Chapter Text
By the time he pulled the car into the driveway, Jotaro’s jaw ached from how hard he’d been grinding his teeth. The whole ride home had been in silence, save for the low rumble of the engine.
He killed the engine. For a moment, he just sat there, hands resting on the wheel. The house was the same as always—small, tidy, unremarkable. Safe.
But he didn’t feel safe. Not with that face burned into his memory.
Jolyne was waiting for him when he finally came in. She was sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, doodling in a sketchbook.
"Finally! Can we order pizza for dinner? I'm fucking starving."
"Mhm," Jotaro took his wallet from his pocket and tossed it to her, before sitting down. “Dad.” Jolyne was peering at him now, head tilted, expression suspicious. “You’re weirdly quiet. Did the teacher say I was bad?”
Her bluntness almost made him huff out a laugh. Almost. “No.”
She squinted at him, unconvinced, before shrugging it off. “Good. ’Cause I’m not.” She spun on her chair, glancing at her dad. “Kakyoin Sensai is alright, he's just embarrassing.”
The name cut like glass.
Jotaro froze, his coat half-unbuttoned. His daughter didn’t notice. She was too busy scowling at a half-finished drawing, tongue poking out as she corrected a line.
Their pizzas arrived fifteen minutes later, in plain cardboard boxes with grease seeping from the sides before it even hit the table.
“Finally,” she said, tearing open the lid. The smell of melted cheese filled the kitchen instantly. “You took forever.”
“You’re impatient,” Jotaro muttered, pulling out plates.
“I’m hungry,” she shot back, grabbing the first slice and nearly burning her fingers. “Ow!”
He set a plate in front of her, then one for himself, though he wasn’t sure if he’d touch it. He wasn’t hungry. Not for food, anyway. His stomach was too knotted, his chest too heavy.
But he sat, because that’s what fathers were supposed to do.
Jolyne chattered through her first slice, words tumbling fast between bites. Something about gym class. Something about how boring math was. Something about how a girl in her form had tried to cheat on a quiz and got caught. Jotaro answered with low hums, short nods, the occasional grunt.
Her voice filled the silence, filling the cracks he couldn’t.
When she reached for her second slice, she slowed down just enough to look at him. “Dad. You’re being weird again.”
His hand stilled on the edge of his plate. “What do you mean, JoJo?"
“Like… quieter than normal. Which is saying something.” She narrowed her eyes. “Was it something Kakyoin Sensai said?”
The name struck again, sharper this time. He forced himself not to flinch, though his jaw clenched around the reflex.
“…No,” he said, tone flat.
She chewed thoughtfully, eyes still on him like she could read the lie. “He’s just annoying sometimes. I don’t care. You don’t have to look all… I dunno.” She waved her hand vaguely. “All serious about it.”
Jotaro reached for his own slice finally, though he only held it, not eating. “You don’t like him?”
Jolyne shrugged. “He’s fine, I guess. Just… embarrassing. He keeps pointing out my drawings, like, ‘oh look at Jolyne’s work, everyone!’ Ugh.” She groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Like I wanna be teacher’s pet.”
The corners of his mouth tightened—somewhere between grimace and almost a smile.
“Still,” Jolyne went on, licking grease from her fingers, “he’s not mean. Just… kinda weird. He looks at me funny sometimes, like he knows me. Maybe he just stares at everyone that way. Weirdo.”
Jotaro’s pulse jumped, but he kept his face unreadable. “Eat your food.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She stuffed another bite into her mouth, muffling her words. “You’re the one not eating.”
Jotaro lowered his gaze to the cooling slice in his hand. Slowly, he took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. The taste barely registered, but it grounded him—something physical, something real.
Across the table, Jolyne had already launched into another story, this one about the stray cat she’d seen behind the gym. Her voice rose and fell with excitement, her hands waving as she tried to describe the color of its fur.
Jotaro watched her, silent, letting her words wash over him. A small anchor in the middle of the storm.
Kakyoin’s face hovered at the edges of his mind, refusing to fade.
But Jolyne was here. Real. Alive. And for now, that had to be enough.
>>•<<
Jotaro’s phone buzzed just as he was finally sinking into the couch with a cold drink. He glanced at the screen: “School Office – Urgent: Jolyne’s Behavior.”
A sigh escaped him. Of course. It's been less than a week since the conference, and already he was being called in.
He grabbed his coat again, muttering under his breath. “Damn it, kid.”
At the school, the receptionist gave him a polite nod. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Kujo. Ms. Cujoh’s art teacher is ready to see you.”
