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“…now I know how Joan of Arc felt as the flames rose to her Roman nose and her Walkman started to melt.” (The Smiths, 1986)
Joseph is a terrible driver, no matter the vehicle. The speedboat jerks and catches on every wave, and Jotaro has to clench his teeth and ball his fists to keep from stomping up above deck to offer the geezer a piece of his mind. Sitting pin-straight and trying to ignore his discomfort, he has no idea how anyone could sleep like this. But, sure as shit, Polnareff and Kakyoin are sprawled out along the couches. Polnareff’s snoring sounds like a garbage disposal or perhaps a jammed chainsaw, a sound Jotaro is used to nowadays but nonetheless infuriating.
Kakyoin looks smug even in his sleep, but this isn’t a new discovery either. It’s been a few weeks now since Kakyoin’s gotten into the habit of making himself all sorts of comfortable in Jotaro’s hotel room. Whatever. Jotaro noticed this a few nights ago, when he swore he could have heard him laughing in his sleep. Who the fuck laughs in their sleep?
The dark cabin below deck flashes for a moment with gold as Star Platinum’s fists manifest around his own. This surprises him. He stares down into his lap where his fists are clenched and for the life of him can’t figure out why he’s so mad. It is an ugly feeling, to lose control like this, the type of feeling that makes him wish he was still in jail. With every day that passes Jotaro feels less in control, and Star Platinum does things he didn’t know were in the realm of possibility. But here he is, discovering the definition of seasickness in this stupid stuffy cabin with a bunch of idiots who think they’re equal parts of some righteous crusade. Well, maybe he just needs a cigarette.
When Jotaro looks up from his lap Kakyoin is sitting straight up in the dark. “Good grief,” he breathes, caught off guard. Kakyoin is almost as silent as his stand, but Jotaro can just barely see him slide his headphones down his neck from his ears. So he wasn’t sleeping either.
“What’s wrong, Jojo?”
“Nothing.” Abruptly, Jotaro stands up, digging his hands into his pockets with a leathery squeak. “I’m gonna have a smoke.”
Kakyoin follows him, because of course he has to follow him. Jotaro can hear him hurriedly tucking himself into his shoes as he makes his own way above deck. Maybe, if he’s lucky, his grandpa won’t hear him and start talking his ear off. He still hasn’t let him hear the end of it since he lost at War earlier. Fuck card games. There are better things to do on a boat. Jotaro stares hard into the white water that bubbles up behind the boat as he lights a cigarette and hopes to God he’s not about to be interrogated.
No such luck.
“Something’s wrong, Jojo, I can tell.” Kakyoin appears behind him and Jotaro sighs. There is no escape. He turns to face Kakyoin, leaning against the railing of the boat. He cannot put this anger into any conceivable words.
What comes out is strained, but it does the job. “I’m not mad at you, so don’t worry about it.” Kakyoin still looks hurt. He does a great job of making Jotaro feel bad for him, he thinks, looking pretty pathetic in his pajamas and loafers as he shivers in the blast of salty wind. With another exasperated sigh Jotaro props his cigarette between his lips to take his coat off. The cold is invigorating, and he’d rather not have to hear Kakyoin’s teeth chatter, he tells himself. He thrusts it forward, holding it out for Kakyoin expectantly. “Here.”
Tentatively, Kakyoin takes the jacket and puts it on. Jotaro watches him deflate in relief and something in his stomach feels weirdly, annoyingly warm. He looks away so he doesn’t stare as Kakyoin arranges himself to lean comfortably against the railing next to him. He can feel Kakyoin’s eyes boring into him.
“You’re mad about the baby stand, right? You’re mad I figured it out.” As Kakyoin speaks Jotaro turns to face him and is met with that same smug expression, like he thinks he’s the smartest guy in the world.
“Give me a break,” Jotaro shoots back, looking away again because if he looks at that self-satisfied mug for too long he might deck him.
Kakyoin has the nerve to put his hand on Jotaro’s arm and he physically tenses under his touch. “It’s okay, Jojo. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
Jotaro flips around to face him, staring daggers back at him. Kakyoin doesn’t back off, though, or even move his arm. Does he want to get punched? “Shut up,” he orders him, and Kakyoin cocks an eyebrow, but relents. The words seem to get stopped up at his throat and it takes him a few tries to get them out. Kakyoin waits patiently. “I should have believed you.”
Kakyoin rolls his eyes. “Okay.” He shrugs indifferently.
“Ora!” Great. Star Platinum punches Kakyoin in the face. Jotaro’s fist follows, magnetized.
Kakyoin ducks, but the impact still plants square into the hinge of his jaw. Jotaro hears it click and before he’s finished processing the sound, he suddenly can’t breathe. A tendril of Hierophant Green has whipped around his chest and constricted, knocking the wind out of him and digging into his ribs. Fair. He withdraws his hand, and Kakyoin staggers back too, wiping his mouth and examining the blood on his hand.
There is a long silence as Kakyoin sways back and forth from the blow. Jotaro watches him spit out a glob of blood. “Glad you got that out of your system,” Kakyoin laughs, and Jotaro feels guilty.
He looks down at the ground, where his cigarette fell from his hand, and stamps it out before going to relight a new one. “Don’t act like it’s not a big deal,” he warns Kakyoin a little too late. “Are your teeth okay?”
Kakyoin flashes Jotaro a thumbs up and a grin, and Jotaro watches the split in his lip widen. “You busted my lip, but you’ll probably have bruises. Fair trade.”
The shredding whirr of the speedboat is cut by a yell only Joseph Joestar could create. “Oh my God! Jotaro, what is going on?”
Jotaro doesn’t have time to be pissed about it, though, because Kakyoin lets his weight fall into his side, draping his arms around Jotaro’s waist. His chest aches even more where the tentacle latched, like Kakyoin knows just where to squeeze to make it burn.
“It’s okay, Jojo, seriously. Unless you’re stupid enough not to listen to me again.” Kakyoin nestles himself under Jotaro’s arm, relaxing back against the railing with a contented sigh. “Are you?”
It is uncomfortable not to be in control, not of himself or of anything going on around him. Confined on this boat with everything up until now going the wrong way, it is scary to believe that he’s capable of succumbing to human error as much as he already has. It is terrifying to rely on someone.
Jojo shakes his head. Star Platinum’s arm pulls Kakyoin closer and Jojo can’t tell if it’s of his own volition or not, but it doesn’t matter. “I trust you.”