Chapter Text
Noriaki is drained. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and the past few days had been the same. In the mornings, he drifts through the office like a dazed zombie, staring blankly at his computer screen. But when night finally falls and he reaches home, laying his head on the pillow, all the miserable thoughts he couldn’t process during the day come crashing in, chasing him through the dark.
When Ryu broke up with him, he expected it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Returning every day to the place where they’d shared the sweetest moments of their five-year relationship, now empty, is pure torture. Bed feels too big, house too cold, and he’s utterly alone.
And it’s not just that. When his ex left, he didn’t just leave him with a broken heart, he left him responsible for the rent on his own. His crappy job barely covers it, and there’s nothing left for even the most basics, like… eating. So, to make matters worse, Noriaki found himself posting an ad in search of someone willing to split an outrageously expensive rent and share an apartment with a bitter, pathetic stranger. Oh, and as a bonus, there’s the ghostly presence of Hierophant, who enjoys playing with the cups with his tentacles, making them seem to move on their own, much to the horror of any unsuspecting guest.
Stand users are said to be rare, but they’re drawn to one another like magnets, and often find each other wherever they go. Still, Noriaki has only ever met one in his life: his friend Rohan, whom he met the summer he stayed with his cousin. Rohan was the one who explained the concept of stands to him—the physical manifestation of some people’s souls—and why no one had ever been able to see Hierophant until now.
At least he has him for company during these long nights, lurking nearby or curling up between his legs like a ball of yarn, just as he is now. Noriaki sighs and reaches for his phone on the bedside table to check the time. It’s past midnight. He’s been lying in bed for hours, and it doesn’t look like sleep is coming anytime soon.
He exhales, and just as he’s about to set the phone down, it vibrates in his hand. A notification this late? Strange. He unlocks it and sees it’s a reply to his ad. He’d posted it two days ago, and until now, no one had reached out.
Hello,
I’ve seen your ad. I meet all the requirements you listed and am interested in moving in as soon as possible, if it’s still available.
Here’s my phone number, in case you want to get in touch.
Kujo Jotaro.
At the end of the message is indeed a phone number. Polite but direct, and the only personal detail he provides is his name. Who is this Kujo? Isn’t it odd that he says nothing else about himself?
Curiosity piqued, Noriaki quickly opens his browser to look up this stranger wanting to move into his home. The first result is a faculty directory of a nearby university, each entry paired with a photo. He scrolls through... and there he is.
Kujo Jotaro. PhD in Marine Life Sciences.
Professor of Marine Biology.
Next to it, a photo of a man so ridiculously attractive that Noriaki would think it was a joke if this weren’t an official website. Judging by what he sees, it looks like he’s found the person who sent the message… or at least he hopes so. Sharing an apartment with a professor is probably the best-case scenario in this situation: someone busy, likely not around much due to differing schedules.
It’s still too early to celebrate, but with the month nearly over, just having a potential candidate already eases the noise in his mind. He saves Kujo’s number in his contacts and makes a mental note to call him first thing in the morning.
Finally, he puts the phone back on the nightstand. Hierophant lets out a satisfied little noise as Noriaki tucks his arms back under the blankets, weaving his tentacles between his fingers until Noriaki, feeling a weight lifted from his shoulders, falls asleep like a baby.
Years ago, Noriaki had managed to kick the habit of biting his nails, but today he can’t help it. He looks at himself in the mirror once more, scanning every detail of his outfit for any stains on his shirt from the sandwich he ate for lunch or something stuck between his teeth. Everything is fine, except for his bangs, which, as always, do whatever they please, curling in a ridiculous way. There’s nothing he can do about that.
Hierophant seems just as nervous as he is, using his long torso like a spring to bounce around, narrowly avoiding crashing into a shelf and sending all his magical girl manga volumes tumbling to the floor.
“Behave yourself,” he mumbles.
