Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jotaro Kujo was somewhat of a legendary figure at his high school, though he certainly wouldn't have put it like that. The tallest student in his class by at least ten centimeters, and always dressed in his modified uniform and ripped cap, he certainly cut an imposing figure. His fighting career was long and impressive, his fights always ending with no less than broken bones and bloodied knuckles. Despite his complete refusal to pay attention in class and tendency to physically fight his teachers, his grades were impeccable. His vocabulary mainly consisted of menacing stares and quiet cursing, though this didn't stop anyone from trying to strike up a conversation with him. People were drawn to his effortless aura of coolness, despite his indifference and occasional hostility to his admirers.

Just like him, the circumstances of Jotaro’s disappearance were larger than life. Less than a month into the school year, he won the bloodiest fistfight in his life (up to that point). Eleven broken bones, four ruptured testicles, and dozens of eyewitness accounts describing Jotaro’s moment of supernatural badassery. Rusty bloodstains remained splashed across the concrete for a week afterwards, perfect for people to walk past and be reminded of the second year that singlehandedly beat the shit out four adult gang members in broad daylight with inhuman power and speed. He subsequently missed four days of school, but it wasn't until later that his classmates learned it was because he refused to leave his holding cell. This complete refusal to acknowledge authority only served to make him even cooler in the eyes of his classmates.

Jotaro returned on a sunny day in late April, seen and admired by multiple female classmates. They all saw him come very close to braining himself on the stone steps, and his strange interaction with the mysterious transfer student, who they all agreed was handsome, but not as handsome as Jotaro.

Though one of the students in the infirmary had his left eye gouged out with a pen by the nurse, even he could tell you that he saw with his remaining eye as he ran away. Jotaro was fighting with the nurse, her pen imbedded just above his perfectly sculpted cheekbone.

Fifteen minutes later, when the authorities arrived, the infirmary looked like the blood soaked set of a cheap horror film, and Jotaro was gone.

Few people outside of school administration noticed that Noriaki Kakyoin never showed up to class.

After that, rumors filtered into the student body by way of gossiping mothers. Mrs. Kujo, they said, was on death’s door, surrounded by a hospital’s worth of doctors and abandoned by her family.

The explanations Jotaro’s classmates concocted for his absence ranged from the relatively plausible (he was sent to live with relatives as punishment for his delinquency) to the laughably absurd (he was traveling across the world in search of a cure for his mother's rare illness).

Jotaro did not return that semester. One girl said she saw him in line at the supermarket over summer break. Her account went as follows:

Jotaro stood in front of her in the checkout line dressed in jeans and a t shirt that were both far too small for him, and a normal black baseball cap, ripped at the back. He bought: disposable razors, fish food, and liquid eyeliner. At first she thought it was a cigarette between his plush lips, like usual, only to see him pull a cherry lollipop out of his mouth a moment later.

Nobody believed her.

In September, the legend reappeared. He was recognized only by his height and his signature hat as he neared the school gates. Almost everything else about him was changed. He wore the standard uniform, albeit in a size or two larger than everyone else and with the front unbuttoned. Though the chain was missing, students would swear they heard the jingling of metal with every step he took. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, but the barest hint of a smile was on his face as he looked at his talking companion.

It took several minutes for anyone to recognize the exchange student with the cherry earrings walking by his side. He too had changed into the standard black uniform. His circular sunglasses were tinted green, and his wide mouth was split open in a grin. He elbowed Jotaro lightly as they walked in amongst the dropped jaws and shocked stares.

“Hey, Jotaro. I think your fanclub’s noticed you,” he snickered into his hand.

“I don't have a fanclub, you asshole,” he muttered back. In his eyes, this was true.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. Girls love a guy that stays humble.”

“Gimme a break…” Jotaro pulled the brim of his cap down over his face, but Kakyoin knew a blush had risen on his high cheekbones.

A trickle of curious students approached them, which quickly turned into a flood. Questions filled the air, all directed at Jotaro. He ignored all but two.

“Jojo, where were you?” It came from a third year with long black hair and a narrow face. Jotaro could see the hunger for both information and his attention in her eyes, and felt horribly uncomfortable. She rested her large, thin hand on his bicep, and Jotaro narrowed his eyes at it. It reminded him of a enormous pale spider, spread possessively over the fabric.

Her lilac nail polish was chipping around the cuticles. He had to admit it was a pretty color, but it was obviously applied clumsily, lumpy in some places while almost transparent in others. In that moment, he thought of his mother.

It was last week, when he and Kakyoin had been playing cards at home, when loud cursing echoed through the house. They'd both shared a look of subdued panic, then dropped their cards. They found Holly sitting on the floor with red lacquer smeared across her cuticles. She turned to them, embarrassed.

