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“Jocks don’t like me,” Noriaki says, when Avdol insists that he join them at baseball. Polnareff is off again, hanging out with Mariah. Noriaki feels badly for Avdol, and for all Polnareff’s friends, who are left hanging until Polnareff finally stops trying to be something he’s not. Mariah is his sister, and he loves her, but she can scheme like nobody else, and maybe it’s a breach of loyalty, but Noriaki wants Polnareff to get his head out of his ass and stop breaking Avdol’s heart, please?
Until then, Noriaki will do whatever he can to keep Avdol happy, since Avdol is the only one who has been kind to him from the very beginning. So when Avdol says, with big, sad eyes, “Please? We’re a man down?” Noriaki doesn’t voice his insults aloud for Polnareff, and lets himself be led to the baseball field.
Polnareff was always captain, and the other boys don’t resist as Noriaki steps up to claim the captain spot. The only person who has an issue is the captain of the opposing team, Jotaro fucking Kujo.
Jotaro, with his hats and double belts and perpetual scowl. If Polnareff is everyone’s favourite jock, Jotaro comes close second. Leagues of girls follow him around, chorusing “Jojo!” all the time. Jotaro’s entire vibe is one of a macho man who needs everyone to know he’s macho. Stoic, manly, firm, a Ken doll in real life.
Basically, Jotaro is the exact opposite of Noriaki, who is flamboyant and effeminate and dominates theatre club, with his marionettes and his melodrama. Noriaki’s thrown a few solid punches at people who’ve called him a twink like it’s derogatory, or said worse, and he knows he has a reputation for not being someone to mess with. He also knows that nobody at school really likes him, which doesn’t bother him. He’s never liked any of them either, until Avdol somehow befriended him and everything changed.
It used to be just him and Mariah, but not anymore. Now, he’s a part of this. Whatever this is. He can tell that his team is a little concerned to have Noriaki Kakyoin, the weird theatre kid, as their captain, but their fear is misplaced. He looks Jotaro in the eye. “Ready?”
Jotaro nods. But he raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather be, uh… dancing?”
Noriaki would, yes. But the question is odd enough that he finds himself running with it. “Do you dance?”
“I don’t dance,” Jotaro says.
Noriaki looks at him; the very picture of masculinity. He’s always thought Jotaro Kujo was attractive, but right now? Looking at him with that face, with such intensity behind his scowl? Noriaki wants him with every fibre of his body. He thinks about what dancing with Jotaro would be like. Jotaro could lift him easily, carry his weight. Uncalled for, his mind goes over his favourite ballets, and he reminds himself to focus.
“It’s not that different from baseball, you know,” he says. “Dancing, I mean.”
Jotaro’s scowl deepens. Noriaki wants to kiss it. “No.”
Noriaki grins. “I’ll show you.”
The next forty minutes are full of homoerotic tension. Noriaki amps up his flirting game, swaying his hips, and singing, yelling praise to Jotaro, who seems to be getting more and more flustered, even as his game remains on-point as ever. To Noriaki’s surprise, Jotaro is flirting back, singing alternate lines of the musicals Noriaki is quoting to him, smirking whenever he registers surprise on Noriaki’s face.
It feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just Noriaki and Jotaro, Noriaki pitching carefully and Jotaro hitting, until it switches, and when they’re at bases or fielding, there’s dancing and singing and looking at each other. Baseball is a team sport, and they’re both dedicated to it, but the way they’re looking at each other feels like a sport, too. For the first time, Noriaki feels like one of these jocks could actually speak his language.
Jotaro moves with such grace and elegance. Swinging his bat, running, making it to the bases. Noriaki watches his body in motion and reimagines it on a stage, reimagines it in a Broadway show, Jotaro’s strong singing voice ringing out, reimagines it holding him close in his arms, lying in his bed… and then he needs to stop, redirect his attention to the game.
Thankfully, Jotaro seems to be in a similar state, gazing at Noriaki quizzically when he thinks Noriaki isn’t looking, like Noriaki is a puzzle he can figure out. He worries at his lip with his mouth, his forehead in a frown, and it makes him look unfairly attractive. Noriaki is still humming under his breath; cousin Ryo said that he’s always lived life like he was in a musical, and he thinks she might be right.