He’s trying to sound threatening, but it comes out more like a plea. Hierophant takes pity and presses against him, wrapping him in an embrace. It’s very comforting.
Jotaro should be arriving any moment, and Noriaki’s nerves are on edge. The voice on the phone that morning—deep, husky—sounded like a serious, busy man. Just like in his initial message, he got straight to the point, arranging the meeting so efficiently that the call lasted less than a minute. Noriaki hadn’t even had time to ask anything, and the air of mystery is killing him.
At least his suffering doesn’t last long. The doorbell rings exactly as the clock strikes 6:30 PM, making Noriaki jump slightly, and Hierophant vanishes. Heart pounding, he glances one last time in the mirror before heading to open the door.
On the other side stands a man so tall and broad he could easily be called a wardrobe. He’s taller than Noriaki—a rare sight—slim but muscular, dressed impeccably in black. His skin is tanned, his long wavy hair tucked under a leather cap, and his blue eyes scan Noriaki from head to toe, as if taking in every detail of him. He doesn't look like a teacher.
For a few seconds, they just stare at each other without saying a word. Jotaro’s expression is unreadable, showing no emotion at all, which only makes his already imposing presence even more intense. Finally, Noriaki shakes off the spell and forces a smile to welcome such an unexpected guest.
“Jotaro, right?” he says, stepping aside to make room for him. “Come in, please.”
Jotaro merely nods and enters. Despite his size, his movements are fluid and controlled as he follows Noriaki to the coat rack to hang the long trench coat that looks more expensive than Noriaki’s entire wardrobe combined.
Stop being impressed, Noriaki thinks, clenching his fists to stop himself from putting his hands to his mouth. Even though he feels ridiculous in his cheap, yellowed shirt—one of the three he rotates for work—he swallows his pride and, for a few minutes, becomes a makeshift real estate agent, showing Jotaro each corner of the apartment with feigned enthusiasm. He’s barely managed to tidy up since his jerk of a boss had kicked him out of the office with just enough time to shower and clean superficially.
As expected, none of these details escape Jotaro, who scans every minor disaster like a hawk, yet doesn’t say anything to suggest disapproval. Still, Noriaki feels a twinge of annoyance, as if he’s being silently judged, but he keeps babbling about the conveniences of each room. Finally, they stop in front of the empty bedroom.
“And this would be your room,” Noriaki murmurs, trying to keep his voice steady.
He remembers his first visit to the apartment with Ryu, and how they had to pretend they were going to sleep in separate rooms to avoid suspicion. Then they’d left laughing, excited, knowing they’d never use that extra room. Until now.
His mouth tastes like bile, but he lets Jotaro look around as he pleases. The man remains quiet, simply observing the bare walls and leaning against the unused mattress, probably testing its firmness. The weight of his muscular arms presses into it, and the fabric of his shirt around his biceps looks ready to burst, enough to distract Noriaki from his bitter memories for a moment.
“It’s fine. I actually prefer it is empty, so I can bring my own furniture.”
This is the first time Jotaro has spoken, and his voice resonates against the white walls. It would be pleasant to hear if his tone weren’t completely flat, as if he were talking about the weather or something. For some reason, this irritates Noriaki slightly.
Yes, the room has no furniture besides the bed. Nothing impressive, but for some inexplicable reason, Noriaki wants this impeccably dressed man to approve. He bites his tongue and replaces his thoughts with a fake smile.
“So… does that mean you want to stay?”
Jotaro nods, raising a hand toward his head as if to run it through his hair, but instead adjusts his cap and looks directly at Noriaki. Somehow, he seems determined, even though his face remains neutral the entire time, his perfect features frozen like a photograph.
Part of Noriaki is relieved to have found someone just in time, but another part is uneasy. It’s not just that Jotaro is intimidating or silent. There’s something off about him, something that makes the hairs on Noriaki’s neck stand on end. He can’t even say he feels bad, just… alert. He senses there’s something he’s missing and frowns, but Jotaro seems to notice, because he steps closer until he’s standing directly in front of Noriaki, a single stride covering the distance with his long legs.
