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Rohan never liked cheap motels.
The rooms always felt filthy, the decorations either lacking or tacky, and the furniture uncomfortable. He’d only been inside a few—forced out of circumstance when he’d roam other countries—but had since vowed to never enter one again. He’d rather pay extra for a high-end hotel room than being stuck in such a place.
But there was always an exception to that rule, and it all began with Jotaro Kujo in 1999.
It wasn’t like Rohan had much interest in the man, only seeing him on occasion. But everything changed when they happened to meet in the Morioh Grand Hotel’s cocktail lounge. It wasn’t the classiest of places—some of its golden furniture even gaudy—but the cream-colored seats were soft, the crowd subdued and kind, and the drinks exquisite. One couldn’t ask for more in somewhere as mundane as Morioh, and Rohan couldn’t have asked for more himself when his gaze locked with Jotaro. The marine biologist sat alone on one of the larger couches nearer the entrance, seeming disinterested with his surroundings until the mangaka arrived.
“Well, it’s a surprise seeing you here,” Rohan said, unable to hide shock for once in his life.
“Mm, I’m here more often than you think.” Jotaro scooted over before patting the space beside him. “Here. Stay with me.”
Their conversation began simply: how their days were, what was going on in their lives, some mentions of the murders within Morioh-Cho. It was the typical conversations they’d have when running into each other in the small town, quick to begin and quicker to end. But now, with the pair dressed their best, sitting together while drinks continued to come their way, they couldn’t stop speaking and just leave it there.
At first, it was hard for the two to come up with topics past the standard ones they’d already gone over. With their first drinks that arrived—a martini for Rohan, whiskey on the rocks for Jotaro—they only sipped on their drinks in silence. Other than a few glances at each other, an awkward exchange of smiles at some point, nothing left the pair until they’d ordered their second round of drinks. As Jotaro’s coat sleeve rode up, a strong shine on his wrist caught Rohan's attention: the sight of an obviously expensive watch that disappeared in moments. It was classic, sleek, familiar. Unable to help himself, the mangaka asked a question, “Are you wearing a Rolex?”
Amused, Jotaro let out a scoff. “From my father. How could you tell?
It was certainly a way to start a conversation.
With a few more drinks knocked back, their shame washed away with liquor, a confession would leave both of them.
Jotaro was thinking of getting a divorce, unhappy in his marriage, but too terrified of the consequences that would stem from it.
Rohan regretted the persona he’d created for himself, finding himself lonely with the distance he’d created with others.
A few more drinks, a haze in their minds, a brush of fingers against someone’s skin, a taxi ride to somewhere far from the hotel—it all became a mixture of memories, moments rolling in and out like waves during a high-tide. Before Rohan knew it, he found himself in one of the very motels he despised, albeit unbothered by his surroundings as soon as Jotaro’s lips pressed against his.
For hours they made love, only ending what they began as fatigue fell over Jotaro. The man kept joking that he’d gone out of shape, started smoking a lot more, but his muscular frame said otherwise. As soon as the pair finally caught their breath, Jotaro said he’d stay, while Rohan pulled on his clothes in a half-drunk rush. No, it wasn’t that he was busy, nor that it bothered him that he slept with a married man. It was only after his mind gained clarity that the room’s interior became appalling.
Although the bright orange walls matched the wooden floors, it looked like the entire room would fall apart with one wrong step. There were cracks on the walls, every other floorboard creaking with slight weight, all the furniture old yet obviously not taken care of. The saving grace was the bed with its semi-soft mattress, but who knew what stains were left on its surface. Without another thought, many repeats of goodbye, and a few shaky excuses, Rohan left the room. He rushed his way down the hallways, passing many rooms and a staff member he greeted ‘good evening’, and ended up thankful to breathe in nice, fresh air outside. No, he wouldn’t be returning to this place anytime soon.
Or so he thought.
It was inevitable that Rohan would see Jotaro again, but he ended up surprised that it was only a few days after they’d slept together. During one of his weekly visits to a small downtown bakery for a loaf of bread, he stepped past the doors but stopped in his tracks as soon as he noticed Jotaro looking through a shelf full of bread buns. What astonished him more was that the man stared at him, hummed, then beckoned him over. Unsure what else to do, Rohan came closer, furrowing his eyebrows at the question that left the other’s lips.
“Do you know what flavor tastes best here?” Jotaro asked, poking and prodding at some of the buns to read the label on its packaging, plastic rustling each time.
The selection of flavors was vast, the shelf almost a rainbow with all the choices, but Rohan was sure he hadn’t even tried half of them. Clicking his tongue, he pulled out a bun at random, holding it up for Jotaro to see. “Here. This looks nice.”
Jotaro took the packaging from him, flipping it over and raising an eyebrow. “Strawberries and cream?” he asked, his tone questioning but devoid of any emotion.
