Chapter Text
“Okuyasu, you have to decide where you want to go,” his brother said. Keicho’s hair wasn’t singed, his face wasn’t damaged. He was smiling.
If Okuyasu focused hard on the ground below his feet, he could see Morioh. All the places he had been, some he had been looking forward to trying; he wanted to eat all the food Tonio could offer. He wanted that new flavour of ice-cream the parlour had been teasing for the past few days. He wanted to go see the amusement park that, according to Josuke, set itself up on the first day of summer break like clockwork, and was apparently quite shit but always had at least 1 ride that was pure adrenaline because you’d never know if it would break.
He squinted just a bit harder. On the streets, he could see Jotaro, Rohan, and Koichi rushing towards a house. Okuyasu could just make out two figures out in the street. Josuke faced Kira barely standing, leg and arm both impaled with wood, Hayato standing close behind, obviously panicked as Josuke became weaker and weaker.
Okuyasu knew that he had to go back. He had to go help, after all the things Josuke had done for him over the months they had been friends.
And yet.
Keicho stood in front of him. For the first time that Okuyasu could remember seeing in a very long time, he almost seemed carefree, smiling at his brother rather than the almost constant stress he was used to seeing.
Jotaro and the others were rapidly approaching Josuke, even as the boy finally fell to the ground, Kira letting loose a smile at his supposed victory. He sent what Okuyasu could now see was a bubble of air towards Josuke, and Okuyasu clenched his hand into a fist.
He thought back to that empty house, plagued only by the constant noise from the attic, the knowledge that his dad may never go back to normal. He thought of the undone homework sitting on his desk, the bad grades, the possibility of never even graduating high-school considering how long he had been homeschooled for. Keicho seemed happy, here. He could have that too.
Okuyasu thought of Josuke; the months they had spent creating their own rituals for before and after school. Going to Tonio’s on the weekend, getting ice-cream on Mondays. Promises to study, Josuke saying he’d never let Okuyasu fail the year despite his own grades being lacklustre at best.
Josuke, lying prone to Kira’s stand after fighting for so long to save everyone he could, with his stand that could heal anything besides himself and the dead.
Okuyasu wanted to go back to Morioh. There was so much he still wanted to do. There was so much he still wanted to say, to this boy who he had become devoted to as the months had stretched on and he had seen just how far Josuke’s bravery extended when fighting for his friends and family.
He faces his brother for the last time in what he somehow knows will be years. And he says-
—
Josuke has never planned a funeral.
When Gramps died, it had fallen to his mother to do most of the official work, and although he had of course helped set up the memorial, that’s where his contributions ended. There wasn’t really a need for a proper funeral, either, since Gramps’ social circle was mostly limited to his mother’s, and there wasn’t anyone close enough to invite to such a sombre event.
It had been about 2 days since Kira had been defeated. He wonders what they did with his body. He wonders if they bothered fixing his face, since the man had no family that would want him in pristine condition for a funeral.
Okuyasu’s face wasn’t damaged. Nothing was damaged, actually. Even where Kira had blown his side off, there wasn’t a trace of a scar. His clothing was perfectly clean. Sans the twin scars on the boy's face, Josuke is sure he’d healed everything that could have possibly been wrong. There wasn’t even a single bruise, similarly to how there wasn’t a heartbeat.
Josuke fumbles closer to the toilet, dryheaving into it for the 4th time this hour. He feels numb despite the burning in his throat as he eases away and slumps against the bathroom wall. It feels cold against his skin and he presses his cheek against it, attempting to rasp out even breaths.
How did this happen? How had he let this happen?
Okuyasu had no living family that were sentient enough to plan a funeral, but had quite a few more friends than Gramps. No one would give Okuyasu a proper funeral if Josuke didn’t step up. No one would know what to put on the grave, where the location should be. They don’t know that he’s actually quite the fan of flowers despite knowing nothing about their names or meanings, he just likes looking at them and sometimes throwing the petals at Josuke’s lunch to see if he’d accidentally eat one before noticing. No one knows that despite most of his clothes being cotton, he actually likes the feeling of wool a lot more, despite how hot it could get in Morioh during the summer.
No one but Josuke.
He hadn’t necessarily volunteered to plan the burial, but Jotaro and Joseph were leaving in 3 days’ time, Rohan hadn’t known Okuyasu well enough to ever consider volunteering, and Koichi could barely acknowledge Okuyasu’s-
Josuke roughly swallows down the saliva that filled his mouth, nausea causing his fingertips to grow cold even as his head feels overly warm. He supposes that he’s not much better on that front.
He has to do it. Settle Okuyasu’s final affairs–if he even had any–and create a proper place for his friends to mourn.
It’s the same conclusion he’s been reaching for the better part of 4 hours, since he had stumbled home from the hospital only 2 days after July 16th, limped to his room to sleep, seen Okuyasu’s house from his window, and immediately retreated to the bathroom to avoid ruining his carpet.
Diamond could’ve fixed it, he thought numbly, tapping his nail on the bathroom tiles rhythmically. Can’t I fix anything?