“Is there a problem?” he asks, and the feeling intensifies, sending shivers down Noriaki’s neck.
But despite everything, Jotaro doesn’t sound threatening. His posture is relaxed, hands in his pockets, though his turquoise eyes seem to glimmer with curiosity. This catches him off guard, and for a moment he forgets why this man is even here. He starts stammering until a few coherent words manage to escape his mouth.
“N-no, I mean…” Sweating suddenly, Noriaki fumbles through his pants pockets until he pulls out a crumpled, stained piece of paper. “Well, before… you know, deciding, I wanted to ask you a few questions. To see if we’re compatible to live together, and all that.”
“Makes sense. Go ahead.”
Noriaki quickly unfolds the paper, unable to remember the key questions he had jotted down just in case during his lunch break. He scans the list, feeling a little foolish standing there. Even Hierophant, who is unusually shy today and is refraining from causing chaos, wriggles uncomfortably inside him. He doesn’t want to stay in this room filled with memories, nor have Jotaro so close.
“Yeah, but… maybe we should go to the sofa? We’d be more comfortable. Do you want something to drink?” he asks, trying to maintain the role of perfect host. “I’ve got coffee, tea, some soda…”
Finally, Jotaro steps a little away from him, and the feeling of unease lessens. Noriaki can relax his tense back. He hadn’t realized how stiff his body had gotten from the anxiety.
“Water is fine.”
Such curt answers start to unsettle him, but Jotaro doesn’t seem malicious. He’s just… dry, and Noriaki knows he shouldn’t take it personally. After all, the other has done nothing to deserve distrust, even if his body reacts strongly. Maybe he should follow his instincts but the truth is, no one else has inquired about the apartment, so it’s not like he has a choice.
He guides the silent Jotaro to the living room, then grabs a couple of glasses and fills them with water, handing him one while sitting as far away as possible. Though he quickly realizes it was a mistake, the sofa is too small for two large people to maintain distance.
He brings the glass to his lips just to keep his mouth busy, trying not to lose his composure, but it’s difficult. And it doesn’t help that Hierophant is acting so strangely. Normally he’d have manifested to mess with poor Jotaro and stay close to support Noriaki, but his Stand refuses to appear this time, and he doesn’t understand why.
When he runs out of excuses, Noriaki unfolds the list again and clears his throat. Jotaro watches him intently, taking small sips from his glass of water.
“Okay, you told me in the message that you meet all my requirements… what do you do for a living?”
Noriaki doesn’t intend to admit he already knows the answer. Besides, something feels off.
“I’ve been a Marine Biology professor at Shibuya University for five years. I have a permanent position.”
That matches what he already knows, but there has to be more. How is it possible that a professor is dressed in designer clothes from head to toe? Sure, he probably earns more than an office worker like Noriaki, but it still doesn’t make sense. And the way he moves... smooth, precise, elegant without trying, as if everything slightly bores him. The kind of person who smells like they grew up with money… and faintly of tobacco.
“Do you smoke?” The question slips out before he can formulate it more carefully.
Jotaro seems caught off guard. For once, his stoic expression shifts slightly. He furrows his brow as he grabs the shirt’s lapel and brings it to his nose. Noriaki hears him inhale deeply, searching for any trace of smoke, but it seems he finds none. Finally, Jotaro nods, shrugging.
“Yes. Is that a problem? Your ad didn’t mention it, so I assumed you didn’t mind.”
And he doesn’t, really. Yet somehow, Noriaki finds it inconsiderate that Jotaro didn’t mention it sooner. It seems like an important detail to give someone you want to share an apartment with. The impassive expression also annoys him, as if Jotaro doesn’t care about following the implicit social rules usually expected to secure a place, used to getting whatever he wants.