“Yes, strawberries and cream.” Rohan hadn’t had this flavor before, but it sounded pleasant enough. He was sure he ate something similar in his youth. “Should be nice. Sweet cream and tart strawberry.”
Seemingly settled on the bun, Jotaro stepped back from the shelf, a smile spreading on his lips. It was sudden, something Rohan rarely saw on the other’s face, and he couldn’t help but smile himself. The small details in Jotaro’s face were divine: the touches of crow’s feet and settled smile lines beginning to appear; the way his strong eyes softened; and the smallest of dimples that were more visible with the bakery’s warmer lighting. But Rohan wouldn’t be able to see it for longer, the smile disappearing to make way for the neutral—maybe even mildly mad—expression Jotaro always had.
“Rohan,” Jotaro suddenly said, catching the mangaka off guard.
“Hm? What is it?” Rohan asked, blinking.
“I never thought you were a strawberries and cream person.”
Before Rohan knew it, he bought the same bun alongside his loaf, and started up a conversation with Jotaro on a bench outside. It turned out that this was Jotaro’s lunch break, having to return to a nearby college where he promised to hold a quick lecture.
As there were a lot more people walking around than usual, along with heavy traffic from construction ahead the road, the pair had to speak up just to get their words across. This ended up with quicker, more concise sentences that got straight to the point. It streamlined any initial small talk, and Jotaro asked a question that changed everything.
“Are you free tonight?” Jotaro asked, wiping cream off of his lips.
It took Rohan a moment to process the words, nodding soon after. “Yes, I always get everything important done by eight.”
Nodding slowly, Jotaro hesitated on his words, his lips parting only to close. His gaze locked onto the ground, his hands toying with the empty, baby pink plastic in his hands. While Rohan began to worry, ready to ask what was supposed to be happening, it all made itself clear with four words.
“Let’s meet again tonight,” Jotaro said, the slightest of flushes appearing on his cheeks.
Rohan raised an eyebrow. “In the lounge? Sure—”
Jotaro shook his head. “No, at the motel.”
Rohan tensed at hearing the word ‘motel’, but bit down on his bottom lip as he realized the implications of the invitation. He wasn’t a stranger to sleeping around, but after becoming so used to the usual one-night stand, being with Jotaro for a second time seemed out of his comfort zone. While he wanted to apologize, tell the man that he wasn’t too interested, memories of their night together surged through his mind. Jotaro’s soft kisses with his rough lips, the way his touches would ghost over his skin, each sound that left him heavenly beyond compare, shit—
“I wouldn’t mind that.”
Rohan knew wholeheartedly he’d show up inside that motel, staying in the very room he despised once again. What he didn’t know was that he’d be returning there almost daily, sleeping with Jotaro too many times than he could count. He certainly wasn’t complaining—hell, after a while, it seemed that one-night stands were too much of a hassle. Although the only thing he struggled to adjust to were the motel room’s surroundings, having to leave immediately each time from his discomfort. Sure, there wouldn’t be much conversation between them, but neither of them minded. Well, Rohan didn’t mind it, Jotaro’s feelings on it were unclear, but there weren’t any complaints so there were no hesitations on Rohan’s end when he got up and speed walked out the door.
It would continue that way for their first week together, and Rohan thought it was how the rest of their nights would go. That’s why he didn’t think twice about hopping out of bed, picking up his clothes off of the ground, ready to pull them on until a light grip wrapped around his wrist. With wide eyes, he glanced back at Jotaro who still seemed to be getting himself together.
“You should stay for once,” Jotaro said, although it came out as more of a command than a suggestion.
Rohan didn’t even nod or hum to acknowledge Jotaro’s words, merely slipping into bed next to him, pulling the sheets over him. Looking around, he didn’t know why his body reacted in an instant, the odd concern of a cockroach falling onto him making itself clear. Should he voice his feelings towards Jotaro? Well—
“It’s not that bad here. Besides, if we stay back in the hotel with my old man, we’d get found out fast. He acts senile but he’s still sharp; he knows a lot more than he lets on.” Jotaro sighed, perhaps from the fact he had to be the talkative one for once. “It’s old here, but they clean it up well.”
“Well, how do you know that?” The shrug Jotaro gave in return only raised more concerns from Rohan, but none of them would go asked or answered.
“Trust me.”
Rolling his eyes, Rohan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Trust you? Is that all you have?”
“Look, I’ve slept in the middle of a goddamn desert in a school uniform.” Jotaro frowned at Rohan, but it wasn’t out of annoyance, looking more like aversion to the past memory. “I’m sure you can stay with me for one night. It gets lonely sitting here.”
And Rohan did stay, trying to stay comfortable by sticking close to Jotaro. Initially, staying seemed futile as all Jotaro did was whip out some cigarettes and fill the room with its fumes. But soon enough, a conversation would begin, stories flowing from each other’s lips, and the pair would find out more and more things about each other.