Josuke hasn’t cried yet. He’s not sure why. It feels like he’s deep underwater, with only certain thoughts piercing the barrier enough to warrant an emotional reaction before he claws himself further down. He wonders if this is how Jotaro manages to be so unconcerned all the time. He hopes not; this seriously sucks.
Sunlight is creeping through the bathroom window when Josuke slowly gets up from the ground. Mom would wake up soon, and she wouldn’t want him hogging the bathroom.
Josuke avoids his window, instead flopping on his bed and having Crazy Diamond close the blinds for him. Summer break started yesterday.
Josuke blinks. The amusement park. Wasn’t there something important with that? He sits up straight, suddenly more awake with adrenaline at the realisation that he definitely had somewhere to be today. Okuyasu mentioned going to the park, but said he couldn’t do it the day it opened, so it would have to be the day after-
Josuke pauses. He lowers himself back into his bed, wishes it would swallow him whole and keep him there until his mind forgot what day, month, year, century it was, and spit him out as a set of atoms rather than a human.
Josuke swallows hard, bringing a hand to his mouth as he curls in on himself below the duvet that he now realises Crazy Diamond had thrown over him of his own volition.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. They had so many things planned; Okuyasu had never been to a theme park before, he was so excited despite Josuke saying at least 5 times that Morioh’s one sucked ass. Josuke was going to teach him to swim this summer in exchange for Okuyasu’s help cooking, because for some reason Tonio’s skills seemed to be rubbing off on him–the non-stand exclusive ones, at least.
It’s not fair. They had so much to do this summer. And most of all, Josuke wanted to- he never got to-
It’s not fair.
—
Josuke had never really seen the inside of Okuyasu’s house properly, besides from that one time they both almost died in it. All their hangouts had been in the wider city of Morioh or at Josuke’s. Maybe that’s why Josuke never noticed how eerie it was.
It was as imposing as the first time Josuke and Koichi had ever walked past it, with its ominous colouring and creepy creaking.
Okuyasu actually lives here? Josuke thinks, stepping forward into the house. He stills a little, grasping one hand as he takes a shaky breath. Lived. He had lived here. The door shuts behind him, leaving him in a dark corridor.
At least this house isn’t full of memories, not like Josuke’s house, or even Morioh itself was. All Josuke remembered of this place was Keicho’s miniature army, the look on Koichi’s face as the arrow had pierced into his neck, and the smell of fried flesh.
He shakes himself off. This visit has a purpose, and the sooner he does it, the sooner he can go home.
Jotaro had decided that he would fund the funeral after Josuke had given him a call, surprised to find him awake at 3 in the morning, as well as amenable to the request. He had said he would take care of all the legal proceedings to ask the town council for permissions to bury him, if Josuke could provide a few things.
One of these was Okuyasu’s birthday.
The absurdity that Josuke didn’t actually know his best friend’s birthday was, at the time, funny enough to give him the motivation to step outside and brave the house for his birth certificate, a calendar marking a specific day, or anything similar to help him out. At 3:30am. He hasn’t properly slept in at least 4 days, and this probably isn’t helping, but if he walks out this house now, he’s not sure he’d ever return.
Josuke decides to check the kitchen first. Dirty dishes lay in the sink, the remains of spaghetti floating aimlessly. The cabinets are stocked full of a seemingly random combination of actual food and weird-ass snacks. Josuke inhales, his breath catching on a sob, and he turns around.
Okuyasu’s house is still alive, waiting for him to come home and clean the dishes, make some strange amalgamation of foods in an attempt to recreate Tonio’s masterpieces, probably run out the door to try and make Josuke try it despite it usually looking like uranium.
He decides to check the kitchen later.
—
The only rooms he has left to check are Okuyasu’s bedroom, and the attic. Josuke’s not sure he can stomach the bedroom, not without losing his ongoing battle to run out the house and back into his room, curl up under his blanket and scream. He traces the cracks in the woodwork of the house with a finger as he makes his way to the attic, the door already propped open from when Okuyasu’s father had been taken in by the Speedwagon Foundation, courtesy of Joseph.
Josuke had wanted to do more for him, but he could barely look at the former man without thinking of Okuyasu, of how fast his life had been snuffed out after so long fighting for a chance when he had known nothing of normalcy since age 4.
Josuke harshly shakes his head, futilely attempting to force the image out his mind. His throat hurts.
He scans the almost-empty room, finally finding the box that had contained their family picture. He opens it up, rummaging through random medical records, a tapemix of the biggest 70s hits, and finally, Okuyasu’s birth certificate. October 2nd, 1983.
He doesn’t bother closing the box, exiting the attic as fast as he can and hurriedly making his way down the stairs until he approaches the door, birth certificate clutched tightly in his hand. Yet, when he’s about to open the door, he pauses.
Okuyasu’s room.
He shouldn’t. He can’t. Josuke knows what he would find in there. A messy bed, probably undone end-of-year schoolwork, hastily put together piles of random junk he always said there would one day be the perfect opportunity for.
