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While they’re skating in circles around the roller rink, Noriaki’s fingers find their way around Jotaro’s. He gives the man some crap approximation of a smile and Noriaki grins back, red hair mussed by movement and lit up bright by neon lights. White sparkles along the portion of his skin exposed to the disco ball turning on the ceiling. He’s pretty.
Then, Jotaro’s other hand is claimed by another, this one bony and pale from having barely seen the light of day. It looks small wrapped up in Jotaro’s fingers.
He tries not to fall again turning to raise his eyebrows at Rohan, who is now clutching tight to Jotaro’s hand like he’s afraid he’ll wipe out any moment despite his previously professed bravado. He’s pretty sure the eyebrow thing isn’t visible from under the brim of his hat. He does it anyway.
“Is there a reason you’re holding my hand?” Jotaro asks; there’s a small smile on his lips.
Rohan huffs as if Jotaro is the one at fault for being wildly obtuse. “Kakyoin is,” he says, deflecting.
“Kakyoin and I are dating,” Jotaro points out, and lifts his eyebrows again, mostly because it amuses him.
“Yeah, well. I don’t wanna fall, Jotaro,” Rohan says stubbornly, and clutches even tighter to the man’s hand while they round the corner. “You gonna let me fall? You want me to fall, huh?” For some reason, his face doesn’t look as annoying as it probably should. He's basically an overgrown teenager who never got over his emo phase. And yet. To be honest—
“Jesus, fine, hold it,” Jotaro mumbles, and rolls his eyes.
To be honest, he doesn’t even mind.
-
Jotaro's evening is first diverted from its originally planned schedule—working on his dissertation, helping Noriaki unpack their things in their new Morioh apartment, falling asleep using a scientific journal on marine life for a pillow—when Noriaki reaches over Jotaro's lap and saves the file he's been working on for him before shutting the laptop and setting it aside on the couch. He replaces its absence with his own body, which. Isn't too bad of a trade, Jotaro considers. He pokes at Noriaki's thighs. Noriaki talks.
The set of his eyes says he has a plan. "I have a plan," says Noriaki. He ghosts the tips of his fingers over Jotaro’s chest, feeling for the landscape of his form.
"Okay."
"We're gonna go on a date tonight."
Jotaro considers his dissertation for a moment. It can wait a night. "Okay. Cool."
The upward curve of Noriaki's cherry lips takes on a wicked edge. "We're gonna go to the new roller rink and skate."
"Um," says Jotaro. "Okay. Cool?" It's been a decade or something since he last went to a roller rink, but if anything happens, he can probably just use Star Platinum to prevent himself from death by rollerskate.
Noriaki is all about proper timing. While Jotaro is pulling on his coat, the man adds, as if it were an afterthought—it's not, Jotaro knows—"Let's invite your one friend, the manga artist. I want to hear more about his drawing process."
Jotaro is surprised, but not extremely so. More importantly—"I'm pretty sure he'll decline, Noriaki."
Noriaki purses his lips. "You think?"
-
When Rohan opens his front door, he's faced with two giants of men that give him the instant feeling of having shrunk à la Alice in Wonderland. He sighs, and comforts himself with the thought that he doesn't have to sit wrapped up in a ball on planes just to fit in his seat. He imagines Jotaro Kujo and his boyfriend flying coach and struggling. He imagines them sitting in the back of a smart car. He snorts.
"We were just." Jotaro stumbles over his words, which is something Rohan has never seen him do before. Unsurprisingly, it's quite amusing. He even looks a little red.
Rohan leans his side on the doorframe. "Just...?" he leads, and lifts an eyebrow.
"We're gonna check out the new roller rink," says Jotaro's boyfriend, the guy Rohan met once when he first moved in. Kakyoin, that’s his name. In addition to being tall as shit, Kakyoin has hair the bright color of a fruit and apparently enjoys dressing like a Backstreet Boy as much as his significant other. The man gives Rohan a slinky smile. "Want to come with?"
Rohan considers. He's never been rollerskating, but what if he wants to draw a manga featuring a character who does? Better to be safe than sorry. Also, he really wants a chance to surreptitiously—or not so surreptitiously; he's not picky—touch the curling noodle of red hair bouncing out of the crown of Kakyoin’s head. It just looks. Really fun.