Or maybe he’s just that straightforward, and Kakyoin is being a prejudiced idiot. He’s not entirely sure and that constant tingling Hierophant causes on his skin isn’t helping him think clearly. Plus, he’s slept only one night out of the last three, still wants to cry because he misses Ryu, and doesn’t want this stunning stranger entering the home they once shared.
“Alright, as long as you only smoke on the balcony,” Noriaki finally concedes.
There’s no point in protesting. After all, Jotaro could be his lifeline—financially speaking—and he doesn’t want to scare him off with unnecessary complaints about minor details. He feels a bit miserable about the whole situation, but he tries hard not to let it show. Right now, he could really use a reassuring squeeze from Hierophant’s tentacles, but the Stand stubbornly refuses to come out, which only stresses him more.
“Are you okay?” Jotaro asks, and Noriaki realizes he isn’t doing a great job hiding his discomfort.
“Of course, just a bit tired from work,” he lies, but those inquisitive eyes seem to see right through him. “Where were we? Oh, right… Do you usually bring guests over? I’m not opposed, as long as we agree on schedules and—”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Jotaro cuts in. “I doubt I’ll bring anyone.”
It’s strange to ask someone personal questions about their life and feel like you’re not getting to know them at all. Jotaro is like a concrete wall, and it’s frustrating. Noriaki needs to know more, to peel back at least one layer of the mysterious man sitting on his couch.
“One last thing. Why do you need a roommate?” he finally asks, unable to hold back any longer. “It’s obvious you make enough to rent your own place.”
Again, a flicker of surprise crosses the other man’s face. So he hadn’t expected that? A sharp spark of satisfaction flashes in Noriaki’s chest at having dared to voice his doubts. His therapist would say he’s doing a great job practicing assertiveness.
“Is something wrong with that? I already told you, I meet your requirements. I’m tidy, our schedules won’t clash, I’m quiet, and yes, I can pay what you’re asking.” His voice makes it clear he doesn’t want to keep talking about it.
“Yeah, but—”
“If not knowing about my private life is a problem for you, maybe I should leave.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but he sounds noticeably colder than before.
Oh, shit. He’s offended him. Noriaki has no idea why—asking someone’s reason for moving seems perfectly logical to him—but he must have hit a sore spot, because Jotaro has already stood up from the couch with every intention of leaving. Kakyoin quickly stands too.
“Wait!” he blurts, hurrying toward him before he reaches the door. “I didn’t mean to offend you…”
Jotaro stops but doesn’t turn around. Noriaki sighs in relief and keeps a careful distance. He doesn’t want to make another mistake by invading his space, and he feels incompetent for having upset him.
“I don’t need to know anything else. You’re right,” he admits, twisting his bangs around his index finger over and over. “You can move in this weekend, if you’re still interested.”
The silence that follows stretches far too long for Noriaki’s liking. He’s already doing mental math about how much he’ll need to tighten his belt next month when Jotaro finally turns to face him again, and that strange alert feeling returns.
“I’m interested. I’ll be here Saturday at nine to take care of the paperwork and get my keys. I’ll bring my things,” he says, giving a small nod that seems to serve as a goodbye.
Then he takes his trench coat from the rack and leaves without another word.
Noriaki’s heart is racing, a mix of lingering anxiety, lack of sleep, and a small rush from knowing he won’t have to survive on instant noodles for the foreseeable future.
As if summoned by that feeling, Hierophant’s tentacles curl around his torso, and Noriaki smiles.
“What’s with you today?”
Hierophant just stares at him as if the answer should be obvious. Noriaki snorts, but he’s in an unexpectedly good mood, so he lets it go and orders a pizza to celebrate. He falls asleep on the couch while waiting for it to arrive.
Noriaki counts down the days until Saturday. Despite how mind-numbingly bored he is at work, they pass quickly. Before he knows it, Jotaro is standing at his door again.