Josuke knows it’s a bad idea. He turns around, fully intent on leaving the house and trying for a few hours of rest. It’ll make things worse, to see real, indisputable evidence that he’s gone. The dishes can be excused; maybe he’d just been lazy when he came home that day. Even his father can be overlooked using the Speedwagon foundation. But an empty bedroom, untouched for a few days and horrifically still, is not something Josuke can ignore.
He’s standing in front of the door.
It has a weird-ass nameplate on it despite Okuyasu being the only actual resident here for the past few months, the drawings and handwriting childish. It looks old.
Josuke pushes the door open. It doesn’t creak.
He wants to go home. He wants to look into the room and see Okuyasu lazing on the bed, refusing to do homework. He wants this day to be over despite the sun not even being up. He wants to laugh at Okuyasu failing at video games despite himself not being any better. He wants this all to be fake. He wants Okuyasu.
Instead, he steps into a very quiet room.
It’s familiar in the way that it’s very Okuyasu, and Josuke knows Okuyasu as well as anyone will ever get the chance to. The bed is unmade, there are clothes chucked basically all over the place, and a pile of seemingly random video games is tossed in the right-hand corner next to a small TV. The floor is wooden, and the walls were probably painted at one point, but have been relegated to a strange almost-expired-grape colour.
His desk lamp is still on.
Josuke feels numb, and static, and so, so far from where he wants to be.
It takes him a moment to realise that he’s crying, still standing in the doorframe of his best friend’s room.
It’s a waste of money to leave the desk light on, he thinks. A tear hits the wooden floor, instantly seeping into the material and barely leaving a mark. The electricity bill’s going to be way higher if you do that, idiot.
Josuke walks forward, unsteady, placing a hand on the desk to keep himself upright as he goes to turn the light off. His eyes graze over the desk, stopping on a random sheet of paper next to the completely untouched–is that dust? Did he even bother opening the book once!?–math curriculum for the year. It’s folded in half quite neatly considering that it must belong to Okuyasu. He picks it up as the light goes dim, and sits on the bed behind him.
His throat still feels tight, but somehow, being in Okuyasu’s space without him in it doesn’t feel as morbid as the rest of the house, or even his own room. It feels like a sleepover, almost, the room almost completely dark now with the desklamp off and only the hallway light for company. While the house itself seems to distance itself from its sole resident in its neat, empty feeling–more a house than a home–Okuyasu’s room is distinctly his.
Josuke considers the folded paper again, mainly if this is an invasion of privacy, for about 2 seconds before realising he was definitely going to open it either way and gently unfolding the paper.
Bucket List for Summer!, it reads. Josuke grips it a bit too harshly. He feels ill.
He studies the floor, trying to trace random parts of slightly-chipped wood and potential origins. There’s a random cola stain that he remembers Okuyasu complaining about from April.
A few minutes pass, and Josuke can breathe again. Crazy Diamond fixes the paper unprompted, which had ripped a bit under the strain of Josuke’s grip.
Josuke stares at it. Wonders if this is self-punishment.
He keeps reading.
It’s mostly stuff he remembers talking about with the other boy. Going to the theme park, trying to convince Tonio to give him a job, and finding out what the fuck is going on with Mikitaka.
It seems to be vaguely in an order of priority, but Josuke soon sees a randomly scrawled out note that it’s in order of difficulty instead.
His eyes automatically go to the bottom, where two final goals sit. One is scratched out quite roughly, and Josuke can barely make out his name towards the back-end of it. He’s curious, but moves onto the final scrawled out goal.
Get dad to laugh!
He stands up abruptly, eyes glued to the ground as he speedwalks towards the bedroom door. This isn’t right. This entire world is wrong. Why the fuck did he- why was Okuyasu gone when he still had things to do? It wasn’t fair, to know that he spent his entire life with the bare remnants of a family, that he never had the chance to do all the shit on his stupid, random-ass list.
Josuke bites his lip, eyes still downcast, and collides directly into someone standing in the frame, and just for one stupid second, hopes-
Crazy Diamond stares down at him from his position blocking the exit. He’s been doing this more frequently, Josuke thinks numbly. Just coming out and doing whatever he wants. The stand pushes him lightly back into the room until he’s sitting on the bed. The bucket list is still clamped in his hand.
“I don’t know what to do,” Josuke whispers. Diamond tilts his head, as if acknowledging the statement. “I don’t know what he would want me to do.”
The stand motions to the paper, and Josuke tiredly hands it over, only to have his hand pushed back towards his heart. He stares down at it.
A bucket list. A list of desires. Maybe not what Okuyasu would have written if he’d known they would be his final ones, but…
It’s something Josuke can hold onto. Something he can do to honour him; fulfill the world’s shittiest itinerary. It’s a stupid idea. It’s all he has. Crazy Diamond stares at him, and Josuke notices that, inexplicably, its colours seem the slightest bit duller.
It’s a weird sensation, to hug the manifestation of your mind. It feels lonely.
Josuke falls asleep in an empty house, hugging a pillow close to his chest. It smells familiar.
It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in a week.