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The faint smell of simmering salmon lingers in the air; aimlessly drifting around the small space of your kitchen. Popping sounds from the oil in your pan were accompanied by Kai Harada’s enthusiastic drawl from the living room. Streams of morning light spilled over the marble floor, forming a linear path from your kitchen to the dining table, as if the equivalent of a red carpet in a Hollywood premiere. Above you, a pair of lovebirds flitted about outside your window. Silent bird songs were shared between them as they flew around each other in a dance only they knew. The pair twittered and glided out of sight in the blink of an eye. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was a typical morning for you in Morioh, and you would never exchange it for anything else. A click echoed off the walls once you turned the stove off, although it doesn’t deter you from your routine.
You quickly slid the seared salmon off the pan and on to a clean plate before carrying it in one hand with both the spatula and the frying pan in the other. Kai Harada’s chipper tone continued to occupy the quiet of your home; allowing you to revel in the peace before your day-off ends. Placing the used utensils in the sink and the plated salmon on the table with a practiced motion, you prepared to sit down and enjoy your breakfast when an incessant ringing blared from the living room. You raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the wall clock hanging beside the exit of the dining room.
“Who calls at seven in the morning?” You grumbled. The chair legs loudly scraped against the floor, which went unnoticed by your soured countenance. You turned the radio off and answered the cordless telephone in one fluid motion. Anyone could see the annoyance in your face: lips pulled down in a scowl and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Now that your morning was interrupted, you might as well drop the pleasantries for whoever had the audacity to call at seven in the damn morning .
“Hello?”
You almost dropped the phone when a deep, familiar voice uttered your name without the slightest hint of emotion. “It’s been a while.”
At this point, your eyebrows shot to your forehead. You gripped the device to your ear with both hands, trying to ground yourself to reality from the unexpected call. “A while? It’s been almost six years since I last saw you, Jotaro!”
Whether he acknowledged the intermingled shock and irritation in your tone or not, you never knew. He dismissed it with one statement, saying it as if it was another day in the life of Kujo Jotaro, “I’m coming to Morioh. I heard you moved there about two years ago, so I decided to make a call.”
“How did you even get this number?” You grunted, and you swear you could almost hear the deadpan in his voice when he answered.
“The Speedwagon Foundation gave it to me.”
Your hand found itself massaging your temple and running through your hair in vexation. If his grandfather wasn’t someone you respected and regarded like your own father, you would have half the mind to kick Jotaro’s ass for using his connections to find your telephone number after all these years. This man…
Before you could even scold the aforementioned adult, he continued, “Meet me in the town center at 8 sharp. It’s urgent.”
What he said next froze you in place, bones rattling and blood chilling at the truth that slapped itself in your face.
“The old man found someone suspicious in Morioh with his Hermit Purple—and he’s an infamous murderer.”
What followed after was bizarre enough already: Jotaro visiting an uncle in Morioh—Higashikata Josuke, Joseph Joestar’s illegitimate child from before that horrible trip to Egypt; Stand users appearing in every nook and cranny of the once uneventful town; the revelation of another bow and arrow that allow Stands to awaken; all that and more that you possibly can’t digest in mere minutes.
Oh, and you forgot to mention that you are on the hunt for a serial murderer hiding in your town for the past 15 years. Fun.
At the moment, you sat in front of the café that unanimously became your meeting place with the crew. It was the weekend, and you took this time to come early to collect your thoughts. The cup in your hand began to lose its warmth as the steam slowly dissipated in the spring air. Passersby either rushed to work with their briefcases and work bags or languidly spent the morning to visit the mall—maybe the park, too. Voices served as muddled background noise, along with the occasional clink of silverware from other tables in the café. The hustle and bustle of the crowd used to annoy you, yet you currently welcome it with open arms. It became your only source of normalcy from all the weird things happening around town.
You closed your eyes, and the image of a certain, blonde vampire loomed in the darkness. Subconsciously gripping the cup tighter, you took a sip of your coffee in an attempt to soothe your nerves. The memory of the first time you heard that wretched monster’s name after ten years resurfaced in your mind. Josuke had successfully trapped Angelo in the rock when you and Jotaro approached. One look at the marine biologist beside you, and you knew he never recovered from that trip. You couldn’t imagine the nightmares that plagued him in his sleep nor the terror crawling on his skin every time he heard that name. The man was the one who fought DIO personally, after all.
You? You had been knocked out by the hulking vampire and lived to tell the tale because Jotaro diverted his attention away from you. There was another reason for that, but you couldn’t dwell on it at the moment. It was pathetic, but you were eternally grateful to Jotaro because of that.
Speaking of Jotaro, a few days ago, he mentioned that another Stand user would help with the search for Sugimoto Reimi’s murderer. The moment you asked for details, he only provided a vague answer that still haunted you to this day.