He haven’t contacted him at all in the meantime, and Noriaki hasn’t dared to reach out either. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway—it’s not like there was anything that needed saying—but he hasn’t been able to shake the tension left over from how their first meeting ended.
The man at the door doesn’t seem upset, though. He’s just as expressionless as before, but he makes a low sound in his throat, a lazy sort of greeting. Noriaki smiles faintly, relieved by the relaxed attitude, and steps aside to let him in.
Truth be told, the past few days have been rough. Noriaki kept imagining how awkward everything would be, how he’d lose his privacy and freedom. But the endless silence filling the living room while he ate dinner alone—no matter how loud he turned up the TV—has made the idea easier to swallow. Even… appealing.
“Do you have the paperwork ready?” Jotaro asks the moment he steps inside.
This time he’s dressed more casually, but his clothes still look far too high-quality and new for someone's "moving outfit".
“Yeah, I’ll let you read the contract now. I’ve already spoken to the landlord and got permission. I made space in the common areas for your things. Did you bring a lot?”
“Yes. I brought some boxes in my car. The truck with the furniture will arrive at noon.”
“Alright, I can help you in a bit if you want,” Noriaki says, handing him the contract and a pen.
Jotaro takes it and starts reading at impressive speed, probably used to it from grading exams. Every now and then he makes a small thoughtful sound, but when he reaches the end, he signs without hesitation.
“Well… I guess it’s official. We’re roommates now,” Noriaki mumbles, handing over the set of keys, hoping this will be the change his life needs.
Jotaro simply heads for the door, likely going to get his things.
“Jotaro, wait—” Luckily, this time the man stops right away and looks at him expectantly. “I made breakfast… If you want, we could eat together, and then I’ll help you with the boxes.”
And he really did put in the effort. He woke up an hour and a half early on a Saturday to shower, look presentable, cook something decent, make coffee, and clean the kitchen so it wouldn’t look like a war zone. He tried his best to start this new living situation on the right foot, which makes it sting even more when Jotaro turns him down.
“I already had breakfast before coming here,” he explains, turning back toward the door.
Noriaki lets him go, face burning with embarrassment, and decides that if Jotaro thinks he’s too good for his breakfast, he can deal with moving the boxes on his own. Disappointed, he pours himself a cup of coffee and sits in the living room in silence, taking small sips until he realizes he’s being childish. He sets the cup down on the table and goes to help Jotaro, but before he can reach the door, it opens.
Noriaki freezes.
There’s Jotaro—hair still perfectly in place, not a single drop of sweat—carrying more boxes than should be humanly possible in his arms and under his chin. And beside him stands a being that looks like condensed starlight given humanoid form, with arms and even long, flowing, star-speckled hair, holding an enormous stack of boxes effortlessly in one hand.
No way… Is that a Stand? The energy radiating from the being is overwhelming, like a supernova, and Noriaki can’t believe he didn’t realize sooner that his new roommate was a Stand user. Now he understands that strange feeling Jotaro gave him the first time they met.
“Could you let us in?” Jotaro asks, but Noriaki can’t move.
“You… you have a Stand,” he whispers, wide-eyed.
“Star Platinum.” Jotaro frowns slightly in confusion. “Usually other users notice right away.”
“Wait…” Noriaki finally snaps out of it. “Does that mean you knew about mine?”
He doubts Jotaro would’ve acted so casually otherwise, letting an ordinary person see floating boxes, and he hasn’t tried at all to hide his massive Stand.
“Well, I haven’t seen your Stand yet, but yeah. I knew the moment I saw you. Your aura’s intense.”
Somehow, that sounds like a compliment, though Noriaki is too busy staring at Star Platinum, who waves cheerfully with his free hand, to register. Hierophant, on the other hand, finally reacts. Having stayed hidden until now, he materializes in front of them at the mention of his… intensity, extending one tentacle to return the greeting to the humanoid celestial being, and using another to snatch Jotaro’s hat off his head in a playful gesture.