When they’re at the very end, with the tiebreaker run, Noriaki is at the home plate in advance, Jotaro running towards it with fierce determination. A boy on his team - Noriaki thinks his name might be “Oingo” - throws the ball to him, and Noriaki moves as fast as he can, catching the ball and throwing himself on the home plate… but he isn’t fast enough. Jotaro throws himself on the home plate a millisecond before, anticipating Noriaki’s moves, and they end up lying on each other, but Noriaki knows that Jotaro won.
The game is over, and Noriaki feels his heart sinking to his chest. He dusts himself off, moving away. He doesn’t look over his shoulder; doesn’t survey the expressions on people’s faces. Sure, it was a good game, but his team still lost. Maybe it was all for nothing.
The firm voice of Jotaro breaks him out of his reverie. “Hey, Kakyoin,” he says.
Noriaki doesn’t turn to face him, but he stops in his tracks.
“I'm not saying I'm going to dance in the show, but if I did, what would you have me do?” Jotaro asks.
Noriaki smiles despite himself. He can hear the audience tittering, and can hear some of the baseball players cheer. Noriaki Kakyoin, a renowned theatre kid, played baseball and did well enough that Jotaro acknowledged it. Now it’s time for heartthrob jock Jotaro Kujo to practice choreography and try his hand at drama. Maybe. The anticipation fills Noriaki with genuine excitement.
The team heads to the showers, and Noriaki is one of the last ones out. When he does emerge, it’s to see that Jotaro, clad in a towel to protect his modesty, is trying out Noriaki’s custom cap. He smirks as he sees Noriaki, who is all too quick to grab a towel of his own.
“Wanna trade caps?” he asks.
Noriaki looks at Jotaro’s mouth. “Oh, Jojo, we can trade more than just caps,” he says.
He’s thinking of phone numbers, but Jotaro, bless his heart, says, “You can wear all my clothes if you want to. I’m not sure they’ll fit, but we can try.” “Okay,” Noriaki says. He’s not going to lie, he is curious about Jotaro’s sports wear, about how comfortable it is, what the texture of the fabric is like.
Once they’re wearing each other’s clothes, Noriaki steels his nerve. “Uh, Jotaro?”
Jotaro grunts an acknowledgement, looks at Noriaki, waiting for him to speak.
Noriaki moves closer to Jotaro, puts a hand on his shoulder. Noriaki’s own preppy athletic fit stretches to accomodate Jotaro’s broad chest, and it’s a strange feeling, feeling his own clothes under his hand on another person’s shoulder, like a secret form of intimacy. “I wasn’t just talking about the clothes,” he says. “Jojo, may I kiss you?”
Jotaro looks at Noriaki, surprise in his eyes, but he nods. He looks almost shy.
Noriaki adjusts the cap on his hat (a snapback with the back cut off, really Jotaro, why, he can’t help wondering), ensuring the brim won’t poke Jotaro’s face as he leans in for his kiss. As Jotaro kisses back, Noriaki can’t help the warm glow of satisfaction that fills him. Maybe Jotaro missed the pun in all their banter and trash talk on the field, but Noriaki has done exactly what he promised Jotaro he would do - he’s shown Jotaro how he swings.
And when they leave the showers to eat lunch with the others, holding hands as they walk, sitting close to each other, sharing fries and eating off each other’s plates, Noriaki can’t help but wonder if this is real life. He wants to ask if Jotaro is his boyfriend now, but he’s scared that the answer will be no.
Somehow, Boingo, a little kid whose brother he’d played baseball with, disperses the tension, showing up with a comic book that has some gay superhero, and poking Jotaro in the chest with it. “Is this you and Kakyoin?” he asks.
Noriaki splutters, but Jotaro is unfazed. “I think so,” he says. “What do you think? Are you my boyfriend?”
“I mean, if you’ll have me?” Noriaki says. He makes a groovy hand gesture, half jazz hands and half finger guns, and Jotaro’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Yes,” Jotaro says. And he’s talking to Boingo, Noriaki thinks, but it’s good. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. He smiles, puts his head on Jotaro’s shoulder. Jotaro doesn’t push him away.
They sit like that for a while, even after Boingo bounces off with his comic, off to “predict” someone else’s fate.
“Weird kid,” Noriaki comments.
Jotaro huffs a laugh. “Sure,” he agrees.
“What?” Noriaki frowns. “What are you thinking?”
“We’re all weird kids, at least a little,” Jotaro says. He looks at Noriaki with those insightful, beautiful oceanic eyes.
“Yes, you’re right,” Noriaki acknowledges. And then he leans in, to kiss Jotaro again.