“It’s someone you and I know pretty well. Someone from that trip.”
You could only count the people who were on the trip with one hand. With your fist on the table, you put one finger up as you whispered the name to yourself.
“Polnareff.” The wind brought his name to your ears with a feather-like touch. The warmth in your heart was a stark contrast to the chill on your skin, but still, you regarded the Frenchman with a fond gleam in your eyes. From what you could remember, the loud and energetic man helped with the search for the bows and arrows that caused all this trouble in the first place. However, he was stationed in Europe. You haven’t heard from him since then; neither did Jotaro. You could only hope he was safe and unharmed, wherever he was.
“It can’t be him,” you concluded. You ruled out Joseph, too. The aged real estate mogul was already staying in the Morioh Grand Hotel with Jotaro as well as a baby whose Stand allows her to turn herself and others invisible. That was another story for another day. Closing your eyes again, you put up another finger as you uttered, “Avdol.”
Gone , you bitterly thought. The sharp inhale you took was crisp and clear to your ears. You put up another finger with one word, “Iggy.”
Your stomach churned, heart plummeting into a hollow pit. It suddenly felt difficult to swallow, which made you take a quick gulp of your cold coffee. The beverage did nothing to help. The tears pricking in the corners of your eyes threatened to fall, which frustrated you enough. Crying in public, where people can openly witness your vulnerability? Not happening.
With a small huff, you opened your purse to rummage for your handkerchief. That was, until a pristine handkerchief presented itself to you right under your nose. Startled, you were about to question the odd timing when a light, eloquent voice teased you.
“I wasn’t expecting myself to comfort a damsel in distress when we meet again after all these years.”
Your shoulders tensed, hands trembling from their perch on your purse. Your gaze slowly lifted themselves from the inside of your purse to lavender-hued irises gleaming with mischief. His gentle yet teasing gaze settled themselves on your own stunned daze; the polite smile shifted to a smirk you knew all too well. It was the smirk he always bore when he was going to poke fun at you during that 50-day journey. You never thought the once aggravating gesture would comfort you now. Then again, you’ve come to appreciate anything outside this murderer-hunting business.
You gingerly took the offered fabric with a watery smile. “In your dreams, cherry boy.”
His smirk softens to a smile at the familiar nickname, bringing forth memories from that abrupt, harsh journey to high school years spent together in their youth. Noriaki Kakyoin didn’t change much from your teenage years: the same effortless grace and poise in his every move, the lavender eyes that shone with either mischief or exasperation, the faint scars running down both eyes, and that certain lilt in his voice that emphasized his eloquence. The man even kept that stray lock of hair from his otherwise neat haircut. You noted that he grew a bit taller and his shoulders broadened just a tad more. Certain angles of his face became more defined through age: his cheekbones and jawline the most prominent features of his chiseled face. There’s a certain softness in the entirety of his appearance which no one could exactly put the right words to.
Kakyoin sported a beige coat with a white scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Brown gloves adorned his hands. It was something you noticed when he took off those ridiculous shades he wore from that time in Cairo. You snorted, dabbing the tears off as quick as you can, before you returned the handkerchief to him once he sat down across from you.
“You still kept those godforsaken shades?”
“Of course,” Kakyoin answered, your name rolling off his tongue with another teasing tone. As if it hadn’t been over five years since you lost contact with each other. “They’re useful to keep other people from asking about the scars. That, and they keep the sun out of my eyes.”
He shot you another smile, one that spoke more for the situation than any words you two could ever exchange. Your fingers tapped the zipper of your purse as you hid your hands from his view; heart thundering and cursing yourself for the immediate affection that took hold of you. The familiar safety and comfort his presence brought you clicked into place, reminiscent of finally finding that last piece in a jigsaw puzzle lost to time.
He still makes you feel this way. Even after all those years you two have been apart, plans for the future diverging your paths. It may be a welcome feeling for you, but you are certainly never letting this man know about it. Who knows, he may already have a significant other. You are not going to be a damn homewrecker; you know that much.
You love him too much for that.
“How did you find me?” You questioned, after calling the waiter and taking Kakyoin’s order of course. The latter hummed, drumming his fingers on the table with his free hand cupping his cheek in thought.
“Jotaro told me,” he replied after some time, words carefully picked and articulated. “I was planning to surprise you on your doorstep, but the lights were off in your house. I had to call Jotaro to ask about the places you could have left to.”
“Let me guess: Jotaro also told you about my home address?” You sighed, breath causing tiny ripples on the coffee touching your lips. It seriously bothered you how the stoic man could find information through long-established connections in his family just like that. You didn’t dare voice this concern. It was convenient for investigations and searches, so you left it at that.