Jotaro’s jaw tightened. Kakyoin. He wasn’t ready for this. But here he was, striding down the hall like a man he didn’t recognize in the mirror.
He entered the classroom. Kakyoin was already seated behind his desk, upright and composed, pen in hand, notebook open. He looked up and gave a small, professional nod.
“Jotaro. Thank you for coming.”
Jotaro’s eyes narrowed. “…This is about Jolyne?”
“Yes,” Kakyoin replied smoothly, flipping to the page he had prepared. “She’s been… struggling with focus in class, disrupting peers occasionally, and not completing certain assignments on time. I thought it best to bring it to your attention before it escalates.”
Jotaro shifted, letting his eyes scan the room. Jolyne’s empty chair, the little art supplies scattered around, the faint scent of pencil shavings—it all hit him harder than it should.
“And what exactly did she do?” he asked, voice flat but taut.
Kakyoin explained, carefully and measured, detailing the incidents: refusing to follow instructions on an assignment, and several moments of drawing instead of listening. He kept his tone professional.
Jotaro didn’t reply at first. His mind was spinning—Cairo, the parent-teacher conference, the look in Kakyoin’s eyes six years later. All of it came crashing back in a wave of frustration and disbelief.
“…And you haven’t… punished her?” he asked finally.
Kakyoin shook his head. “Not beyond redirecting her attention. Discipline is most effective when paired with understanding. She’s talented, and she’s testing boundaries—nothing unusual for her age. I think with guidance at home and consistent support, she’ll improve quickly.”
Jotaro grunted, feeling the familiar tension in his shoulders. He wanted to lash out, to bark at someone, anyone. But the calm precision of Kakyoin’s voice… it was infuriating. Precise. Patient. Inhumanly controlled.
“I see,” Jotaro said at last, his tone clipped. “I’ll talk to her. Make sure she behaves.”
Kakyoin nodded. “I appreciate it. And Jotaro—thank you for being proactive. It helps her more than you realise.”
Jotaro didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lingered, looking at the desk, at Kakyoin, at the faint lines of concern around his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cairo, about all the years, about what he’d lost.
“…She’ll be fine,” Jotaro muttered finally.
>>•<<
Jotaro. Jotaro. Jotaro.
So it was him, Kakyoin hadn't imagined parents' evening. It was Jotaro Kujo. In the flesh.
He was going to kill Kakyoin. For sure.
Kakyoin could just imagine the conversation.
Noriaki Kakyoin, why the fuck did you let me believe that you were dead. I hate you and never want to speak to you ever again. You're a piece of shit I hope you rot and die.
But for some reason Jotaro had been... accepting. Their brief interaction had been on his mind since yesterday, and Kakyoin sat behind his desk, pen poised over his planner, trying to keep everything calm. The hum of fluorescent lights and the faint smell of pencil shavings filled the classroom. He reminded himself: focus on teaching. Focus on the lesson.
Then Jolyne came in, flopped into her chair, pencil tucked behind her ear, sketchbook in hand, bag dangling off one shoulder.
“Good morning, Ms. Cujoh,” he said, voice smooth, neutral. “Morning,” she muttered, dropping into her chair.
He cleared his throat, and started to guide the class through perspective exercises. Jolyne grumbled, barely looking up. “Sensai, how do I make the background like that one?” She pointed to the example that Kakyoin had laid out on the tables.
And then it happened.
“Pay attention, Ms. Cujoh.” he said, without thinking.
"JoJo! Have you learnt nothing?!" Ermes Castello yelled from the across the class, causing most of the class to giggle. Jolyne scrunched her drawing into a ball and threw it at her.
JoJo. That had been Jotaro's nickname.
JoJo
One tiny word, and suddenly he was six years back in Cairo, staring at Jotaro, wondering how he’d survived, and realizing that every day since had led to this impossible, tangled moment.
"Sybau, Ermes!"
What the fuck did Sybau, mean?
These children.
"Costello. Cujoh. Outside!"
The girls followed him out of the classroom. "Sensai, that literally wasn't even my fault! She called me JoJo-"
"I heard. Why did that bother you so much, Ms. Cujoh?"
Jolyne crossed her arms, "only my dad calls me that. And I've told Ermes not to say it!" She kicked her in the shin.
"Ms. Costello. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Sorry, Jolyne."
"Alright. If either of you two bother anyone else for the rest of the lesson, I'm emailing both of your parents."
They both groaned and returned to their seats.
The lesson continued, and Kakyoin's coffee cup was on its last legs. "Sensai, do you have a girlfriend?" One of the boys in the back row yelled out.
