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Kakyoin is not sure when exactly they had come to the conclusion that sharing a bed was a good idea.
Both him and Jotaro are big guys, both in height and musculature. And, sure, Jotaro may be even more of a tank than Noriaki, but that only gives him more proof that sharing a single bed, a twin sized single bed, is by far not the easiest feat, and that is coming from a teenager crossing the globe to get to fight a vampire’s soul-ghost with his, and his team’s, own soul-ghost.
It’s also a bit stupid, since there is a perfectly usable bed only a meter or two away.
“This is ridiculous, JoJo. We barely fit here.”
“I’m not getting up.”
Noriaki can’t hold back the amused huff at the almost whiny tone JoJo used, gently brushing the thick mop of black hair his best friend with his fingers.
He doesn’t feel like getting up, also. Even if his rational mind tells him this is ridiculous, he’s more than happy to stay in this position. Jotaro’s weight on his torso is grounding, the warm breath against his neck sends shivers down his back, and there is much joy in being able to mess with JoJo’s curly locks that Noriaki envies and loves just as much as he envies and loves his best friend.
He’s glad he decided to follow the taller boy’s example and sleep only in his underwear as their combined warmth added to the room’s already high temperature, the pyjamas would have been unbearable. Also, Noriaki really enjoys having so much of JoJo’s skin glued to his. Almost as if to validate his thoughts, one of his hands runs down Jotaro’s neck and makes its way to his large back, lovingly—because that is the only way he knows how to treat Jotaro, lovingly— caressing the warm skin with the pads of his fingers, sometimes even scraping his nails lightly. Something inside him melts when his friend relaxes even more onto him with a pleased sigh and he closes his eyes so savor the moment.
He doesn’t resist the temptation, circling Jotaro’s hips with his legs, drunk with the contact and the affection and the intimacy and how much he loves this boy.
“Noriaki.” This brings Kakyoin’s eyes back to Jotaro’s eyes quickly. It’s very rare for the stoic boy to use his first name. “Go out with me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to get up?”
Jotaro gives him a very clear “you know what I mean” look, making the redhead smile without a care in the world. He cups Jotaro’s face with one had, heart beating that slow, satisfied rhythm of peacefulness. Which, you know, he probably should not be feeling in the middle of a trip to beat up a hundred years old vampire and his soul-ghost.
But who cares about that when Kujo Jotaro leans on his palm like a big, grumpy puppy, looking at him with beautiful seafoam eye filled with a fragile hope and vulnerability but so much trust and adoration that makes Noriaki’s breath catch?
“Yes.”
Certainly not him.