Chapter Text
"wait, jotaro! your goodbye kiss!"
jotaro scowls at his mom as she skips over. it should be illegal to be this chipper at just 8 in the morning. maybe it's an old people thing? who knows.
certainly not someone who goes to sleep at 3 in the morning like him.
"mom." he sighs as she attempts to put her arms around his neck. "stop."
"come on, jojo. you know i can't let you go until after i've given you a kiss."
"i'm being serious." a disagreeable feeling is bubbling up inside him, fast. "let me go."
"no! come onnn...." holly pulls hard on his coat lapels, and something inside jotaro snaps.
"stop it! honestly! why are you always like this?" he yells, yanking himself away from her. holly gasps, stumbling backwards in surprise at his sudden outburst. of course. he's never outright refused her like this, and even if it is an uncomfortable and embarrassing thing, she has kissed him goodbye every morning before school for the last 17 years.
who fucking knows? it's just that, recently, the thought of his mom being the only person he's ever received kisses from is increasingly pissing jotaro off.
he leaves. no apologies. he feels selfish for doing so, but he also feels shitty enough to rely on his mom's seemingly bottomless ability to forgive.
abuse it, more like.
like everyone else does.
please just shut up.
he tries his best to focus on the sound of wind blowing through the leaves and birds chirping, drowning out his thoughts and the whispers of all the girls trailing behind his back.
♥︎
it's not like he doesn't have any secret admirers. hell, he has too many not-so-secret admirers, it's driving him crazy. and jotaro knows that if he'd just take his pick, any one of them would accept without a second thought. it's just that whenever he thinks about love, or dating, or any of that romantic crap, he just gets so weirded-out and insecure and scared, and he can't fucking do it even though he's been dying to for the longest time.
it's fine, right? he's survived the last 17 years without anyone. a significant other is not an essential, like food or water is.
but he's a coward and he can't stomach the perpetual belief that he'll die alone, either.
jotaro closes his locker. he's done about enough thinking for today. it's getting real tiring, and he just wants to go home as soon as possible, seeing as he's had to wait around pointlessly for almost an hour for all his stalkers to get bored and leave. pulling his hat over his eyes and shouldering his bag, he rounds the corner, and...
"ugh!" somebody runs square into his chest, hard enough to knock the breath out of him and send them tumbling to the floor. "what the fuck...."
it's a boy. redhead, wearing a neat uniform unlike jotaro's modified one, but not carrying a bag — which is why all his notebooks and stationery are now scattered on the floor.
"oh, shit. i'm sorry. are you okay?"
"do i look okay?" the boy sneers up at him, before beginning to gather his stuff. feeling guilt surge up inside him, jotaro kneels down next to the redhead and grabs a few scattered papers. it seems this has redeemed him somewhat; taking the sheets from his outstretched hand, the boy mumbles, "thanks."
"welcome." he stands. the boy follows suit, before looking at him, quizzical:
"what are you waiting for?"
he was waiting? jotaro didn't realize. he shakes his head, frowning:
"nothing. er, bye."
"wait." the other boy calls after him as he begins to walk away. "you're walking home?"
"yeah."
"can i join you?"
"sure."
surprisingly, the boy keeps up with his brisk pace with ease. jotaro doesn't think they know each other. well, he doesn't know the boy. everyone in this school knows who kujo jotaro is.
sure enough, the boy breaks the silence:
"hmph... you're different than what people say."
jotaro narrows his eyes. "what do people say?"
"that you're rude, unhelpful, and antisocial. and, apparently," the boy glances up at him cheekily, "do not care what people say about you."
"i don't."
"no need to get defensive around me." the redhead laughs, more sympathetic than mocking. "we don't even know each other."
that's right. they walk some more, jotaro wondering what exactly he did to have landed himself in this situation.
"so?" the boy speaks up again. "why're you walking home this late? school ended an hour ago."
jotaro presses his lips together. what the hell. we don't even know each other. "didn't want to have to deal with all my fangirls."
"taken?" the boy asks, to which jotaro shakes his head. "or do you not like girls?"
"i like girls." i think. he's thought about being gay as one of the reasons he's never had a girlfriend, but he's pretty sure he has liked girls before. the redhead laughs again, and his attitude is starting to tick jotaro off:
"then, bored?"
"no. and why do i need to have a girlfriend anyway?" he grumbles. "i just don't like any of them, alright?"
"alright." the other boy hums. jotaro notices violet eyes studying him intently. "you know what they are right about though? you're kinda hot when you get mad."
what the fuck? he isn't sure what to say to that. "are you flirting with me?"
"maybe. you feeling creeped out yet?"
jotaro looks down, and the redhead looks up, making direct eye contact with him. he seems oddly confident — even apathetic — despite what has just come out of his mouth. and strangely, jotaro finds himself taking an interest in this change in routine.
we don't even know each other.
"what if i say i'm enjoying it?"
the other boy huffs out a laugh. "that's interesting. nobody ever said this stuff to you before? that's kind of really sad."
any pieces that have fallen off jotaro's walls immediately fly back up. "thanks."
"did i offend you? it's the truth, you know. with how popular you are, i'm surprised no one has ever tried to make a move yet."
not that fucking blatantly they haven't. "anyone ever told you you talk too much?"
"yeah, but only after i've annoyed them bad." the redhead smiles, as if recalling a fond memory. "but you haven't snapped at me yet, so i take it i still have one or two sentences left. hmm?"
jotaro's house appears at the end of the road. part of him wants to run toward it and just end this increasingly uncomfortable conversation here, but part of him wants to hear what else this boy has to say. after all, he hasn't had a conversation this stimulating in months. (which, he supposes, is really sad.)
"you're lonely, aren't you?"
he almost freezes mid-step. "no" is his first instinct. he doesn't feel alone when he sits with classmates at school every day, or eats dinner with his mom every night, or has his entourage of fangirls follow him around everywhere he goes. but at the same time, he wonders if he would be having this conversation at all, has he really not been lonely.
"let's say i am." jotaro answers at last, slow, measured. "what about it?"
the other boy looks at him. the sight of him is almost comical, the honor student hugging his textbooks to his chest as he tries to stare down the delinquent. jotaro would laugh, if it isn't for his acute awareness of who's actually winning this fight.
"say, jotaro. how about you and i fake-date?"