Kakyoin knew exactly what was happening. The classic student tactic: distraction to avoid work.
He sighed softly, setting down his pen. "Nope."
"Have you ever had one?!"
He raised his hands in mock surrender, “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to get out of the exercise.”
The student grinned, pencil frozen. “Maybe.”
"I've never had a girlfriend. I've had two boyfriends, but that was years ago." It was true, after he'd found his teaching job, he'd tried online dating. But it was way to difficult to a) figure out if they were stand users and b) to hide Emerald Splash from them.
So he gave up.
"Sensai, how old are you?"
"Thirty-three. Next?"
"Have you ever gone to Africa?"
Kakyoin leaned back slightly, voice calm, measured, as he began:
“I traveled to Egypt. Not as a tourist, and not for pleasure. It was a long journey across desert sands, with cities burning beneath the sun and nights so cold they could bite your bones.”
The students leaned in instinctively. Even Jolyne, normally bouncing in her seat, stopped mid-doodle.
“I learned to observe the world differently there. The way light fell on the pyramids at dawn, how shadows stretched across the sand—these are things that influenced how I see and how I paint. Every line, every shade, every attempt at capturing what I see comes from that time.”
“Did you see mummies? Or like… real pyramids?” one student asked.
Kakyoin chuckled softly. “I saw pyramids, yes. And not all mummies are as we imagine them in stories.”
Jolyne’s hand twitched in mid-doodle. “Did you go alone?”
“No, I was with... friends."
"What were their names?"
"Urhm, Avdol, Jean-Pierre, Joseph, Iggy and... um, Anne. But we rid ourselves of her." Best not to mention Jotaro.
Kakyoin smiled faintly, looking at the empty air for a moment. “The desert is beautiful, but it is also merciless. You learn to be careful, and to respect what you do not fully understand.”
The bell rang before anyone could ask more. Kakyoin set down his pen, exhaling slowly. He felt lighter somehow—like sharing this small slice of his past had allowed him to exist outside the boundaries of teacher and student for a moment.
Jolyne gathered her things slowly, glancing at him with a mixture of awe and curiosity. “Wow… that’s… actually really cool, Sensei. Why did you pick Egypt?”
"My friend, uh, Anne, we had to find this scary guy, he was doing something to hi-her mum. We went to stop him."
"Right. See you tomorrow, Sensai."
Kakyoin allowed himself a small, private smile. “Thank you, Ms. Cujoh. Now, back to your exercises tomorrow—we’ll put some of what we discussed into practice.”
As the students filed out, he caught Jolyne lingering at the door, sketchbook clutched to her chest. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder how much she had absorbed—and how much she might repeat to her father.
But for now… the lesson had gone well.
>>•<<
Jotaro was in the kitchen, quietly eating, when Jolyne stomped in, tossing her backpack onto the floor.
“Dad, you won’t believe what that weird art teacher was on about today,” she said, flopping into a chair with a dramatic sigh.
Jotaro raised an eyebrow. “…What now?”
“He decided we weren’t paying enough attention, so he started talking about… Egypt. Or something. Like he actually went there.” She rolled her eyes. “All about deserts, pyramids, shadows, light, blah blah. I swear, he made it sound super serious, like he’s Indiana Jones or something.”
Jotaro blinked. “Egypt, huh?” He felt a flicker of something in his chest but kept his tone flat.
“Yeah. And he kept going on about how observing stuff there helped him with his art. Like, you know, noticing details or whatever. I didn’t even care, I was just doodling.” She snorted. “But some of the other kids were actually paying attention. Weirdos.”
Jotaro nodded slowly, taking a sip. “Hmm.”
Jolyne caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “Dad… you zoning out again? Earth to JoJo Senior.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Thanks for telling me.”
She shrugged, picking up her pencil again. Jotaro grunted softly. No, he didn’t. But something about that story—about the calm, collected man who had survived so much—stuck with him.
Jolyne smirked, clearly amused at the way he stiffened. “Yeah, yeah, apparently he was there and ran into… some scary people. Said you had to be careful or something. I didn’t ask for details—don’t care. But some of the kids were eating it up.”
Jotaro’s eyes narrowed slightly. “…Scary people?”
She shrugged, flipping her pencil between her fingers. “Yeah, some guy he didn’t name. Super powerful or something. Kind of vague, but intense. Totally mysterious. Honestly, Dad, he’s weird. I think he’s trying to sound like an adventurer or something.”
Jotaro grunted, chewing slowly, feeling a weight in his chest. Egypt. Dangerous people.
