Chapter Text
Jotaro rejects him on a Tuesday in December.
Jotaro’s the best friend he could ever have hoped for, ever have dreamed of. But if there’s even the smallest chance of them being more – Noriaki daydreams about it all the time. Always has, but of late, Jotaro’s been giving him hope. Flirting back and gazing at Noriaki with soft eyes, listening to everything Noriaki has to say even when it’s a niche interest like a video game that Jotaro’s never heard of, or his latest issues with coding. So Noriaki steels his nerves. He’ll never know if he never tries.
The rejection hurts more than it should, all things considering. Jotaro isn’t cruel about it, but a part of Noriaki has been in love with him from that very first day, when he’d realised seventeen-year-old Noriaki was living with his abusive older boyfriend, and had gotten him out of a violent situation. Noriaki remembers coming to, Jotaro’s hands on his face as he checked him for a concussion. Even though Noriaki had treated Jotaro like shit, even then, Jotaro had made sure he was safe. Nobody had ever taken such measures to ensure his safety before.
Jotaro rejects him simply. Without even needing to think about it. He doesn’t sugar coat his words, he never has, but he does try to soften the blow after he says it. “I don’t think of you that way,” he says. “You’re my best friend, but… I don’t really see us being boyfriends, ever. I care about you a lot. I always will. But…”
Noriaki smiles, but he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s alright, Jotaro. I… I’ve been reading you wrong, clearly. I’m sorry.”
Jotaro frowns a little. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, quietly. There’s some emotion there that Noriaki can’t parse, and the sentiment seems sweet, but Noriaki can’t bring himself to agree with Jotaro. Of course he has something to be sorry for. Jotaro’s friendship should’ve been enough for him, but he was fucking greedy and selfish, wanting more of Jotaro than Jotaro would ever be willing to give.
Jotaro’s always been out of his league, Noriaki knows as much. But with trips to the arcade after school, and nights out at fast food restaurants and evenings spent sparring each other for fun in the Kujo garden, as well as their final year of high school and figuring out how they could live together in college despite being in majorly different streams, and then, going abroad together for higher education… with all of that, Noriaki deluded himself into dreaming of a life that he wasn’t ever going to get to have.
Of waking up next to Jotaro every single day, them sharing the same bed. Of kissing his perfect mouth. Of making love to him, of holding his hands and sucking his dick and pressing hot messy kisses to the gorgeous line of his neck. Of nuzzling his face and cooking him breakfast and doing the crossword with his socked feet in Jotaro’s lap every single day, of morning kisses goodbye and evening kisses hello… of shared showers and shared clothes and easy touches and a billion forms of intimacy that he should’ve known he wouldn’t get to have.
His poker face is pretty good. One of the only advantages of growing up with abusive parents, he thinks; he knows how to shut down the waterworks immediately, how to plaster a smile over the worst breakdowns, how to make it seem like he’s okay when he’s really not.
He knows that Jotaro can see through it. Jotaro has always been able to read him, but he’s giving him the grace to pretend to be alright. A kindness Noriaki doesn’t deserve.
They watch a documentary on nature together, a classic after-dinner routine for those days when neither of them has too much academic work to catch up on. They sit together on the couch as always, but for once, they’re not pressed together, a small amount of space between them as Noriaki presses up against the armrest to the opposite side of Jotaro. He will not crowd this man he’s in love with, no means no and he’s been given his answer, and he’s got to give Jotaro space.
Jotaro doesn’t bridge the gap, either. It makes Noriaki wonder if all this – all the easy touches and quiet familiarity was maybe just Jotaro being nice. Maybe Jotaro just tolerated all of it – the touches and the affection, the times Noriaki fell asleep on his shoulder during documentary night. Had he been too clingy, too much? The only reference for relationships - platonic or romantic – that he has is Dio, and that guy was a scumbag. Has he been doing to Jotaro what was done to him? Making assumptions and overstepping boundaries and personal space?
Jotaro’s hand takes his for a moment, squeezing gently. “Hey,” he murmurs. He sounds worried, which isn’t Noriaki’s intention. He doesn’t want Jotaro to worry about him. “I’m sorry if I accidentally led you on. You’re my best friend, and I really care about you. You know that, right?”
“Yes Jotaro, I know that,” Noriaki says, his tone flat and emotionless. He’s usually a better actor than this, but Jotaro’s rubbing salt into an open wound by being so considerate, so nice, so much sweeter than Noriaki deserves.
Jotaro doesn’t let go of Noriaki’s hand. “So, we’re good?”
“Of course we’re good,” Noriaki says, squeezing the hand that’s in his grip. “I just got lost in my head a little. I’m sorry.”
Jotaro hums, unconvinced. “You don’t have anything to apologise for,” he says, and he says it with conviction, like it’s the hill he’s chosen to die on.
Don’t I? Noriaki thinks, but doesn’t say. He chooses to just stay where he is, hand in Jotaro’s hand. He doesn’t say the other thing, either: if someone really had to break my heart, I’m glad it was you.
Everything still hurts. But Jotaro’s still his friend, his best friend, sitting here and watching a documentary on hummingbirds with him. He hasn’t lost Jotaro. As long as he has Jotaro in his life, he knows, he can handle anything.
They hold hands all through the documentary.