He smirks. "It's a date." The look on Jotaro's face is thoroughly drawable; Rohan files it away in his head for a rainy day. "Just let me change my clothes, quick."
-
Rohan comes back after ten minutes with approximately his entire stomach exposed by a cropped green athletic shirt, and then some. He's wearing black leggings underneath short jean shorts that have suspenders dangling over their sides. The fatherly part of Jotaro wants to ask what the point of wearing suspenders was if you just planned to let them dangle down, but he has a feeling Rohan's response would in some way incriminate Jotaro's own superior sense of style.
"Well, I'm ready to go," the man says, stretching so that he only reveals more bare—pale—skin. He settles himself in between Jotaro and Noriaki and attempts to fling his arms across their shoulders, only to immediately and obviously regret even trying. Noriaki laughs out loud, and Jotaro hides with his hand the smile his hat doesn't cover.
"Poor guy," says Noriaki as Rohan closes the door to his house behind them and locks it. "You think his legs can keep up with ours?" he asks Jotaro, and sticks out his tongue between his teeth a little when he grins.
"Actually," says Rohan, already lagging behind Jotaro and Noriaki, "I don't think they can. I'm weak. I'm a manga artist, not a big, strong athlete. Or, uh, a marine biologist." He slows further, dragging his boots on the pavement and enunciating heavy, falsified breaths. "I think you'll have to carry me."
Jotaro's features swirl, bewildered. "What?"
"Not it," says Noriaki without pause, which is why, fifteen minutes later, Jotaro arrives at the roller rink in a sheen of sweat, with the spindly legs of a famous manga artist wrapped around his waist.
"I think you're shedding," Jotaro says in half-disgust once Rohan has finished his impression of Cheap Trick, pulling a green-colored hair from his neck.
"You know," says Noriaki, "he's pretty famous. You could probably sell that online for like, a hundred thousand yen."
"Why settle for a hair, then?" Jotaro asks. "He's small enough; we could just pick him up and take him home. Sell him piece by piece."
Rohan coughs. "You two sure have a funny way of asking a man for a threesome."
He looks much too smug when Jotaro goes positively pink.
-
When they get there, Jotaro has difficulty obtaining a pair of skates large enough to fit his feet, and Noriaki and Kakyoin nearly fall over themselves laughing watching him struggle. Jotaro glares at them without enough heat and calls Rohan a dick, to which the latter responds, winking, "That's my brand, babe." He and Noriaki start laughing all over again when Jotaro sputters at that.
"Allow me," says Noriaki. He squats to help Jotaro lace up his skate, and Rohan, not to be outdone, apparently, does the same with the other.
"You should probably double the knot so he doesn't fall and die," Noriaki advises the mangaka.
Rohan pats Jotaro on the calf. "He'll be fine. Probably."
Jotaro is at a loss as to why he feels no urge to throw this man into a wall. Possibly, it's because his face is just that pretty. Rohan is the devil with the face of a Gucci-clad angel.
-
While he's helping Jotaro onto the rink floor, Kakyoin looks over at Rohan. "Have you ever skated before?"
Rohan surveys the rink and all the sailing people circling around it. "It looks pretty easy; I'm sure I'll be great at it."
"Translation," offers Jotaro: "'I read a sports manga about it once.'"
Kakyoin bursts into laughter, and Rohan thinks he might even be crying a little bit. "Fuckin' savage, Jojo," the man chokes out. Much to Rohan’s satisfaction, Kakyoin laughs so hard he accidentally jostles Jotaro in the side, and the latter man goes flying in a blur of black and gold, saved only by the turbo speed and strength of his stand. Rohan is nearly on his knees cackling before he's even stepped onto the rink.
-
Of course, Rohan doesn't fall once, and Jotaro nearly dies approximately six times in the following hour. His only consolation is that in spite of Rohan's capacity to pick up the gliding movements fairly quickly, the man is still petrified of falling, and clutches tight onto Jotaro's hand to the point where his knuckles show white even through the pale of his skin. Compared to Rohan's fingers, Jotaro's look downright tan.
"I'd say Jojo should carry you again," Noriaki tells Rohan at one point, "but I'm pretty sure he'd drop you."
Rohan uses his free hand to grasp at his heart. "He does love me, Jotaro. He cares for my well being. I'm so happy."