"Anyway, it made me giggle, and Sensai said one of his friends was called Iggy. And that was your old dog's name, right?"
"Uh-huh."
Jotaro's mind was somewhere else.
>>•<<
Kakyoin sat at his desk, watching the students settle into their seats. The lesson was supposed to be about color theory today, but he could already feel the familiar tug of mischief in the room.
Jolyne, of course, was front and center. Pencil poised, sketchbook open—but her eyes darted around, smirking at Ermes, whispering something to a nearby classmate. Kakyoin’s pen hovered over his notebook, pausing mid-correction.
Always pushing boundaries, he thought, scanning the other students. They were following her lead, feeding off her energy. He reminded himself to stay calm. Focus on the lesson. Observation first.
He began the demonstration on complementary colors, carefully explaining the interaction of light and shadow in hues. But even as he spoke, he could feel Jolyne’s attention wandering, flicking from her paper to him, then back to her friends, trying to provoke a reaction.
She’s clever, he noted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. She knows exactly how far she can push before it becomes discipline.
“Ms. Cujoh,” he said gently but firmly, “please focus on your exercise.”
She glanced at him, eyebrow raised, smirk firmly in place. “Mmm, yeah, sure, Sensai,” she drawled, pretending to comply. But the flicker of amusement in her eyes told him she had no intention of slowing down.
Kakyoin felt the faintest tug in his chest, a reminder of Cairo, of Jotaro, of all the things he’d lost and had to keep secret. Focus, he told himself again.
He shook his head slightly, forcing his attention back to the students. “Observe the interaction of colors,” he said, demonstrating on the board, “and notice how a slight change can shift the mood entirely.”
Jolyne, of course, continued to doodle, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in her expression now—just a flicker. Kakyoin’s eyes softened. She’s not just testing me. She’s trying to understand.
The bell rang before the lesson fully concluded, but Kakyoin felt a small pang of satisfaction. He had maintained composure, guided the students, and even planted the seed of observation that might stick with Jolyne.
As the classroom emptied, he allowed himself a small exhale. Alone, he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. Teaching her is… complicated.
And Jotaro? The thought crept in unbidden. He could not tell anyone—not yet—but seeing her, interacting with her, made it impossible to ignore the connection.
I must stay professional, he reminded himself firmly. Always professional.
And yet, as he closed his notebook and prepared for the next class, he couldn’t shake the quiet thought:
This is going to be harder than he expected.
>>•<<
Next week, Jotaro got another call. When he pushed open the classroom door, Kakyoin was already there, notebook open, pen poised—but this time, he didn’t immediately start with the report. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a trace of something unspoken, as if he had anticipated the tension that would follow.
“Jotaro,” he said softly, gesturing to a chair. “Thank you for coming. Please… have a seat.”
Jotaro sat, shoulders stiff, arms crossed. “…Let’s just get this over with.”
Kakyoin nodded, then began outlining the incidents: Jolyne had refused to complete an assignment again. She had interrupted other students multiple times. Today, she had distracted the class intentionally, pushing boundaries to see how far she could go.
Jotaro’s jaw tightened as Kakyoin spoke. But unlike previous meetings, there was something different in Kakyoin’s voice—a subtle layer of concern, of personal investment. It wasn’t just professional anymore.
Jotaro exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I'll talk to her... again.” His voice was flat.
For a moment, they were silent. Kakyoin’s mind flickered to Cairo—the sun, the sand, the blood, and the man in front of him, who had believed him dead for sixteen years. How many times had he imagined this conversation? And yet, here it was, real and awkward and charged.
Kakyoin nodded, quietly. “I’m glad you care. She’s strong-willed, like her father.”
Jotaro’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “…Like her father, huh?”
Kakyoin’s expression softened. “…Yes. Reminds me of someone I once knew. A long time ago.”
The name caught Jotaro off guard. He stiffened. “Sixteen years ago.” His voice was low, carrying the weight of memories both painful and precious.
A brief silence fell, filled with the ghosts of sunburned sand, blood, and exhaustion. Kakyoin allowed himself a small exhale. “…I remember how stubborn you were. How careful I had to be. How… impossible it felt at times.”
Jotaro’s lips twitched into a faint smile, almost humorless. “…You were stubborn too!”
Kakyoin’s chest tightened at the memory and the words hung between them. No one else could understand, not really. Sixteen years, separated by death and time, yet here they were, in a school hallway, talking as if 1989 was just yesterday.