“Sorry for the language,” she started, then glared downwards. “But these goddamn hands of mine won't stop shaking. It's making it impossible to paint my nails.” Two audible sighs of relief were heard.

“Good grief. Just let me do it.”

He sat down and started wiping off the nail polish with acetone. Holly beamed at him with unrestrained delight while Kakyoin stared on in shock.

“Jotaro… you know how to paint nails?”

He didn't answer Kakyoin, preoccupied with gently pushing back the cuticles. Holly answered in his stead.

“Jotaro’s always had steady hands, so he liked to paint my nails when he was a little boy.”

“Only because I couldn't stand how messy it looked otherwise,” he muttered. Kakyoin had snickered and smiled behind his hand while Holly looked borderline ecstatic at the thoughtful gesture.

Jotaro wished that summer break could have lasted forever. He wanted to stay in the perpetual limbo that was cooking with his mother, watching Kakyoin play his video games, and reading with every free moment. Not go back to constantly being stared at and annoyed. Finally, he shifted his eyes to the girl's face and gave as concise an answer as he could.

“Family emergency.” The students sighed in frustration, but were not surprised. Jotaro was mysterious, that was his whole thing. Of course he wouldn't give up the answer like that.

He made his way over to Kakyoin, who had been pushed to the edge of the crowd. He gave Jotaro a smug, amused look, and received a glare in response.

“Don't fuckin’ say anything.” They walked a bit quicker, their long legs giving them an advantage over the crowd.

“Someone's in a bad mood today. Anyways, I think we have the same home room.”

They were seated alphabetically, with the Ks sitting next to each other in the back row. The roll was called, everyone was in attendance. The teacher cleared his throat once and adjusted his glasses.

“Kakyoin, please remove the sunglasses. You are at school, not the beach.”

The smile on Kakyoin’s face faltered, if only for a moment.

“Of course,” he replied easily, and obeyed. The thin scars across his eyes were reminiscent of a harlequin doll’s makeup. He put the folded glasses in his front pocket, and class began, the curious stares renewed by the recent development.

Kakyoin had been an honor roll student before he met Dio, and he was going to be one again if it killed him. He rationalized that if he could survive a blow that reduced half his internal organs to a gory mush, he could make up two semesters worth of missed schoolwork.

Classes passed without incident. Jotaro spent those classes looking over the notes he'd taken last time he went to the tide pools by the beach, while occasionally jotting down a note that only he would be able to understand later. That, and ignoring the persistent stares his classmates cast at him. It was starting to piss him off, and a migraine had built behind his eyes. He didn't understand what they were so hung up on. Even if Jotaro had left school for some sane, non-Dio-related reason, they had no business being so nosy about his life.

Kakyoin split his attention between listening to his lessons, doing practice math problems out of the textbook, and taking meticulous color coded notes.

When they met again in home room for lunch, Jotaro was sitting in the window sill, blowing cigarette smoke out the window. This was hardly allowed in school, but no teacher was about to tell him that, considering he could turn them into a bloody paste without breaking a sweat. They considered themselves lucky that he was considerate enough to not give everyone secondhand smoke and aim it outside. That was better than what the kids that tried to imitate Jotaro did, which was usually attempting to create smoke rings and blowing smoke in girls’ faces, as if that was what attracted them to Jotaro.

“Fallen off the wagon again, I see,” said Kakyoin with a smile.

Jotaro turned his face to him, and Kakyoin realized just how tired Jotaro looked. His sea green eyes were bloodshot and dull, the circles underneath dark and heavy. He put out the cigarette on the inside of his wrist and flicked it at the nearest trash can.

Kakyoin frowned and inspected the blistering skin. Two other similar circular scabs sat on his forearm alongside it.

“You didn't need to do that.” Jotaro shrugged.

“You're right. I need to quit. Mom said the smell makes her sick.”

That wasn't exactly what Kakyoin was referring to, but he decided not to press at that moment. He sat down at the nearest desk and unpacked his lunch.

A girl with thick arms and tan skin approached. Jotaro recognized her from some middle school memory, but couldn't remember any details about her beyond her dislocating both shoulders in a very interesting game of baseball in seventh grade.

This was when he answered the second question.

“Hey, Jojo.”

He grunted in response. He didn't have the energy to tell her to fuck off. He planned to either ignore her or give a vague explanation of his disappearance after the inevitable question.

“What ever happened to your old uniform? I've never seen you without it.”

Jotaro stared, certain that his surprise was evident on his face. It was not. Kakyoin saw only a glimpse of it, and to everyone else he seemed unaffected. Jotaro pulled his hat over his face after deciding on an answer. In his surprise, he chose honesty.