Noriaki laughs. "Just keep telling yourself that, love."
"Does this mean I can touch your noodle?" Rohan asks, green eyes probing.
"Knock yourself out."
Jotaro watches, bewildered, as the mangaka reaches out to graze a hand through the red of Noriaki's hair. He wonders if this is one of those manga artist things Rohan’s always talking about, or if the man just has a hang-up for Noriaki's curls. Jotaro's pretty sure he knows the answer, given that he feels similarly.
-
A couple minutes later, Noriaki tries to reach out and fuck up Rohan's headband, intending to pull it down to his eyes, probably. Instead, he trips over his own feet and sends a ten-year-old in front of them tumbling.
"Holy shit, I'm so sorry," Noriaki bleats at the same time that Rohan goes, "Get up, kid, you're good. Brush it off." The kid’s eyes go wide; he stumbles getting to his feet.
Noriaki looks over at Jotaro as they're skating into their next lap, Rohan a few paces ahead of them. "We invited the spawn of Satan on a date, I do believe."
When Jotaro shrugs, Noriaki gives him a curious look. "You really don't mind him, do you?"
"I wouldn't have fuckin' carried him here if I did," Jotaro points out. “He’s. You know.”
Noriaki purses his lips. "Fair." He smiles. "I like him, too."
-
Kakyoin is an enabler, Rohan quickly discovers. Besides being the obvious orchestrator of this entire debacle, he uses every feasible opportunity to further fuck with Rohan and his poor, manga-drawing self.
They're sitting off to the side of the rink taking a snack break, Kakyoin and Rohan sitting across from each other while Jotaro wanders off to find the bathroom. Kakyoin's got this expectant look on his face, and Rohan is pretty sure he's purposely doing this thing where he, like, seductively sips his overpriced soda through the straw stuck into it. He looks very pleased with himself.
Kakyoin leans towards Rohan. "So, tell me about your manga," he says, and for a minute or two Rohan is floundering under the man's pretty gaze, stumbling over his words as he tries to recall the plot of his story in concise terms. He falls into it, though, and after a time he's gotten really quite into it as the two of them back and forth, Kakyoin offering tidbits of thought and ideas and Rohan latching onto them and explaining why they would or wouldn't work within the story he's working on at the moment.
"You're cute when you get excited," says Kakyoin at one point, and Rohan chokes on the hot pretzel he's been messing with, trying to get a manga artist's feel for its texture and flavor. Kakyoin, he notes, is also very direct. Admittedly, Rohan can appreciate that in a man.
"Um," he says, internally flailing for some cool comeback that will save him. His mind comes up blank. "Fuck."
Kakyoin laughs.
"Thank you."
-
Later, when they're back racing around the lit-up rink in a blur of red, green and black, Kakyoin taps Rohan on the shoulder and says his name.
Rohan slows his pace, turning. "What—?" he starts, and Kakyoin gives him a wicked grin and a friendly but firm push in the side. Rohan trips, finally, and only prevents himself from wiping out by grabbing the nearest object and clinging for dear life. The nearest object is Jotaro, who almost falls over trying to stabilize Rohan. It's just. Basically a mess.
"Fuckin' Kakyoin," Rohan mumbles. He hasn't let go of Jotaro yet, mostly because he conveniently latched onto the man's chest a moment ago and doesn't have the heart to remove himself.
"You're really thick," he informs Jotaro, who looks down at him with soft amusement tracing his features.
Jotaro pats Rohan's arm. "You're very lanky," he offers in return, and Rohan snorts.
"You going to let go at some point?" Jotaro asks after a minute. "Or are you just...chilling there?" For a man having his breasts half-fondled in public, he's remarkably calm. Rohan can appreciate that in a man, too.
"How much would I have to pay you for the chance to use your chest as a pillow?" he inquires, and giggles when Jotaro goes red again. His cheeks only glow darker when Rohan jokingly takes out his wallet and starts slipping bills into the man's shirt.
-
"I'm surprised you came with us," Jotaro says to Rohan a while later; Kakyoin has wandered off, having announced he was going to get another cherry slushy from the concessions area and then pointedly pushed Jotaro towards the table Rohan was resting at. At the moment, the mangaka is furiously scratching something in a pocket notebook, eyes narrowed, hair falling down over his eyes. Jotaro watches the man write in scribbling silence until he pauses, then asks the question that's been ruffling him all evening.
