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blasphemings · 5 years

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the definition of not leaving

in my dreams i am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ i say, ‘i’ve been lost but I’m here now. you’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’ (sue zhao)

(everyone lives but it’s complicated. 12k words, ao3 link)

we are hard on each other and call it honesty, choosing our jagged truths with care and aiming them across the neutral table.

“Jotaro? Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.” He yawned, not taking his eyes off the street. Heat like this always left Jotaro feeling drained, and despite being on the water, Port Said gave no respite from the humidity he had come to expect from Egypt in the summertime. It left the air feeling heavy, weighing damp on the back of his neck.

He leaned back as far as the folding chairs supplied by the café would allow and winced a little when the wood creaked under his weight.

“Might be a good idea to wait until we have some kind of idea where they’re taking it,” Polnareff mused, blowing a loose silver strand out of his mouth. Why he put all that crap in his hair every morning when the heat consistently melted most of it away by noon, Jotaro could never understand. “Assuming it’s an arrow, anyway. Kakyoin’ll be here by then so we—”

“Who?” He scanned the street absently, only half paying attention. Funny. For a second it almost sounded like Polnareff said—

“Kakyoin’s meeting us here,” Polnareff said cheerfully. “Or, well, he might just go straight to the hotel. I gave him the café address but—hey!”

Jotaro had nearly lost his balance in the already precariously tilted chair, forced to slam the legs flat on the ground with a loud crack that drew the attention of the sparsely populated neighboring tables. They hadn’t, of course, seen his second set of arms catch the windowsill. It just looked like he had good reflexes.

He did have good reflexes. He was just nowhere near present enough to use them.

Polnareff stared at him. “Are you—”

“Who?” Jotaro repeated incredulously.

“Kakyoin? Noriaki Kakyoin?” He reached forward to push a glass that had slid to the table’s edge back from danger. “Our friend?”

Our friend.

Jotaro nearly snorted. The chances of Kakyoin still considering him a friend were minimal at best. If he was lucky, the man wouldn’t hate his guts.

He was rarely lucky when it came to that sort of thing.

“Polnareff,” Jotaro muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why the hell didn’t you ask—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he—he’s an exceptionally powerful Stand user? I imagined you’d agree we can use all the help we can get. Honestly, I’m surprised you hadn’t contacted him earlier.”

He felt a headache coming on, the prickly sort of pain that started somewhere behind his jaw and crept towards the base of his skull. The one time he had been tired enough to complain about the feeling at home his mother had clucked at him, assuring him the headaches were a direct consequence of how much time he spent clenching his teeth.

Unlikely that Jotaro would kick the habit anytime soon considering that more often than not he clenched his teeth in order to hold his tongue.

“Besides,” Polnareff continued breezily, “thought it’d be fun, you know, like old times. A shame Avdol has his hands full at the shop…”

“Yeah,” Jotaro said. His voice came out uncharacteristically faint. “Too bad.”

Six years ago Jotaro knew his gait well enough to recognize the beat of it from across the room without looking up, but his shoes clicked uneven on the sidewalk now, carrying his weight differently enough that he didn’t register who was approaching until it was too late to prepare himself. A limp. A very slight limp, and not one that seemed to slow him down very much, but one had had to compensate for all the same.

The screen door swung open and he felt hot and cold and a little nauseous all at once. He had been watching the street so carefully for signs of danger, only to miss the most glaring of them all; for though the man who now crossed the threshold would never be an enemy, at present he could be nothing but a threat. Briefly he considered making an excuse to leave. Make a run for it.

Because that had worked out so well last time.

Jotaro stared at a spot on the tablecloth instead, listening to him approach. After injuries like that it was something like a miracle that he could even walk at all. Any reasonable person would hardly find it surprising that he came out of it with a limp.

Nothing to get worked up about. He relaxed his clenched fist with practiced steadiness.

“Salut! You made it!”

“Polnareff,” came the soft voice, and only with great effort did Jotaro stop himself from flinching at the sound of it. He could hear, without looking, that Kakyoin was smiling. “You seem well.”

Polnareff clapped him on the shoulder. “You look good. Glad you made it in so early.”

A tired chuckle. “You know, I’m just glad I won’t have to wander around here in the dark without anyone to—seems like a good place to get lost.”

“Oh, certainly. Certainly. I borrow Jotaro’s sense of direction, myself.”

“Do you,” Kakyoin said, his tone noticeably chillier.

Jotaro gazed at the empty chair, feeling the weight of both sets of eyes, wondering if it would be the polite thing to pull it out for him or whether Kakyoin would take that the wrong way. He had just decided it was useless to care when a slim green tentacle wrapped around the chair legs and dragged it back. Jotaro withdrew his hand.

Polnareff continued to chatter happily about the flight from France, the local cuisine, the hotel, how hard he found it to read the maps despite Avdol’s patient attempts to teach him the Arabic alphabet. Jotaro looked anywhere but at Kakyoin’s face. All he registered were shapes he refused to allow into focus; a sleeveless sweater in forest green and a white scarf despite the heat. Coat draped over the back of his chair. Why had he even brought one? He had to know what Egypt would be like in the summer.

Slowly, despite his best efforts, details leaked back through. Pale red hair, the narrow and familiar shape of his face. He made the mistake of looking directly at Kakyoin’s hands, at the long fingers and scars he hadn’t given himself enough time to watch heal.

“—and how long has it been since you two saw each other, anyway?”

Polnareff looked from one to the other expectantly. Jotaro suppressed a grimace. He opened his mouth, at a loss.

“Quite some time,” Kakyoin said coolly before he could think of a delicate way to put it. “It’s good to see you again, Jotaro.”

He said Jotaro’s name like it was a dirty word, though the quiet disdain went completely unnoticed by Polnareff. Jotaro felt he would have preferred to be slapped.

“Yeah,” he managed. “You too.”

Kakyoin allowed the stony silence to drag on for a bit, looking down at his fingernails with more interest than they warranted. Polnareff raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“You’re busy men,” he said. “Although you are both living in Japan, aren’t you? I mean—”

“Japan isn’t exactly a small country,” Kakyoin interrupted crisply. “Polnareff, I apologize, I think I’m just a little—from the travel, I’m a bit tired. Would you mind?”

“You—oh! Of course, of course.” Polnareff waved him away. “Go on, you must be jet lagged as all hell. You—I gave you the address, right? For the hotel, I mean.”

Kakyoin nodded and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I remember it.”

“Good, good.” He looked around and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have a lead on a possible—”

“Polnareff,” Jotaro growled, eyes on the street. “Not here.”

