrong.
Perhaps the sickness caused by his mother’s newfound Stand would take her even before they reached Egypt.
His stomach churned, but his face remained its usual scowl, the one that had been plastered on his face since the age of thirteen, when his celebrity father’s music came into higher demand and he’d become more of a visitor in the Kujo estate than an actual resident. The teenager looked away from the old man on the phone and tried to find something to glare at.
Beside him, Polnareff was looking about as well, but his cheeks had lost the cheerful glow that had been ever-present for the couple weeks before Avdol’s “death.” His gaze was blank. Pitiful, thought Jotaro. They couldn’t afford to lose morale now that they were a man short—temporarily, at least.
Although it had only been a couple of days, Jotaro found himself anticipating the levelheaded fortuneteller’s return. His grandfather’s eccentricities coupled with Polnareff’s fluctuating moods were just as headache-inducing as those stupid girls back home. Possibly even more so, considering their ages.
Well, at least Kakyoin was around.
Jotaro was a boy grateful for few—although no matter how few he’d never admit them to anyone.
He was grateful for his Stand, his ever-present guardian, completely obedient despite his annoying little sentient tendencies—appearing without being called upon, watching Jotaro as he read, picking up various objects. Though he always disappeared when commanded, and for that Jotaro was even more thankful.
He was grateful for his mother, although saying so aloud would only fuel the loud enthusiasm she’d inherited from her father, and Jotaro was compelled to keep that to a minimum. She’d been consistently positive throughout his turbulent teenage years despite the absence of her husband, and Jotaro sometimes thought he’d be in even deeper shit with the authorities had she not been a perpetual spring of optimism.
And he was grateful for Kakyoin.
He looked over to the redhead, who appeared to be watching a pair of bright yellow birds perched upon the restaurant’s awning.
It was bizarre, having a friend. Jotaro hadn’t really had one since he was a child, and now he had four, counting Joseph. Kakyoin was probably the easiest to be around, beating out Avdol due to their shared mother tongue. It was so refreshing, after a long day of listening to and speaking English, to hear Japanese words and make short Japanese conversation. Because their conversations were always brief and meaningless—were you hurt during the fight? who do you think will come after us next? what are you reading? Kakyoin was generally the first to speak.
And that suited Jotaro just fine. He’d always more happily tolerated those who knew when to stop speaking to him, and those who didn’t pry even more. Kakyoin was good at picking up hints.
Jotaro realized he’d been staring at the other student when his violet eyes stared back. Kakyoin’s wide mouth curved with a smile and he gave a little wave, to which Jotaro answered with a not-unkind purse of the lips.
“Alright,” Joseph sighed, stowing his bulky mobile phone in his pack. His face retained its distraught tightness. “Shall we eat?”
The doctor’s tinny words echoed in Jotaro’s head—unable to breathe on her own—and he grimaced. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered. “I think I’ll head back to the hotel.”
Kakyoin gave him a look but Joseph just shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Jotaro left for the hotel alone.
--
A book about carnivorous marine mammals of the Northern Hemisphere sat on one of the maroon-blanketed beds, open to a chapter on the migratory habits of beluga whales.
It was, of course, fascinating material and would normally keep Jotaro busy for hours, but he had abandoned it after half an hour of reading the same few paragraphs over and over in favor of settling in the window seat alcove with a cigarette.
He was too distracted to read. What he’d overheard on the phone replayed over and over in his head as he stared out over the little west-Indian city.
He’d never say it aloud, but he thought he felt a hint of guilt blooming inside him. He knew he’d been hard on his mother since his father became more and more absent in their lives. He’d said cruel things, called her names like he did the fawning girls in his class, and yet she never failed to show him the upmost love. Perhaps it was the obnoxious American blood within her.
The breeze outside whisked away the smoke Jotaro exhaled.
Beside him, Star Platinum stood staring. He’d appeared several minutes before, sensing his master’s distress. Now he grunted with what appeared to be concern.
“Go away,” Jotaro muttered without looking at him, and the hulking Stand flashed from existence. He’d always been most relaxed by himself, but he doubted the absence of Star would make a difference, not with the clouds of thought swirling about his head.
Namely, what if his mother died before they reached DIO?
He gritted his teeth. His mother was and had constantly been a strong woman, almost completely unaffected by her husband’s long, seemingly endless tours. But despite that strength, as Avdol had said before they left Japan, her soul was too saintly to endure the violent nature of a Stand. It was a pestilence instead of a protector.
And deep down he regretted all those times he’d lashed out at her. It wasn’t her fault that his father had decided he loved his music more than he loved them.
And of course he cared for her, albeit in his own distant way. How could he not? She was his mother, after all. She had introduced him to the wonders of sea life, taking Jotaro to the aquarium time and time again when he was a child, any time he asked. Always with a smile, always listening with attentive ears as he would point out one fish or another and rattle off facts he’d read in one of his numerous books or saw on National Geographic.
The ultimate mother, and yet it had been years since he’d told her he loved her.
Jotaro rubbed a hand over his eyes and tried not to think about anything.
He sat there a long while, leaning against the alcove wall, one leg propped up, ash tray on the floor beside him. He’d just started on his fifth cigarette when the chack of a key in its lock and the opening of the room’s door broke through the white noise of the city, announcing the arrival of a distraction.
“This room is non-smoking, you know.”
Jotaro turned to give him a venomous stare before looking back out the half-open window, silent all the while.
He heard crinkling paper. “I brought you back some food,” Kakyoin said.
He tossed the paper bag, and Star Platinum’s hand shot out of thin air to catch it and hand it to Jotaro. “Thanks,” he muttered, but didn’t open it.
“What’s up with you?” the redhead asked, settling on the bed nearest to Jotaro, crossing his arms, and fixing him with a searching amethyst gaze.
“It’s nothing.” Jotaro blew smoke from his nose and it fogged a small circle on the glass.
“Liar.”
“If it was something it’s not really any of your business.”
Kakyoin snorted. “Fair enough. Although sometimes it helps to talk to someone about it.”
“About what? I told you it’s nothing.”
“Then why are you brooding when you could be reading about—” he picked up the deserted book beside him and glanced down at the open page— “how… ‘not all beluga whales travel south when autumn comes’?”
Jotaro shrugged. “I got bored.”
“Bored? Of this absolutely riveting section?” The sarcasm was playful and provoking, but Jotaro said nothing.
A creak as Kakyoin stood, soft footfalls on ugly carpet, a hand on his shoulder.
Jotaro stiffened slightly. Kakyoin had become rather… touchy since Singapore. It wasn’t really something he welcomed, but he supposed it wasn’t that bad compared to how those unbearable girls would hang all over him without invitation.
“If you ever need to talk, I’ll listen,” Kakyoin said softly, and when Jotaro glanced up his hard turquoise gaze was met by a small, kind smile.
He looked away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
A squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be in the shower.”
Jotaro grunted in acknowledgement, and Kakyoin sighed then retreated to the bathroom.
Yare, yare… The last thing he needed was a nosy roommate.
However… he thought he’d seen a hint of his mother in Kakyoin’s smile, and that was a little comforting.
Jotaro stubbed out his half-finished cigarette and breathed out his last cloud of smoke. His gaze switched from city to ceiling, and he felt a break in his anxiety at the prospect of a quiet round of Japanese conversation, away from the roiling remorse in his head.
Perhaps being alone wasn’t always the answer.