“Too many bloodstains,” he said.

His fingers twitched, and part of him regretted throwing away the cigarette.

It was true. No matter times it was washed, the jacket still smelled like a butcher’s. It had accumulated the blood of several people throughout his journey, to the point that the clotted blood stiffened the fabric. Jotaro, Kakyoin, Dio, and countless others had bled and soaked into the jacket.

The first thing Jotaro did after washing it for the third time was stuff it in the back of his closet, determined to never look at it again. A week later, he woke up from a dream about drowning in something much more viscous than water, and decided to take out his jacket.

He tore it into strips, soaked it in rubbing alcohol, and burned it in the courtyard.

He didn't explain that to her, though.

She looked at him, turning pale. Kakyoin gave an exasperated sigh.

“Jotaro, do you even realize how bad you just made that sound?”

Jotaro considered for a moment. Maybe, he forced himself to admit, he sounded threatening to her.

“Most of it was mine, if that makes you feel any better,” he amended. Judging by the look on her face, it did not. She excused herself in a rush and left the classroom.

“Yesterday, I was partially worried that your behavior would change drastically in a school environment, but I was wrong. It seems you're hopelessly awkward no matter where you are.”

All who had been surreptitiously listening in on the conversation held their breath as they anticipated Jotaro’s retaliation for the comment. Would he just go for a punch to the head, or would he draw out the pain and break his fingers as well?

“As if you're one to talk. You always act so creepy, and it's only on purpose half the time,” said Jotaro.

“I can't really disagree with that…” Kakyoin smiled and glanced down at his lunch as if for the first time.

“Oh, Ms. Holly packed some cherries in my lunch.” Kakyoin gave Jotaro a grin that could only be described as evil.

That was all the warning eavesdroppers had before Kakyoin dropped the cherry in his mouth and began rolling it around on his tongue.

Loudly.

“I'm ashamed to know you,” said Jotaro with no real heat as he pointedly stared out the window. Kakyoin pushed the cherry to the side of his mouth to speak, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“What, Jotaro? Does this make you uncomfortable?” He slid out of his seat and over to the window, where he continued licking. Directly into Jotaro's ear.

The students cringed, knowing what would happen next. One dropped his milk on the floor, and ignored it. Jotaro had gone easy on the exchange student up to that point because he was new, but the stranger had pushed his luck too far. That wide grin of his would definitely be missing a few teeth after that stunt.

Of course, they were wrong.

Jotaro laughed in public for the first time in two years. And every student, male or female, had to admit it: Jotaro was handsome when he scowled, but he was downright beautiful when he laughed.

It came from his belly, low and rich. His eyes crinkled up, and his pouting lips curved up in a smile. He halfheartedly pushed Kakyoin away, gasping for breath.

“I fuckin’ hate you.”

Kakyoin smirked and leaned against the windowsill.

“I got you to laugh, didn't I? That's quite the accomplishment, considering what a bad mood you've been in all morning.”

Jotaro sighed, both relieved and alarmed that Kakyoin could decipher the emotions hidden beneath his mask of neutrality.

“It was a pity laugh.”

Kakyoin smirked and spit the cherry pit out the window. The unspoken question of what's wrong? hung between them. Kakyoin decided to take the circuitous route to drawing the truth out of Jotaro, considering how he avoided talking about his feelings like the plague.

“Do you want to ditch class for the rest of the day? Ms. Holly rented RoboCop on VHS.”

“Really? I didn't think you were the kind of guy to voluntarily skip school.”

Kakyoin shrugged. “Most teachers are just handing out the syllabus today. I can afford to miss.”

Jotaro stared at him for a long moment before sighing.

“Alright,” he said. Kakyoin beamed at him.

“Come on, then. Let's go out the window.” He paused, and looked at the ground three stories below. “I can use Hierophant Green to carry you,” he added.

“I'm pretty heavy. I don't think-” he was interrupted by the stand wrapping its arms around his waist and under his knees and lifting him.

“Looks like I can carry you just fine.”

“Why does it have to be in this position, though?”

If anything, Kakyoin’s smirk grew wider. Then, in the eyes of everyone else, it appeared as though Kakyoin wrapped an invisible rope around his hand and jumped out the window, followed by Jotaro's floating body. A moment later, the window was also slammed shut by an unseen force.

And that was how Noriaki Kakyoin gained his reputation at his new high school. From that day on, it was well known that he was handsome, creepy, polite, quite possibly an evil being gifted with supernatural powers, and way too close to Jotaro.

This was, more or less, an accurate summation of his character.