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The day began like any other excuse Jotaro came up with—half practical, half suspiciously specific.
“It’s for my marine biology project,” he said flatly, standing at Kakyoin’s door in his uniform jacket even though it was Saturday. “I need someone who can take notes.”
Kakyoin raised a brow. “I see. And none of your classmates were available?”
Jotaro adjusted his hat. “They… wouldn’t write neatly enough.”
It was flimsy, but Kakyoin played along, because the alternative was spending the day alone when he could be with Jotaro. “Alright,” he said with a small smile, grabbing his bag. “For science.”
⸻
The aquarium was quiet that morning, sunlight filtering through blue-tinted glass as they entered the first exhibit. Schools of silver fish darted through the water, light glinting off their scales. Jotaro’s usual frown softened as he stepped closer to the glass, his reflection merging with the marine life beyond.
Kakyoin stood beside him, notebook ready, though his pen barely moved. “Should I be recording species names, behaviors… or the exact shade of blue in your eyes when you’re looking at a jellyfish?”
Jotaro glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Behaviors. Of the jellyfish, not me.”
“Shame,” Kakyoin said lightly, but he dutifully jotted down a few lines—half observation, half poetry he’d pretend was biology jargon later.
⸻
They lingered in front of the dolphin tank longer than strictly necessary. A slow, graceful swimmer glided past, and Kakyoin caught Jotaro watching it with quiet fascination.
“You like them?”
“They live a long time. Travel a lot. Don’t have to deal with people much,” Jotaro replied.
Kakyoin smirked. “Sounds familiar.”
“Tch.” Jotaro looked away, but his ears were a little red.
⸻
When they reached the tunnel tank, the water above them was alive with sharks and rays, silhouettes moving like living constellations. Jotaro’s hand brushed Kakyoin’s as they walked. Not an accident. Not quite holding, but close.
Kakyoin didn’t comment. He just let his own hand stay there, fingertips warm against Jotaro’s knuckles.
“You’re not writing,” Jotaro murmured.
“Not everything worth remembering needs to be written down,” Kakyoin said.
Jotaro’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, then shifted back to the glass, but the faintest smile ghosted across his face.
⸻
By the time they reached the gift shop, Kakyoin had a notebook full of fish facts mixed with scribbled lines about quiet smiles and the way light danced on Jotaro’s face. Jotaro bought a small, ridiculous plush sea turtle without explaining why and shoved it into Kakyoin’s hands.
“For… your help,” he muttered.
Kakyoin grinned, hugging the plush. “For research purposes only?”
Jotaro’s eyes narrowed, but there was no heat in it. “…Yeah. Sure.”
As they stepped back into the afternoon sun, Kakyoin decided that if this was research, he’d volunteer every time.
———
The walk back to Kakyoin’s dorm was a lazy one, shadows from the late afternoon stretching long across the pavement. Neither of them seemed in a hurry. The turtle plush rested in Kakyoin’s arm like a small, smug secret.
By the time they reached the house, the faint aroma of miso and grilled fish greeted them at the door.
“Started dinner earlier,” Kakyoin said, kicking off his shoes. “Thought it’d be nice to come back to something ready.”
Jotaro followed him inside, setting his hat on the entry table. “Not complaining.”
While the food warmed, Kakyoin moved easily around the kitchen, and Jotaro sat at the table, watching without quite meaning to. The comfortable clink of chopsticks and low hum of the stove filled the space between them.
When Kakyoin finally brought out the plates, he hesitated before sitting. “One more thing,” he said, disappearing into his room for a moment.
He came back holding a small paper bag, which he slid across the table.
Jotaro frowned faintly. “…What’s this?”
“Just open it.”
Inside was a palm-sized dolphin plush, soft grey with a stitched little smile.
Kakyoin leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “You spent the most time at the dolphin tank. Thought you might like one.”
Jotaro was quiet for a beat, thumb brushing over the plush’s tiny fin. “…You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
Jotaro gave a quiet huff—half exasperation, half amusement. He set the dolphin beside the turtle plush on the table, their round little faces almost touching.
“They’re a pair now,” Kakyoin noted.
Jotaro glanced up at him, a rare softness in his gaze. “Guess they are.”
Kakyoin smiled, the kind that said he’d remember that look for a long time, and passed Jotaro a bowl of steaming rice. The dolphin and turtle stayed there between them through the whole meal—two quiet companions to an evening that felt a little too good to call “just research” anymore.
Dinner wound down slowly, the easy conversation and warm food making the air between them feel comfortably heavy. By the time the plates were cleared, the sun had dipped completely, leaving the house washed in the quiet glow of a single lamp.
Kakyoin moved to tidy the kitchen, but Jotaro stopped him with a low, “Leave it.”
When Kakyoin looked over, Jotaro was already in the living room, settling on the couch with his long legs stretched out. The turtle and dolphin plush were tucked under one arm, like they belonged there.
With a faint smile, Kakyoin joined him, sitting close enough for their shoulders to brush. “You know,” he said lightly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually like those.”
Jotaro grunted, but didn’t deny it.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge in the next room. Kakyoin leaned back, letting the warmth of the day sink into his bones, when he felt a shift beside him.
Without a word, Jotaro’s arm slid behind his shoulders, drawing him in until Kakyoin’s head rested against his chest.
Kakyoin froze for a heartbeat—not because he minded, but because Jotaro never made the first move. Then, with a small, pleased sigh, he let himself sink into the embrace, one hand resting lightly against Jotaro’s side.
The plush turtle and dolphin ended up nestled between them, squished in the space where their arms and chests met.
“Guess they’re part of this too,” Kakyoin murmured.
Jotaro’s reply was quiet, almost lost against his hair. “Guess they are.”
The world outside went on as it always did, but for that night, it was just them—the quiet thrum of Jotaro’s heartbeat, the soft give of the couch, and the warmth of being close.
For research purposes only, of course.