Rohan, although he lived spectacularly now, wasn’t too special as a child. Other than his exceptional skill in drawing along with a wild imagination, he didn’t stand out much from others. Unsurprisingly, he hated that fact, ending up building the display of extravagance he now held. It especially helped that Pink Dark Boy was successful as a manga, continuing to inflate his false ego. While Jotaro nodded, a surprising wash of concern on his face, Rohan wasn’t ready for what Jotaro had gone through.
As Rohan listened to all Jotaro had to say, it was obvious that the man’s rocky marriage was only one part of his messy life. To have to go to Egypt with such a strict time limit, to fight with the knowledge his mother might die, to defend himself and his friends, to mourn so many deaths at such a young age—it all seemed too much. For the first time in a long time, Rohan felt an immeasurable amount of concern, wanting to help Jotaro but unsure how. After Rohan voiced his concern, Jotaro laughed.
“It’s all in the past. All I can do is move on,” Jotaro said, staring off into the wall, reaching to the side for another cigarette.
Neither noticed how hours had passed, especially Rohan. During the exchange of stories, he seemed to sink into the bed, listening more intently than he typically would. Moments like this were often nothing but inspiration for his manga, though this differed. He felt comfortable letting out his own troubled thoughts, actually seemed to care about the other across him—no, this wasn’t one of his typical friendships anymore.
Shit. Was he in love? He’d have a few months to figure out the answer to his own question.
And their affair continued. Rohan came to the motel, Jotaro greeted him out front, and they’d make love in the same room—room 305. Afterward, it would be nothing but conversation, always beginning from the mundane to unexpected. What left them were all stories of the past, either recent or farther back in their lives, and their emotions would run wild in ways they wouldn’t allow in front of others. With the threat of a serial killer looming over Morioh, this seemed to be their only time of comfort, reassured they’d be safe in each other’s arms during the late hours of the night.
All the while, Rohan had grown attached to this mess of a motel room, but only on the night before Jotaro’s departure.
Rohan laid on the bed, unlit cigarette in hand as Jotaro dug around the nearby drawer for a lighter. They’d finished making love minutes before, the pair basking in each other’s afterglow until Jotaro felt the painful urge to smoke. Although Rohan was never a smoker, he asked for a stick, but all he did now was play with it between his fingers.
“Going back to the States, huh?” Rohan asked with a sigh.
“I can’t leave my daughter alone forever.” Jotaro leaned back against the headrest, popping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it. While he handed the lighter over to Rohan, the mangaka declined, instead scooting closer to cling onto Jotaro.
Rohan couldn’t comprehend that Jotaro would be gone by the next day. He wasn’t the clingy type, so he wasn’t devastated, but it certainly struck him as strange. They’d kept this routine of theirs going for months, and now it would end. It was a pain to have to find something else to do at night, to find someone he could vent frustrations to, to have someone who could touch him the way Jotaro did…
He wasn’t in love, was he?
Clinging tighter onto Jotaro, he let his fingers trace over the hard muscle, still not understanding how the marine biologist considered this physique as ‘letting himself go’. With one light squeeze, he couldn’t help but ask a question: “And your wife?”
Jotaro shrugged as he exhaled smoke, a sigh following. “Well, I guess I’ll start discussing our divorce,” he said, sounding a lot less devastated than the first time he brought it up. “And Jolyne—god, I’m not sure.”
“It’s a complicated situation, family things, I can’t really have any say in this.” Rohan frowned as Jotaro seemed to grow more worried with each puff of his cigarette. “You’ll have to discuss a lot of this with your wife. And—”
Jotaro raised his hand to interrupt the other, shaking his head. “It’s fine. We don’t need to keep talking about this. How about we enjoy our last night together for a while?”
Rohan nodded slowly, irked by the sudden attempt to change the topic, but it wasn’t like he could have a say in it. Though Rohan suddenly became unbothered as Jotaro pushed him off, only to wrap an arm around him. It was rare for Jotaro to get into a cuddly mood, so this was a treat like no other, one that Rohan wouldn’t experience for a long time.
Letting himself cling tight onto Jotaro, Rohan felt a small squeeze on his shoulder, causing a small smile to spread across his lips. Unlike past years with flings, Rohan knew he could keep in touch with Jotaro much easier, making it more possible to keep their relationship alive. Though the chances of it lasting long seemed shaky at best, Rohan felt a sense of comfort knowing he could have Jotaro for now. Looking around the motel room, he tried not to become too emotional despite having let out all his emotions time and time again.
Rohan would miss this room, looking its worst on their final days together, but also at its most charming.
Rohan would miss feeling such gentle touches from rough hands, soft kisses constantly pressing against his lips.
Rohan would miss all the conversation that occurred here, from the most casual to heavier topics.
But most of all, Rohan would miss the man that let this all happen.
“I love you, Jotaro,” Rohan murmured to himself, too soft for anyone to hear, but he had hope.
Yet there was no reply.