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Jotaro is worried about Kakyoin. He’s worried about all of them, of course, but Kakyoin in particular. His friend had stopped sweating awhile ago, and even in the darkness of their cave, he could see the pallid demeanor of his skin.
“Yo,” he nudged Kakyoin with the tip of his shoe. “Heads up.”
Kakyoin groaned. His voice was choked and dry.
“Oi, Jotaro, hand me the binoculars. Get another layer off him.” His grandfather called from deeper into the cave, and Jotaro gratefully acquiesced his spot at the mouth to him. By pressing against the rough side he was able to slip past and jam directly in next to Kakyoin.
Up close, he was even worse. His hair was stuck to his neck and forehead with sweat, but his skin had been depleted of any moisture. Jotaro knew that was bad. It was a bad situation, and they needed to get out of it, but his thoughts still were consumed with the safety of his friend.
“I’m gonna take your shirt off.” Kakyoin nodded drowsily into Jotaro’s arm, and he took that as consent.
He struggled the buttoned shirt over his head, revealing a sickeningly pale body. Jotaro swallowed. His tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Is this really how we die?” Kakyoin chuckled darkly. It was funny, honestly, if this was how they died. Dio would continue his ruinous reign because the Joestar crew got too fucking hot.
“Maybe.”
Kakyoin actually laughed that time, a dusty sort of bark that was a depressing reenactment of that spontaneous guffaw he would normally do.
“You’re supposed to reassure me, asshole.”
Despite the heat, despite the aching of dehydration, despite everything, Kakyoin curls up closer to Jotaro. Trembling, Jotaro returns it by hugging him closer. He can feel Kakyoin’s chapped smile on his bicep.
“Let us.. let’s allow the adults to fix this. Mr. Joestar will figure it out, or maybe Mr. Polnareff— please, just-“
They never had been too talkative with one another. Maybe that was why Jotaro found himself fond of Kakyoin so quickly- he was quiet, and the conversations they shared were easy to reciprocate. Kakyoin understood him more than anyone else.
Jotaro liked schedules, predictability. And when he met Kakyoin, he knew that he would fit perfectly within his. Or rather, that Jotaro would allow his presence to.
And now Kakyoin was dying in his arms. He was shaking, and he was too warm to the touch, and his words, his perfect words that he used so sparingly, had slurred together.
“Yeah. We’ll let them figure it out.”
Kakyoin’s coarse hair trickled down Jotaro’s cheek as his eyes shut. It smelled distantly of dust, of Jotaro, and of some kind of home.