Kakyoin chuckled at the expense of your exasperation. Before anything else could be said, one of the staff brought his strawberry shortcake and espresso to the table. He gave his polite thanks with a curt nod of his head; his fingers already taking hold of his coffee with a firm yet delicate grasp. You averted your gaze, afraid he’d catch the smallest hint of your admiration towards him. Silent curses and admonishment for yourself rang clear in your mind as the auburn-haired man continued to engage you in casual conversation.
Kayoin Noriaki was the reason you had been unconscious for the rest of that battle in Cairo. Your Stand, A Winter’s Tale, had the ability to harden and reinforce certain parts of living and non-living organisms for a short amount of time at the cost of the user’s own energy and body, making you fragile due to the gradual softness of the reflected body part. Experiments and practice have allowed you to find compensations for this: reinforcing makeshift shields on the spot, hardening soft objects that can be used as weapons, exercising control on chosen points of hardening and reinforcement, and the like. Even a damn paper tube from a tissue roll could be used as a weapon due to your Stand. It was mostly useless aside from support and defense, and it leaves you utterly vulnerable to enemies.
The immense relief you felt when you had the foresight to harden and reinforce Kakyoin’s entire body as he faced DIO to reveal the latter’s Stand ability was something words failed to describe. Joseph had to support you by the shoulders because your legs softened to the point where you couldn’t stand properly. You even made sure you didn’t harden his joints to give the illusion that Kakyoin was open to any attack. The latter had flown back from the force, but was unharmed all the same. The fury and shock on DIO’s face afterwards was something you’ll never forget. That split second Jotaro appeared after you and Joseph had fallen from the roof was nothing short of a miracle.
Now Kakyoin was sitting in front of you, ten years after that nightmare, and working as an elementary school teacher. Something you knew because you two had talked about your plans for the future at some point in the Saudi Arabian desert, where the shimmering stars and the midnight sky were your only company aside from the sleeping members of your party.
“How are the kids treating you?”
“They’re all loud and energetic, something you’d expect from kids,” Kakyoin grinned and took a languid sip from his cup. “If I could handle Polnareff before, then teaching and handling elementary students are no different.”
You almost choked on your own coffee at the quip. Kakyoin added, as if he hadn’t made a jab at the absent Frenchman, “I took a leave to come here when Jotaro called for help. How are you these days?”
“Oh, nothing much,” you hummed, returning the nearly empty cup to its saucer with a thoughtful look. “The hospital staff are kind enough, with a few exceptions of course.”
At this, Kakyoin hid an amused grin behind his cup. You continued, “Being a nurse in Morioh has its perks: a reasonable amount of day-offs and you’re still getting paid. I get to go home to spend some time alone after work, and it’s absolute bliss.”
“Alone?” Kakyoin quirked an eyebrow, bringing his own cup back to its saucer. The strawberry shortcake still sat whole on the plate, long forgotten in the conversation. “You’re not seeing someone lately?”
The embarrassed flush that bloomed across your face told him everything. You attempted to hide it by faking a cough into your handkerchief and avoided his gaze. Who wouldn’t be embarrassed, when Jotaro got married and had a child of his own in his early twenties? Fucking Kujo Jotaro, the one that seemed the least likely to settle down this early, has a family of his own already while you, a 27-year-old woman, were still single with records of failed dates following after college.
“No,” you awkwardly confirmed his thoughts. “I don’t. I… I’d rather not go into details about that.”
If you hadn’t ducked your head and pretended to look for something in your purse, you would have noticed the soft smile on Kakyoin’s face and the fond gleam in his eyes. The lavender-eyed man noticed how you always had a knack for missing the obvious hints of his affection for you. He had always supported you during your high school and college years, even when you two attended different universities in Japan. He kept in contact as much as he could until his work consumed all his time and spared him nothing for you.
When Kakyoin tried to visit you in your apartment in the city, you were gone. He had no way to contact you, after realizing you don’t use the number in his contacts anymore. It had been five years since then. This was why he was ecstatic when Jotaro told him you had moved to Morioh in their first call since high school graduation.
Not even adulthood has saved you from this unfortunate habit. He seriously wondered how you always remained oblivious for someone who was observant. Then again, Jotaro was a prime example of being dense to romantic feelings despite being a perceptive individual himself.
Looking at you, that nervous smile playing on your lips as you changed the topic, Kakyoin found that nothing had changed about you from the last time he saw you. You were still the young teenager he met in high school, the young woman he fell in love with on that fateful journey to Egypt. You were still the same even after these past ten years. Affection and longing hit him full force the longer he watched you talk about Morioh and the people in it. His heart clenched at the thought of those five years when he lost his chance to be with you.
Now, he has all the time in the world to make it up to you.