Jotaro’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “…You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
Kakyoin allowed a faint smile. “…Yes. Alive. And teaching. Somehow teaching art to children who think they can distract me endlessly.”
"Yeah, Jolyne told me you told them about a scary man. Dio?"
"Yes, uhh, she doesn't know about Egypt, or uh, that we travelled across the world to save her grandmother- how is she, by the way?"
Jotaro almost smiled, "My mother is fine, and no, Jolyne doesn't know. Please don't tell her I was there. She's not even a teenager yet." Kakyoin nodded.
"She's very like you, you know? She's the same look that you had when you were trying to act nonchalant-"
"Trying!? No, Kakyoin, I was always nonchalant, effortlessly."
A quiet laugh escaped them both, fleeting but significant. For a moment, they weren’t teacher and parent, or adult and child—they were just two men who had faced impossible things together, rediscovering a connection they thought was lost. Jotaro muttered again. “…Never thought we’d end up here.”
“Neither did I,” Kakyoin replied. “…But perhaps, in unexpected ways, some things survive. Even when you think they’re gone forever.”
Jotaro’s hand brushed against the side of his coat, almost unconsciously, and Kakyoin felt a small, undeniable warmth in the quiet space between them.
>>•<<
The art room was a mess. Paint smudges streaked the tables, erasers littered the floor, and all becaude Jolyne had crouched on top of her chair, balancing precariously as she tried to flick a pencil at Ermes in class that day.
Kakyoin pinched the bridge of his nose. Now, he had to stay after school, and watch over two teenage girls clean up the room and ensure that they don't cause more chaos.
Jotaro’s boots clattered across the floor, voice low and clipped. “JoJo. What the hell is going on here?”
Kakyoin straightened, masking his exasperation with calm. The dark haired girl's eyes gleamed mischievously. “You’re both here? Awesome. Double the fun!" She rolled her eyes and sighed, flopping against the wall. “Seriously, you two are ridiculous together. Team Teachers or something?”
Kakyoin’s lips twitched into a faint, amused smile. “Perhaps.”
Jotaro’s jaw flexed, almost smiling. “We’re effective.”
And in that moment, amidst paint, pencils, and a very distracted student, the air between them held more than just professional cooperation.
It’s still us, Kakyoin thought, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to feel it: the quiet pull, the bond that had survived Dio Brando, that had somehow remained, waiting.
Jotaro noticed it too, in the briefest flicker of expression, and neither could deny the truth simmering beneath the surface.
They were both still alive. They were both still here. And somehow, in the chaos of a classroom, they had found each other again.
Ermes groaned as she swept paint chips into a dustpan. “I don’t see how sitting here scrubbing a floor is a lesson at all.”
Kakyoin sighed, crouching to pick up stray pencils. “Ms. Cujoh, please. If you help, it will be quicker.”
“Ugh, fine,” she muttered, grabbing a rag. “But only because I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”
Jotaro’s voice cut in, low and measured. “Keep your sleeves clean."
Kakyoin’s chest tightened slightly at the tone—not scolding, not harsh, just precise, calm… protective. Still the same Jotaro, he thought quietly.
Ermes glanced between them. “You two… are really intense when you work together. It’s kind of scary.”
Jolyne snorted. “Yeah, like the world’s most serious cleaning squad. I’m trapped.”
The four of them worked in quiet rhythm. Kakyoin swept and wiped, Jolyne scrubbing reluctantly but efficiently, Ermes keeping an eye on stray debris, and Jotaro silently making sure everything was done properly.
At one point, Jolyne accidentally knocked over a jar of brushes. “Careful!” Kakyoin exclaimed, bending to pick them up.
Jotaro stepped closer instinctively, Star Platinum grabbing a brush before it could fall further. Their hands brushed for a fraction of a second. Neither pulled away immediately.
But inside, both men felt the electricity of that simple, mundane touch—the memory of Cairo, the familiarity, the bond that had survived years of separation.
By the time the room was tidied, the paint stains mostly gone and tables straightened, the tension had eased slightly. Jolyne looked around and smirked. “There. Satisfying chaos restored to order. You’re welcome.”
Kakyoin exhaled, straightening his sleeves. “Yes. Thank you, Ms. Costello and Ms. Cujoh. That was… acceptable cooperation.”
Jotaro simply nodded, lingering a moment longer than necessary by the doorway. His eyes met Kakyoin’s briefly. No words were exchanged—but both knew the moment mattered more than it seemed.
As they left the room, Jolyne muttered sarcastically under her breath: “Seriously. You two are so weird together.”
Kakyoin allowed himself a quiet, private smile. Yes. We are.