“Right. Right.” Polnareff grinned and winked at Kakyoin. “You never know…we’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t get lost before then, yes?”

“I’ll try not to.” Kakyoin stood and Jotaro tried not to notice the way he put extra weight on the chair in order to account for his bad leg. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Au revoir.”

Jotaro watched him through the window, confident now that he didn’t run the risk of meeting his eyes. Only a sideways glimpse of his face but it was enough to recognize the bright eyes and wide mouth, enough to wish he hadn’t.

“Less talkative than usual,” Polnareff commented.

He nodded listlessly. He didn’t have the heart to say I wouldn’t know.

Across the street, as though he could feel the eyes on his back, Kakyoin paused. He looked back over his shoulder to see, through the unfamiliar lettering on the café window, that Jotaro had already turned away.

the things we say are true; it is our crooked aim, our choices turn them criminal.

Six years. The correct answer to Polnareff’s question, what neither of them had been capable of admitting, was that it had been six years since they had last seen each other. Kakyoin had last seen Jotaro when he briefly regained consciousness after several hours in surgery to find the other boy asleep on the floor of his hospital room. When Jotaro raised his head he’d had imprints on his cheek from the plastic mattress cover on Kakyoin’s bed. It made Kakyoin smile, and Jotaro could only stare, trying to burn the image into his memory.

The problem was that if he had stayed, if Jotaro had given him the chance to make his case, Kakyoin would have succeeded. Because he always knew exactly what to say, and furthermore he would have been half right about it. He would have said it isn’t your responsibility. He would have said I can take care of myself.

Half right. Kakyoin could take care of himself, and that was the worst part, that he was strong and brave and clever and where had all that heart and strength got him in the end? Smashed into a water tower, bleeding out. It didn’t matter how capable he was.

It wasn’t Jotaro’s responsibility, but it was still his fault. There was no way around the fact that if Kakyoin hadn’t been there, if Jotaro had been smart enough to tell him get lost fifty days earlier when Kakyoin walked into his mother’s kitchen and announced that he was coming too, he would never have come within arm’s reach of death on an unfamiliar rooftop in an unfamiliar city, thousands of miles from home.

How willing he was to believe that he could only make his life mean something by throwing it away. He had implied as much any number of times when they sat awake by the campfire in the early hours of the morning, neither willing to admit to the nightmares that kept them from sleeping, both grateful that the other was there. It scared Jotaro to death. He had never known what to say.

Somehow it hadn’t felt real, whether he took it as a threat or a promise, until he was kneeling in the bloody mud beneath the water tower, clutching Kakyoin’s broken body, trying desperately to keep him awake as the approaching sirens grew louder and louder. Kakyoin, thinking the other half of death would come for him momentarily, had tried to use the moment to say goodbye, and Jotaro could only snarl back at him to shut up, shut up, you’re not going anywhere, as though losing him too was something he could pound into submission if he could only figure out how to get his anger to outweigh his fear.

Standing there in the hospital, listening to the soft whirr of the medical machinery that stood between his best friend and oblivion, all he could do was remove the cause Kakyoin had nearly died with a smile for. It would mean hurting him, it would mean living with the knowledge of how heavy that hurt would be, and in that moment, watching a shaft of moonlight illuminate his pale face, he felt as though he would rather die than leave.

He stood with his hand on the doorframe, wanting nothing more than to collapse back to the floor at Kakyoin’s side, wanting to stay there with him until he woke up and tell him about Dio, about the World, about how afraid he had been, about how afraid he still was. Kakyoin would listen. He might even understand.

If I don’t get to say goodbye I’ll kill you, Jotaro.

He had mumbled it before losing consciousness again, the last thing Jotaro had heard him say. He thought of that as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it with closed eyes. The metal was cool against his forehead.

Hate me, hate me, just stay alive. Stay alive.

It had been easy, on the surface, to return to his life alone. After all, he had been alone for a long time before Egypt, and he was good at it, deflecting the questions, waving off concern. According to Joseph, who had paid the bills, Kakyoin had been transferred to a hospital in Tokyo once he was stable enough, and had gone home to his family not long after that. He had, of course, not actually been the transfer student he claimed to be, that first day, and they lived separate lives. Jotaro couldn’t tell if the feeling in his chest when he considered the possibility of Kakyoin just showing up and confronting him in person was terror or hope, but whether it was due to anger or resignation, he never did.

By the time he was old enough to wonder whether he might have made a mistake, it had already been years. There were times when he stared at the phone like it was a venomous animal, stared at the scrawled phone number he had retrieved from Polnareff, wondered what would happen were he to dial it. Imagined the worst case scenario. Tried not to think about the best case.

Too much time had passed, he always told himself as he carefully refolded the paper and tucked it back into his wallet. He wouldn’t know what to say.

of course your lies are more amusing: you make them new each time.

Jotaro stared at the checkered tablecloth, willing it to come into focus. His eyes burned in a dull sort of way. He remained unsure of whether or not he had actually been asleep at all, or whether he had only convinced himself he had managed it. Reliant on the placebo effect of lying alone in the dark.

Wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.

“Long night?”

He jumped slightly. He had forgotten how quiet Kakyoin could be.

“Something like that,” Jotaro mumbled, watching him take the seat opposite out of the corner of his eye. Kakyoin crossed his legs carefully, hands folded over one knee.

When Jotaro finally glanced up at his face, he was gazing vacantly at the vase of bright orange poppies placed just off center of the table, mouth pressed into a thin line. Judging by his glassy eyes, he hadn’t slept much either.

He hesitated. “Jetlagged?”

Kakyoin didn’t look up. “Something like that.”

Jotaro snorted softly. Silence fell, stiff and heavy, and he wondered whether he should try to think of something to say. Even if he had he doubted he would have the nerve to say it out loud. Stupid to be more afraid of an old friend than he was of homicidal enemy Stand users.

Though, when he thought about it, the worst thing they could do was kill him. And Kakyoin was a Stand user, even if he didn’t quite seem homicidal as far as Jotaro was concerned. Yet.

“Could we get one more?” he said in halting Arabic when the waitress set down a mug of steaming coffee. She nodded, smiling.

“Anything else?”

Jotaro shook his head. “Waiting for someone.”

He slid the cup across the table like the first syllable of an apology he had no idea how to give. Kakyoin stared at it, still silent, but something softened very slightly around the tired edges of his eyes.

“That was kind,” he said at last. “Thank you.”

Jotaro shrugged, averting his eyes. “Look like you need it.”

“I must really look like shit.”

He blanched. “I—didn’t mean—”

Kakyoin watched him stumble with an expression not unlike a smirk.

“Not like that,” Jotaro muttered.

