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Jotaro dreamed of the battle in Cairo often. Even years after, now being almost 27 years-old.
His dreams of it were vivid. He could easily remember the smells, the sounds, the way he felt. Sometimes in the dreams, it played out just how it happened. Other times, it played out differently, him and his comrades being completely defeated by DIO. Sometimes just him being defeated, dying from the knives, or just not dodging or blocking a punch fast enough.
He could remember his face vividly. It was practically scarred into his mind, his piercing, red eyes, his golden hair, his wicked voice, the body of his great-great-grandfather that he had stolen.
He could remember the chilling things he said.
“Your friends are dead!” He proclaimed proudly, a smile curling at his lips.
He could remember so well the fear and anger he felt, it sent him into a rage, thankfully defeating the vampire that cursed the Joestar family for so long.
Tonight his dream was a bit different than that. It was one he hadn't had in a while, but it still came to haunt him every now and then.
In his dream─ his nightmare, he felt like a person watching a familiar movie, watching a scene play through, not being able to do anything, to change it or intervene.
He watched an emerald glow span across the evening Egyptian sky, he listened to the shouts of his gramps and of Kakyoin, mingled with DIO's arrogant voice.
Then it happened like it always did.
The sudden whirling sound of wind from a body flying through the sky, a crashing sound, a cry from his gramps. The emerald light caused from Hierophant Green's tendrils slowly dimmed as they fell apart, disappearing.
It played out fast, but it felt like it went on for ages and ages.
Next, like on cue, one last emerald splash hitting the clock tower in a clever and desperate attempt to warn everyone of the time stopping power DIO's The World possessed.
A beat of silence, then the dread set into Jotaro, the familiar sick feeling setting into his stomach along with it.
1988, January 16th, 5:15 P.M, Kakyoin Noriaki has died.
Then he woke up with a shout.
“Noriaki-”
He often awoke from his nightmares in a cold sweat in the dead of the night. He panted and gripped at the bed spead with white knuckles.
“Fuck.” he sat up and rubbed his hands over his face
“Fuck...” he repeated quieter.
“Jotaro?” came a soft, tired voice next to him in bed. Such a comforting voice.
Jotaro didn't remove his hands from his face. Even after being with him for a decade, he didn't like him seeing him like this. He knew it worried him.
“A nightmare?” he could hear the concern in his voice and it made his heart hurt.
Jotaro dragged his hands off of his face and turned his head to look at the man beside him in bed.
He could see worry written over the other's face, his brow knit and his wide mouth pulled into a thin line.
“Yeah, a nightmare.” he confirmed.
Noriaki let out a sigh. He moved in closer to Jotaro and put his hand on his back and rubbed it in a circular motion in an attempt to comfort the other. Jotaro could feel the cold from the metal of Noriaki's wedding band against his bare back.
Jotaro took a deep breath and stared at his tired husband. He could see the two thin, vertical white scars that decorated his eyelids and cheeks, the thin lines that now accompanied the sides of his mouth, his hair was shorter than it had been when he was 17, besides the long curl of hair that hung in front of his face.
Jotaro slowly released the breath that he took in and tried to ground himself.
Noriaki was here. The year was... 1998, it was January. They weren't in danger, they were in bed, at home. Noriaki was safe, he was here, looking at him, touching him. They were safe.
Jotaro closed his eyes and leaned into Noriaki, wrapping his arm around him.
Noriaki had helped Jotaro through his nightmares many times, too many to count. Sometimes Jotaro told him what they were, but he usually kept it to himself. Although, Noriaki could probably guess what they were.
Noriaki took a breath in. He grabbed Jotaro and tugged him down so they could lay facing each other, he pulled the blankets up to shelter them from the chill of their bedroom. He cupped Jotaro's face in both of his hands and looked at it closely.
Jotaro's face was tired, and had softened around its hard edges since he was 17. Noriaki traced his thin finger up along his husband's jaw then buried his fingers into his wavy, ink coloured hair.
“I'm here for you, JoJo.” Noriaki murmured, a reminder.
Jotaro moved to bump his forehead against Noriaki's and sighed through his nose “I know.”
Jotaro opened his eyes. The dim light that was flooding into the room through the window cast a soft, blue light on to Noriaki's face.
No matter how many times Jotaro looks at Noriaki, he still takes his breath away.
It made something in his chest hurt. He thinks of the miracle of his survival.
He scoots down and presses his ear against Noriaki's chest, his cheek pressing against the soft of his pajamas. He can hear the soft, comforting rhythm of his significant others heart, something he worried almost a decade ago he would never hear again.
Noriaki's warmth is something Jotaro has always enjoyed. It's better feeling than warm sunlight, better than any warmth he's ever felt, it makes him feel calm, safe, it feels like home.
“I'm glad you're here.” Jotaro mumbles into his husband's chest.
Noriaki lets himself be quiet for a beat as he takes in Jotaro's sincere words. “I'm glad to be here.” he pauses “With you.” Noriaki says, wrapping his arms around Jotaro, holding him as close as he can.
Jotaro lets out some a murmur that sounds close to an I love you.
“I love you too.” and Noriaki means it so much.
He's glad to be here, with Jotaro.
He's here, in his home, and he feels okay. He feels safe. He's glad to be alive.