Rohan shrugs.
"Didn't figure you for the sociable type," Jotaro explains, picking a spare 1,000 yen bill from where it had been tucked under his shirt collar.
Rohan tilts his head, considering the sentiment. "Don't get me wrong, I hate people; they're honestly awful. But." He purses his lips, playing with the pen in his hand. "This is nice," he finishes. The last three words sound almost gentle coming off the mangaka's bitter lips, and it fucks Jotaro up, just a little bit. Rohan's serious.
A small smile drifts onto Jotaro's lips. "You know," he says, "that's actually really sweet."
Rohan flips him off. "Tell anyone I said that and I'll cut you," he says pleasantly, and playfully kicks at Jotaro's foot. "I don't know. I like the lighting here. I want to do some covers for my manga like this, with all the neon colors and light contrasts and shit."
Jotaro surprises himself, saying, "You should." He means it. Rohan notices, too, he thinks, if the look on his face is any indication.
The mangaka leans back in his seat, stretching out to kick at Jotaro's shins with his skates. His features look strange, not sharp enough to match Jotaro's previous impression of him. It's odd, but. Pretty.
"Thanks for taking me here tonight, Jojo," he says. Jotaro nods seriously, then slowly, comically, reaches across the table to tuck the 1,000 yen bill under Rohan's collar.
-
At one point later in the night the music beating through the speakers turns slow, and the DJ in the corner of the room says something into his mic about a couples' dance.
Rohan starts to stand from where he's been lounging and then pauses, watching Kakyoin and Jotaro's hands find each other with minute, instant precision. He tries to make as if he hasn't heard the announcement and starts studying his nails with enough intensity that he might be looking for a tiny stand user underneath each one. The green polish on them is looking a bit battered, especially on his drawing hand. He'll have to repaint it later, he thinks.
Jotaro kicks him out of this reverie—in the shin—which is possibly an attempt at a nudge by a man who doesn't fully comprehend his own Herculean strength. Rohan glances up in surprise to find the man and Kakyoin waiting, expectancy on their eyebrows.
"You're coming, right?" says Kakyoin, and Rohan doesn't choke on nothing at all; he's wonderful, thank you very much—
He puts a finger to his own chest and starts to ask, but Jotaro, thankfully, interrupts before Rohan can make a complete mess of himself. "Yeah, you," he says, and rolls his eyes. He holds out a hand, and Kakyoin does likewise.
It's too much. Kakyoin holding one of Rohan's hands and Jotaro, the other, the lights turning everything neon and shiny, the music loud enough for him to feel it under his skin. He meant what he told Jotaro, before, this is nice—
"Rohan," says Kakyoin, "are you crying?"
Rohan itches to flip him off, but with both his hands taken, he has to settle for a nasty glare. "The great Rohan Kishibe doesn't cry," he snorts. "He just. Gets a little emo sometimes. You know."
Kakyoin's hand is on Rohan's cheek so fast it's almost a slap. "You're so cute, I mean it, dude—oh, you look so pink, ha—" His hair curl brushes against Rohan’s neck, soft and sweet, and the mangaka swallows, flustered.
He casts Jotaro a desperate look. "I think your boyfriend's going to eat me, please save me."
Jotaro's lips curl up into a rare smirk, and he lifts his head so that Rohan can properly see the glint in his eyes under the shade of his hat. Then he leans in and kisses Rohan on the cheek that isn't being fondled, and. The great Rohan Kishibe doesn't get overwhelmed. He's just—really gay, that's all. It's too much—the music, the lights, his skates sliding across the laminate floor in a blur, these two assholes— and it's. It's. It's.
He laughs. He ducks his head trying to hide his grin, but it's not going away, so he tries making a grab for Jotaro's hat. It's a mess. He just laughs more.
"Don't you dare—" he insists to Jotaro and Kakyoin between bursts of laughter— "tell anyone—I'm not that cool—"
"Love, you're plenty cool," Kakyoin assures him.
"Nah," says Jotaro. "He's a fucking nerd."
Then he kisses Rohan again, and as Kakyoin is leaning in to do the same, Rohan melts to goo.