The summer heat hadn’t quite burned through the morning yet and a lingering breeze swept across the patio, ruffling Kakyoin’s curls and raising goosebumps on their exposed shoulders. Jotaro folded his arms.

“I did want to ask you.”

He froze.

“If you could catch me up,” Kakyoin continued calmly. “On where things stand with all of this.”

Jotaro suppressed a sigh of relief. “Polnareff didn’t…?”

“Oh, no, we talked about it.”

Kakyoin dropped a sugar cube into his coffee, absentmindedly breaking it into pieces with the wrong end of the spoon with a vaguely sheepish expression. “I just—thought your perspective on the situation might be a little more…um.”

“Realistic?” Jotaro offered.

“Tactical,” he said delicately.

Jotaro chuckled before he could stop himself, Kakyoin glanced up in surprise, and for the first time in six years, half by accident, they looked each other straight in the eyes. Something cold twisted deep in his chest when he recognized the exhaustion on Kakyoin’s face, a look that ran much deeper than one sleepless night, though it still wasn’t enough to kill his vicious spark.

Kakyoin saw nothing he hadn’t expected, though he felt it was almost worse, being right.

Jotaro nodded, looking a little dazed. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

Nothing about it felt natural, nowhere close to the easiness that had existed between them as teenagers, but he found it less painful to talk business. At least, when it came to this sort of thing, Jotaro knew what to say.

He was careful to avoid speaking in direct specifics, and Kakyoin caught on quickly, adapting his questions accordingly. He laid out how long they had been looking, what they had found, what had got in their way. How close he figured they were to hunting down an actual arrow (not very). How close they were to understanding the spiderweb of Stand users that seemed conveniently positioned to oppose them at every turn (moderately, assuming they could finally convince one of them to talk). He did know that many of the users they had encountered had been clumsy, reckless, overconfident. As though that power were new at their fingertips.

“Made,” Kakyoin said slowly. “Not born.”

“Yeah.” Jotaro paused. “Reminds me of me. The way they are. So I can tell.”

“Can you.” He considered, the ghost of a smirk back on his face. “You were a little graceless.”

Jotaro grunted noncommittally.

“And you think they’re being…mass-produced. Intentionally.”

“That’s…I don’t know if I’d put it like that, but—someone’s doing it. Someone has to be doing it.”

“Does it seem organized?”

He shook his head. “Hard to tell. But I don’t think…I can’t imagine it’s motivated by…anything good.”

“Trial by fire,” Kakyoin murmured, half to himself. “Sounds like they’re being tested.”

“Tested.”

“Well, yes.” He gazed thoughtfully at the dark grounds left behind in his now-empty cup. “Gave them the—give it to them, see if they’re any good at using it. See if they’re any good at keeping their mouths shut, too.”

It wasn’t impossible. It did rankle, a little, that Polnareff had been right about having Kakyoin around.

“That’s smart,” Jotaro said.

“You’re not the only one who remembers,” Kakyoin replied coolly. “Seems as though you may be acting as someone’s meat grinder for a second time.”

He winced. Their roles, admittedly, had been different then. Kakyoin, born with his Stand but never before having used it for combat; Jotaro, a fighter all his life, but still unfamiliar with his new power, still unsure whether or not he could trust it, let alone whether he wanted to. Dio’s first intended sacrifice of many ultimately sent his way.

“Never really seemed like he was testing people,” he muttered. “Felt more like cannon fodder.”

“Oh, I don’t think he was testing us.”

Reluctantly raised his head, trying to read the strange look on Kakyoin’s face.

“Jotaro, he was testing you.” He shook his head, exasperated. “A new St—someone new to it, you see? Measuring performance against any number of people who knew what they were doing?”

A flash of silver hair appeared in the doorway and Polnareff began to wind his way through the tables towards the corner where they sat. Jotaro’s eyes stayed fixed on his hands.

“And why,” he said, voice dangerously even, “do you think someone might be measured that way?”

“You would know better than anyone,” Kakyoin told him. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Know what?”

Polnareff sat heavily between them and both men flinched. Jotaro took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of flowers, coffee, sharp French cologne.

“It’s all right,” Kakyoin said slowly. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tone of his voice left Jotaro unsure whether it was a reassurance or a threat.

Jotaro glanced at Polnareff. “You sleep okay?”

“Sure. Well enough.” He stretched, pulling a face when his shoulder popped. “Ugh.”

“Old injury?” Kakyoin asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Polnareff yawned. “Well—we should get out of here, yeah? Have a meeting to catch.” He grinned.

“Polnareff.”

“Mm?”

“This ‘meeting’.” Kakyoin rested his chin in one hand, watching him critically. “How likely is it that things might get…messy?”

“Messy,” he echoed. “Hmm. Depends on whether it’s a decoy or the real thing, I guess.”

“I see.”

“But we’ve got Jotaro, you know? The World has pulled us out of tight spots more than once. I mean, as long as you can talk him into using it.”

Kakyoin went pale. “The World,” he repeated faintly. Jotaro stared hard at the tablecloth, feeling slightly nauseous again.

“Polnareff.”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Polnareff held up his hands in surrender.

A moment later he was gone again in search of the front desk and whatever maps they might have to offer, and Jotaro was left alone with Kakyoin’s eyes boring what felt like a hole into his skull.

“The World,” he hissed.

Jotaro closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“You can stop time.”

“Yeah.”

“Like him,” Kakyoin said. “You can stop time like him.”

Jotaro paused. His ears rang with high, condescending laughter, punctuated by a sharklike smile.

“Exactly like him,” he replied flatly. “Which is why I won’t use it.”

Kakyoin made a soft noise of disbelief. “You won’t use it?”

“I don’t—only if I—if there’s no other option.”

He studied Jotaro with a reproachful expression that set his teeth on edge. “Let me get this straight.”

“If you have to,” Jotaro grunted.

“You can use the World.”

“Yes.”

“As effectively as he could.”

“Yes.”

“And you refuse to.”

“Correct.”

“Why—” Kakyoin shook his head. “You’re saying you can, you have this, this extremely powerful ability and you—what’s the point of having it if you won’t…?”

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered, staring at a dead fly on the ceiling. He wondered how it had managed to get crushed all the way up there. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“How long have you been able to do this?”

“Since…” He hesitated. “Since Cairo.”

Kakyoin’s eyes widened slightly.

“I see,” he breathed. “I had wondered how you managed it.”

It was the last thing Jotaro wanted to think about, let alone talk about, let alone talk to Kakyoin about. Let alone the fact that Kakyoin seemed more concerned with Jotaro’s distaste for using it than his having access to the same power that had come close to killing him six years ago.

“It’s not like refusing now will change anything that happened back then, Jotaro.”

He had forgotten how frequently Kakyoin used his name. He did it on purpose, it seemed, to make it more difficult to tune him out.

“Honestly, it seems a little foolish,” Kakyoin continued. “After all, we both know you’re pretty good about not getting caught up in the past.”

The air escaped through Jotaro’s teeth with a sharp hiss. When he looked up Kakyoin was watching him with a defiant expression, daring him to retaliate. Almost looking as though he wanted him to.

It was a game to him. Always about who gets the last word. Of course he wouldn’t take it seriously. Of course he hadn’t changed. For Kakyoin, of all people, to sit there and call him a fool…he had some kind of nerve.

Jotaro looked down at his clenched fist, still resting on the table. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Kakyoin laughed. “Right,” he said softly. “Of course not.”

His eyes were bright and cold, lavender ice freezing over a once-familiar smile.

your truths, painful and boring repeat themselves over & over perhaps because you own so few of them

It continued much like this, in the way of taciturn silences and chilly looks, a weight on the spaces between. Kakyoin had a gift for making pointed remarks that were subtle enough for Polnareff to miss, and Jotaro, unable to justify holding that bitterness against him, could only grit his teeth and nod. Largely they avoided being alone together, preferring to have Polnareff’s easy chatter as a buffer whenever possible. If the Frenchman noticed any tension between them he was exercising an uncharacteristic level of tact in not mentioning it, which led Jotaro to believe he was not, in fact, aware that anything was wrong at all. Meeting Kakyoin’s eyes felt to Jotaro as though he were intentionally shoving a fork into an electrical socket, and though the aversion seemed to be mutual, sometimes he felt he was being watched when he lowered his head to read or compare Polnareff’s notes to various maps. It made his skin prickle and he had to remind himself he wasn’t in any real danger.

He wished he were in danger. He wished Kakyoin would just grow up and punch him already. It would have been easier to get it out in the open rather than play at half-baked normalcy. It made Jotaro unimaginably tense, and every time he snapped at one of them Kakyoin looked at him with a grim sort of satisfaction.

Neither of them were getting anything close to a reasonable amount of sleep.

Polnareff’s original lead turned out to be a dud, and it was three days before they were able to find the right vendor to bribe, another eighteen hours between that and the actual meeting. The heat grew worse over the course of the week, and Jotaro spent most of his time down at the pier, watching low waves break against the rocks, wishing he had thought to read about the local marine life before they arrived.

“Looking for something?”

Jotaro closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow. “Do you have to sneak up like that?”

Kakyoin didn’t respond. He folded his arms, kept his eyes on the sea and his face carefully blank.

“I’m not.”

“Come again?”

“Looking for anything,” Jotaro muttered. “Don’t know what to look for around here anyway.”

“Monk seals.”

“Sorry?”

“Monk seals,” Kakyoin repeated, still watching the water. “They live in the Mediterranean. Though I haven’t seen any yet.”

Jotaro blinked up at him, taken aback. He shrugged.

“I like them,” he said shortly.

Helpfully his brain supplied him with a series of useless fragments, none of which he felt capable of saying out loud. Monk seals can weigh up to 900 pounds. Monk seals have been known to kill and eat octopi whole. Monk seals prefer to hunt in open spaces.

The reason you haven’t seen one is likely because there are less than one thousand monk seals left alive in the wild.

Strange, bulbous animals. The sort of creature that looked like it should fit in your arms but in reality was large enough to crush you to death.

“You can look for fish later. It’s time to go.”

“Seals aren’t fish,” he mumbled, looking up at the overcast sky. The lack of sunlight only made the mugginess worse.

Kakyoin snorted and Jotaro raised his head, staring at his outstretched hand as though afraid of it. Tried to read Kakyoin’s expression and found it enigmatic at best. Looked back at his hand.

“Come on.”

He steeled himself and took Kakyoin’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. His strength seemed undiminished, though he shifted his weight to account for the lingering handicap. He released Jotaro quickly. Both had noticed the clamminess of the other man’s palms.

For what felt like the hundredth time Jotaro wondered if he was overreacting. Kakyoin started back down the pier, his footsteps nearly soundless despite the creaking wood.

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “If I see one.”

Kakyoin paused without turning around. His shoulders relaxed very slightly.

“I’d appreciate that.”

The transaction was to take place at the old lighthouse, the tallest on the continent and one of the city’s landmarks. It was still active, manned at night, but according to the merchant who overheard the conversation, the buyer had asked to meet during the day, when it would be largely vacant. It seemed believable enough.

They met Polnareff in an alley by the building. In hushed tones he explained that he’d seen a middle-aged woman enter fifteen minutes ago, and a short, dark-haired figure in white follow shortly after. The woman had been holding a canvas-wrapped bundle.

Kakyoin watched the door as Jotaro and Polnareff had a whispered argument about the best approach. Eventually he held a hand up to silence them and pointed towards the lighthouse, and the woman hurriedly closing the door behind her, who no longer held any sort of bundle.

“Now,” was all he said.

Jotaro followed him across the yellowing grass with Polnareff trailing behind, mumbling something about locks and breaking and entering in broad daylight. Kakyoin shot him a withering look and pulled the door open, withdrawing Hierophant’s limb, which he had slipped between latch and frame as the woman left, preventing the lock from catching.

The interior of the lighthouse smelled of pine and some sort of pungent cleaning product, illuminated only by dull gray sunlight slipping through a small window. Jotaro wrinkled his nose, kicking at a stack of old newspapers. He glanced around, searching for places someone might hide, but found the first floor fairly barren.

All three tensed when a set of light footsteps began to tap down the spiraling stairs overhead. The rhythm was almost lyrical, as though they were dancing rather than walking.

Jotaro and Kakyoin exchanged a look. Kakyoin crept back, retreating into the shadows.

“No need to hide. I know you’re here.”

He froze. The voice was high and smooth, like a child’s, and the shadow preceding its owner seemed dangerously small.

“That’s…”

The boy coming into view was short and slight, black hair cropped into a bob, wearing a white suit and two carefully placed gold barrettes. He crouched on the stairs, watching them warily with clear blue eyes. He couldn’t be older than fifteen.

“That’s a kid,” Jotaro hissed. “I’m not gonna fight a kid.”

“Let’s not fuck around, hmm?” The boy clapped his hands, smiling. “You’re in my way, stronzo.”

Italian. The kid was Italian. What kind of idiot would import teenagers to do his dirty work?

“Kid,” began Polnareff, “just give us the—”

Kakyoin shushed him sharply. “You have a name?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you at liberty to share it?”

“Don’t see a reason to.”

Kakyoin sighed. “Listen, you can’t be—how old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

The boy looked him over with narrowed eyes, silent.

“Whatever you’re involved in—whatever they told you, believe me.” Kakyoin shook his head. “I mean, if it’s—do you need someone, do you need help? We can—”

“Enough shit talking.”

Jotaro stared at the shape materializing behind him, white and blue and eyeless, a single gold zipper stretching the length of its torso. A Stand?

“I don’t have time for you,” the boy snapped.

The look in his eyes left a metallic taste in the back of Jotaro’s mouth, and he recognized it. As young as the kid was, he recognized it.

“Kakyoin.”

“I know.” I saw it too.

Jotaro wondered, briefly, who it was the boy had killed. Why he had done it. If he thought about it, heard the sound of it in quiet moments when there was nothing left to drown out lingering memories.

Enough to really fuck a kid up. Enough to make him feel like radio static was filling his brain every time he tried to sit still, or put him on a first-name basis with death rattles. Enough to turn him into a threat.

“Out of the way,” Polnareff said sharply, pushing past them. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Wait—”

“I won’t kill him.” He set one foot on the stairs. “Silver Chariot!”

The boy’s eyes followed the silver saber, watching Chariot and its strange mournful face curiously. When Polnareff’s Stand darted towards him he stood very still, making no move to avoid it.

Which seemed like a bad sign.

“Polnareff,” Kakyoin murmured. “Withdraw it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Just do what I—”

“Sticky Fingers!” the boy shouted, and with a sound like a zipper coming undone, the figure hovering behind him twisted over his shoulder and punched Chariot twice. Not hard, not even enough to slow him down, but it quickly became apparent that wasn’t his aim.

Polnareff stared at his arm, nonplussed.

“Is that a zipper?”

“You catch on quick,” the boy said calmly.

He had unzipped Polnareff at the elbow and the knee, rendering both his sword arm and his left leg useless, though he seemed more confused than pained as he slid to the floor. Jotaro had the feeling that had the boy been any more practiced with this ability, they would have been detached entirely.

Zippers. That was new.

Kakyoin glanced at him and nodded, their Stands emerging in unison. The boy took one look at Star and Hierophant, spat something in Italian that Jotaro didn’t need to translate in order to understand, and turned on his heel to bound back up the stairs.

As they gave chase it quickly became apparent that Hierophant was better suited for this fight, the distance it allowed him to keep protecting Kakyoin from being unzipped somewhere critical. The boy was quick, though, and dodged most of Hierophant’s limbs easily, his Stand—Sticky Fingers?—shielding him from the rest without bothering with zippers. But he had condemned himself to being cornered; he would reach the top eventually. Then it would just be about who was faster, and Star was always faster.

He tried not to think about how young the kid was.

Kakyoin yelped, clutching his wrist, and Jotaro’s heart skipped.

“Are you—”

“Fine,” he huffed, wincing when he looked down at the zipper stretching the length of his forearm. “I’m fine.”

Hierophant had finally landed a hit on the Stand but he moved too close, got his arm clipped. They stared down at the strange swirling darkness that appeared where the zipper gapped open. Kakyoin swallowed. The boy glared down at him, his own right arm hanging at his side.

“This fucking kid,” Kakyoin muttered, wrapping one of Hierophant’s appendages around his arm to keep it from coming open again. “They usually like this?”

Jotaro’s ears were ringing. Kakyoin snapped his fingers an inch away from his eyes. “Hey. Focus.”

“This is the first homicidal teenager, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He sighed. “Great.”

The kid sped up towards the top of the stairs and Jotaro slowed, suspicious. If he wanted them up there…he couldn’t think he was escaping in an enclosed space. Even if he were able to cause sufficient damage to one of them, there was no way he could incapacitate both men before he himself was taken down. Unless he had some other reason for luring them to the top.

“Be careful,” Jotaro told Kakyoin, who rolled his eyes.

“Worry about yourself,” he said, and pushed past.

Hierophant looked back at Star, lifting its shoulders in an unmistakable shrug.

The boy leaned against the exterior railing, his Stand nowhere to be seen. His posture was relaxed, casual. He smiled when he saw them and opened his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Trap, Jotaro thought. Kakyoin glanced sideways at him. Trap, his eyes said.

Made both of them crazy how even when you saw it coming there never really seemed to be a choice.

Star came at him from the left and Hierophant from the right, and Jotaro thought with absurd amusement of the words pincer attack, how danger had switched the two of them into a different gear, one that knew better how to remember each other, understand without speaking or looking.

The impact was nearly instantaneous. He stumbled back, staring in shock at the opened zipper running along the deck, at the blue-and-white fist that had caught Star Platinum just under the ribs at an odd angle.

“Jojo!” Kakyoin yelped, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realized what he’d said.

Knocked the wind out of him, sure, but the kid didn’t have enough force to slow him down. He didn’t seem to have been successful in placing a zipper, either. Clever trick, though, to come out of the ground like that. Hadn’t seen it coming.

“Don’t move,” the boy snarled. He wiped at his eyes; a cut Hierophant left behind was bleeding. “Don’t you fucking move or I—I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll kill him.”

He was addressing Kakyoin, Jotaro realized. Which meant he must be talking about…

Jotaro opened his mouth to reassure him, tell him it was a bluff, he was fine, and found he had no air to speak with. He tried to take a step forward and his legs buckled unexpectedly.

“Jotaro?”

Kakyoin’s voice was high and thin. Afraid.

“Why didn’t you—”

“You people are too much fucking trouble. Don’t,” he added, seeing Hierophant rearing. “Pull that thing back. Unless you wanna see what your big friend over there looks like with a collapsed lung.”

Lung.

That was why they hadn’t seen it. The kid hadn’t failed to land a zipper at all. Jotaro would have groaned if he had the air to do it with. His chest started to burn.

Eyes wide and feverish, Kakyoin looked from the boy to Jotaro and back again.

“Jotaro, come on,” he croaked. “You have to. You have to do it.”

This is what you’re thinking: how long can he stay underwater?

“Are you stupid?” Kakyoin’s voice rose. “Are you fucking stupid? Are you trying to die? Just do it!”

Jotaro remembered the fishlike Stand’s face, the dead-looking, downturned eyes of its user. They never had learned that man’s name.

“You want to die? You want to die to make a fucking point? Are you fucking with me?”

He slammed Hierophant’s limbs down like fists and the metal deck shook underneath them. His face, coming in and out of focus, first rigid with fear, now contorted in rage. He had never seen Kakyoin so angry.

I’ll kill you, Jotaro.

It had nothing to do with making a point. He knew there was one way to save himself. He knew what he needed to do, as he sat there on the cold steel with spasming lungs and darkening vision, even as he found himself thinking I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, because he looked at Kakyoin and he thought of blood mixing with falling water, he thought of knives gleaming silver in the moonlight. He thought of the World, punching through a red-haired teenager in the stillness of silenced time.

I can’t.

“What the FUCK—”

Kakyoin screamed in frustration, sending pale tentacles flying in every direction.

“—is your PROBLEM?”

His eyes filled with green light and flashed, twice. The boy’s eyes filled with green light and flashed, twice. He stared straight ahead, blank-faced.

“You’re going to take the zipper off him now,” Kakyoin said.

Jotaro gasped for air so hard he sent himself into a coughing fit. His lungs burned resentfully, free of any handicaps.

One of Hierophant’s appendages had snaked underneath the railings, curving up to hook into the back of the boy’s neck from behind. Green threads trailed from Kakyoin’s fingertips to the boy’s eyes, his ears, his mouth.

“You’re going to take the zipper off the man downstairs. And this,” he added, gesturing to his own arm. “You will nod when you’ve done it.”

The boy nodded vacantly.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Kakyoin crouched down to place himself at eye level. “We are not a threat to you. We are not a threat to your employer. You will remember this.”

He nodded again.

“You can tell me your name now.”

“Bruno Buccellati,” the boy said tonelessly.

“Do you know who you work for, Bruno?”

Bruno shook his head.

“Okay.” Kakyoin sighed. “You’re going to show me where you were hiding that package you got earlier.”

Slowly Bruno reached for his own chest, unzipping the surface from collarbone to stomach. He pulled the canvas bundle from the cavity, offered it to Kakyoin. The empty look in his eyes turned Jotaro’s stomach.

Polnareff emerged from the lighthouse, arm and leg reattached. He looked around with his mouth half open, disoriented. He stared at Bruno, then at Kakyoin.

“Decoy,” Kakyoin said, still dangerously calm as he handed the undeniably wooden arrow back to Bruno. “The kid was cannon fodder.”

“A fake?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Bruno swayed slightly. Jotaro noticed Kakyoin’s hand shaking.

“If you remember anything else—if you know when the real trade is happening, Bruno, you’ll tell me now, okay?”

“Was meant to meet his guy at the docks tomorrow to hand it off. Then was going home.”

Kakyoin straightened up slowly.

“You won’t remember us,” he said. “You want to leave now. You want to leave and you won’t remember anything that happened here.”

Bruno nodded.

“All right. Go.”

He snapped the threads with a quick jerk of his hand, though the green light in both his and Bruno’s eyes lingered as the boy turned and started down the stairs. He didn’t look back.

“The hell was that?” Polnareff demanded, rubbing at his forearm where the zipper had been. “Thought you didn’t do possessions anymore.”

“It’s closer to hypnosis.” Kakyoin’s face was void of any expression, voice deadly soft. “Still can’t quite stomach full possession, but I—even this makes me feel…dirty, I suppose, is the word. Though we all have things we would rather not do, don’t we?”

He turned on his heel and vanished into the lighthouse’s dark interior, leaving Jotaro and Polnareff alone on the deck. Jotaro shut his eyes, taking a deep breath of salty air, trying to keep his mind blank.

“Hey—did something…?”

Jotaro shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No. We’re fine.”

a truth should exist, it should not be used like this.

Jotaro stared at Kakyoin’s back as he stalked away across the dusty carpeting. He had been silent from lighthouse to hotel, walking stiffly a few feet ahead of the other two with that same blank expression on his face. Had he screamed or sworn or slapped him he doubted it would have put the same sort of pit in his stomach.

“Kakyoin,” he began.

He froze with his key still in the door.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Kakyoin growled. “Just don’t.”

Jotaro blinked. “I—I’m just trying to—”

“Apologize? Are you trying to say sorry? Is that what you want to do?” He laughed, eyes wild and bright. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

Another pair of guests jostled past and Jotaro stepped forward to give them more space, unintentionally closing the gap between himself and Kakyoin. They stared at each other.

“Are we still…”

He hesitated. He had thought what he wanted was to face it head-on. It had seemed like that would be the easy way.

“Are we still talking about the lighthouse?”

“Does it matter?”

“You tell me.”

Kakyoin snorted and turned away. He paused, hand on the doorknob.

“No wonder,” he muttered. “No fucking wonder you’ve got the same one.”

For a second Jotaro considered just letting the door close behind him. Walk to the pier. Stare at the waves until his chest unclenched, until he stopped thinking, stopped remembering, stopped wanting much of anything at all.

If he left now, he could let that be the last word. He could leave angry. He could tell himself there was nothing to be gained by following Kakyoin into that hotel room.

“What did you just say to me?”

When Kakyoin turned to face him, his grim satisfaction had returned. Only now, with Jotaro standing before him, did he recognize that this was the rise he had wanted out of him all along.

“It makes perfect sense.”

He spoke slowly, deliberately, watching each word sink in.

“You’re the same as he was, aren’t you?”

“Kakyoin, that’s fucking low.”

Kakyoin smiled and it was almost warm. “I almost didn’t believe it, at first, you know. I thought you couldn’t—there was no way your souls could be close enough to move time the same way. But then I thought about it.”

He was getting under Jotaro’s skin. It was what he wanted, of course, and Jotaro could only watch him the same way he would watch a match being dropped into an oil slick.

“You want the same thing he wanted,” Kakyoin said quietly. “You want to be somewhere no one can reach you. You want to be someone no one can reach.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Jotaro breathed, “I can promise that you’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You want to have nothing to lose, don’t you?”

Kakyoin took a step towards him, and he stood frozen, the rabbit not caught in the headlights but cornered at last by the fox.

“That’s what he wanted, and that’s what you want, and you’ll kill anything that gets in the way—you’re just like him, you’re destroying everything that ever touched you—because you’re a desperate man who’s terrified of being weak and you’ve convinced yourself if you’ve got nothing to come home to then you’ll have nothing to lose. Isn’t that right, Jotaro?”

Triumphantly he examined Jotaro’s stricken expression. “And that’s why it makes sense,” he said. “You and him both created a place where you could finally be completely, completely alone. So it does surprise me, honestly, that you won’t stop time—”

“That’s not—”

“—expect you to jump at the chance to go somewhere no one can touch you, I imagine that’s why it manifested for the two of you in the first place—”

“It almost KILLED YOU!”

Kakyoin froze mid-sentence. Neither of them had noticed their voices rising.

“It almost killed you,” Jotaro repeated, trying and failing to stop his voice from shaking. “That’s why I can’t—not when you’re—I can’t. I had to know that, I had to live with that shit. I had to live with knowing there was something about me that—that I had the same, the same capacity for—”

“For what?” Kakyoin demanded. “What, exactly, do you think will happen? What the hell are you so afraid of?”

“You think this is just some stupid little thing, don’t you? You think I’m just being stubborn, is that it? For no reason? For no good reason?”

“I think I almost had to watch you die today,” he spat. “For no good fucking reason. You want to talk about people dying? Do you really want to go there with me right now?”

Look at anything but his eyes. The wooden ceiling fan. The undisturbed bedsheets. The alarm clock set fifteen minutes behind, fifteen minutes too late.

“I am scared of it.”

Kakyoin moved closer again. His hands trembled, but his voice held steady.

“The fact that you can do that, it scares the shit out of me, and so what? So what if I’m scared? You think that’s the end of the world? You don’t think there might be worse things than me being scared?”

“It’s not about that,” Jotaro growled, staring at the carpet. “I tried to tell you—”

He was close enough now for Jotaro to see the loose threads on his sweater, the scrapes on his forearms. The scars connecting the freckles on his shoulders, turning them into tiny constellations.

“What scares you?”

You, Jotaro thought. You, you, you.

“You want me,” he said slowly, “to ask for something I can’t have.”

“Why?” Kakyoin’s voice sounded dangerously close to breaking. “Why can’t you have it?”

Jotaro fixed his eyes on a framed photograph of the ocean hanging on the wall opposite. He clenched his teeth. He remained silent.

Kakyoin stared at him for a long moment, waiting.

But he was so, so sick of waiting.

Both alarm clock and photograph crashed to the floor and Jotaro jumped back, startled not by the breaking glass, but by the howl of frustration tearing out of Kakyoin. A tangle of green tentacles thrashed in his wake, but it was the rage twisting his face that made him appear, for the space of a heartbeat, to be anything but human.

“Well,” he snarled. “You’re certainly better at it than he was. Should I congratulate you?”

The broken alarm clock flashed, the inaccurate time replaced by a flickering red 00:00.

Time will resume.

“How does it feel to have nothing?”

Kakyoin’s hands were balled into fists, shaking at his sides. He appeared to be focusing on preventing Hierophant from attacking Jotaro directly.

“How does it feel to know you did it to yourself?”

For the second time Jotaro imagined walking away. He imagined closing the door behind him with those words ringing in his ears and having that be the end of it, of all of it. It would be so simple, to leave like that. The anger, the feeling of betrayal—that would be easy to keep.

“Every night.”

He might even be able to convince himself it was hate that had its fists in his heart.

“Every night I dream about it,” he said, voice rising in volume with every word. “I dream about you on that tower with a hole in your fucking stomach, Noriaki, and in the dreams it—it isn’t him who put you there, understand?”

“Yeah? Do you? You want to know what I dream about?”

Kakyoin with the permanent look of exhaustion. Kakyoin with the weary eyes and the tired smile and defiance born of necessity, because he had survived despite everything, despite Jotaro, despite himself.

“I dream about you,” he hissed. “I dream about you taking that hit for me. I see you get ripped clean in half sometimes, did you know that?”

He laughed again, quick and dry.

“Of course you didn’t. You didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

Kakyoin didn’t flinch, hardly even blinked when Jotaro finally broke into a scream. He never did.

“It was—you almost—we were seventeen! And you almost died, because of me, you almost died in my—I would have—”

“I was ready to die for you.”

He said it like a judge delivering a death sentence.

“Don’t,” Jotaro croaked, suddenly dead quiet. “Don’t say that.”

“I would have done it,” Kakyoin said fiercely. “I wouldn’t have regretted anything.”

“I never asked you to. I never wanted that kind of—I never wanted that from you, I never—”

“That’s not—that’s not the fucking point, Jotaro!” He turned on his heel, eyes flashing furious green. “It’s not about what you wanted, it was never about what you wanted from me, it was—that was my decision, it was my decision to make, and you made it for me, you took that away from me, because you think you’re the only fucking person anything ever happens to—”

“You don’t understand,” Jotaro snapped. “You don’t fucking understand what I—what I went through, what I’ve—you have no idea what it’s been like—”

“Yeah! You’re right! I don’t have a clue! Because you won’t fucking tell me! You won’t even look at me—like you think I’m gonna break if you breathe on me wrong, I’m not fragile—” one of Hierophant’s appendages cracked like a whip and Jotaro wondered wildly if he really might attack this time— “I can take care of myself, I’ve been taking care of myself for six years!”

“Kakyoin, that’s—I know that—that’s the whole—”

“And you still,” Kakyoin spun back to face him, “you still won’t even use that shit in front of me, like you think I’d—you’ve got some kind of gift for protecting people in all the wrong places, you know that?”

“Oh, you don’t understand.” Jotaro laughed, soft and defeated. “I was so stupid to think you ever could.”

For the first time it was Kakyoin who was shocked into silence. He stared at Jotaro as though seeing him for the first time, his Stand slowly disappearing behind him.

“Fucker,” he said hoarsely. “Look at me. Would you just look at me?”

Jotaro stayed still, face turned away.

“…Please.”

Unfamiliar words in an unfamiliar language drifted towards them from the street below. The voices were raised. An argument.

What scares you?

What would happen if he turned around? What would happen if he met Kakyoin’s eyes, told him I’m sorry for thinking it was my responsibility to break your heart?

“I wish…”

Why can’t you have it?

“I wish I could forget everything about you.”

Because it’s not mine.

The falling silence belonged to the aftermath of a gunshot. Jotaro felt a slow sort of horror twisting into place, as though he were watching himself crash a car in slow motion. He exhaled through his teeth in a long, soft hiss.

“I wish you would,” he said.

Kakyoin stood looking dazed, his mouth half open. His eyes widened very slightly and he started to lift his hand, started to reach, but the door had already closed the door behind him.

Jotaro was gone.

if I love you, is that a fact or a weapon?

He was on his fourth cigarette when Polnareff found him at the top of the hotel fire escape, sitting cross-legged with a vacant expression. For a minute or so Polnareff stood there, looking down at him with his hands on his hips.

“Be trouble if they see you up here,” he said at last.

Jotaro shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette and moving on to the fifth. Polnareff slid down to sit beside him, and though Jotaro didn’t particularly want him there, he found that he didn’t necessarily want him gone, either.

Besides, Polnareff never bummed cigarettes, attached as he was to that French brand he always carried. Gauloises Brunes. Filterless, which turned Jotaro off to them completely, but something Polnareff seemed to enjoy.

They smoked quietly for a while, longer than Polnareff’s usual capacity for silence, and Jotaro was grateful, though he knew it couldn’t last.

“Something happened,” Polnareff said, and this time it wasn’t a question.

Jaw set, Jotaro wondered if there was any point in denying it. He had little to say, even if he had wanted to talk about it.

“I saw Kakyoin.”

“Ah.”

“He didn’t say anything,” he continued. “Don’t know what exactly it was that happened between you two except that it had him looking like he just watched someone step on a land mine, but.”

“Wonderful,” Jotaro muttered.

Polnareff watched him stub out number five and light number six. “Gonna go through a whole pack like that, you know.”

“Probably.”

He watched Jotaro thoughtfully, taking a last drag on his cigarette before crushing the butt beneath the heel of his boot.

“If you’d rather not—if you want I can go with him. You can stake out the solo position. If it’s…if you need some space.”

“No,” Jotaro said, a little too quickly. “I want to be—I’ll go with him. It’s fine.”

Polnareff nodded, looking unsurprised. “Yeah. Had a feeling.”

“Appreciate it, though.”

“Sure.”

He stood, stretching, and winced as he always did after the familiar pop of his shoulders.

“Was like that for a while,” he said. “With Muhammad, I mean.”

Jotaro bit down on his cigarette and the taste of tobacco flooded his mouth, made his eyes water.

“Scared to let him out of my sight.” Polnareff shook his head. “But also just…scared.”

The first stars began to fade into view overhead. Jotaro looked up, knowing even once they had all appeared there would be no constellations he recognized, and felt suddenly, violently homesick.

“I walked out on him,” he told Polnareff, without meaning to, without really knowing why. “After Cairo.”

Polnareff barely even blinked. “I know,” he said. “Figured that out pretty quick, actually. You guys act like a couple of divorcées.”

Jotaro snorted.

“Look, I don’t…I’m not gonna try and tell you what to do.” He scratched the back of his head. “But, you know, if you need anything.”

“Might need a new pack of cigarettes,” Jotaro mumbled, and Polnareff chuckled.

“Easy enough.”

Jotaro glanced up at him. “Thanks.”

“Pas de problème.”

He watched Polnareff disappear down the fire escape and sat back again, smoking another cigarette as the sky filled with unfamiliar stars.

The interception was meant to be a simple one. One of two candidate locations for the meeting at which the real arrow would be sold. The secluded beach, due to being more isolated and thus more dangerous and thus more likely to be the real one, had been marked a two-man job. Polnareff would stake out the other, a high-traffic restaurant, where he would be safer. Presumably all they would need to do was watch to see if a trade really was taking place, get eyes on the parties involved. Trail whoever ended up with the package, if possible.

Jotaro had remained firm on staying with Kakyoin, despite their having barely exchanged a word with one another since Jotaro left the hotel room. Earlier in the week their silences had been frosty, there to make a point; now, they were silent simply because they had nothing left to say.

Near the water the fog grew thick and damp, a pale gray mist the waves carried to shore. Jotaro took a deep breath of ocean air, attempting to center himself with the taste of salt. The deserted beach was all sharp contrasts, black water and white sand, red rock and gray sky. He imagined it might be beautiful, even without the fog burning off, through the right eyes.

Kakyoin crouched silently at his side, one of Hierophant’s tentacles snaking into the sand and out of sight. Whatever he was doing with it, he hadn’t considered it important enough to explain.

“Someone’s here.”

The tentacle erupted from the sand about ten meters to the right, throwing white clouds into the air that just barely left behind the staggering outline of a man. He flickered once, twice, before the transparent shape was filled in with a young man, early twenties at most. He was nearly as tall as Jotaro, wearing a plain black hood and striped pants.

“Don’t suppose there’s any point in asking what you want,” Jotaro called.

The man raised his chin and gave them an appraising look with crimson eyes.

“No, there’s not,” he said, and the next thing Jotaro knew he was vomiting a pile of iron nails onto the sand. Shock saved him from most of the pain, but he heard the sharp hiss to his right, saw Kakyoin fall, spitting out what appeared to be a small, bloody pair of nail scissors into his open hand. He threw it to the side and Jotaro watched it fly towards the water, dissipating into a cloud of dust before it could reach the surface.

He clutched his throat, wiping blood from his mouth. A Stand that could make you vomit foreign objects? Either way, it had range.

Kakyoin backed away, shouting something incoherent as Hierophant sent a wave of emerald projectiles flying towards the red-eyed man. He vanished from view briefly, only to reappear when one of the emeralds struck him on the shoulder.

Distance. Keep your distance.

“Stay away from him,” he hissed.

Kakyoin glared at him. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

To Kakyoin it was just another attempt to protect him in the worst way possible. Kakyoin was sick to death of it, wanted no part of it. He said none of this. He set his jaw and circled away.

What both of them knew, making it mercifully unnecessary to say, was that they had been outmaneuvered, and as such they were now facing what was undeniably an assassination attempt. The man in the hood fought quick and bloody, and he was far, far more formidable than the teenage Bruno and his zippers.

Two against one might have given them an edge, ordinarily, but they were out of sync, communication fractured, the once effortless anticipation of one another’s movements disrupted completely. Jotaro watched Kakyoin out of the corner of his eye even as Star bore down on the assassin, taking a risk only half-calculated.

He howled and Kakyoin whipped around in time to see him yanking half a pair of scissors out from underneath the skin of his forearm, but pain only ever made him hit harder, and the assassin stumbled back, clutching his stomach. He spat and grinned up at them with bloody teeth.

The haze began to lift and Jotaro recognized what it meant, that it didn’t matter if they were out of his range as long as their Stands were inside it, in time to see Hierophant rising behind the assassin, close, too close. He inhaled sharply, he sent Star forward again, he punched from behind, the assassin fell forward, towards Kakyoin, but he had said stay away, he had to know about the range, he wasn’t stupid, he had to know, he would move—he had to see what had happened—

But Kakyoin didn’t move away, Kakyoin moved closer, Hierophant’s limbs thrashing against the sand, his eyes flat and shining, he was beautiful and he was terrible and it would never be enough to save him, and Jotaro saw the look of victory on the fallen assassin’s face, but he had reached too late, and by the time he opened his mouth in warning the razor blades were already under the skin of Kakyoin’s throat.

Kakyoin froze, and he turned, looked Jotaro straight in the eyes with his own wide and shocked, and in the lavender Jotaro saw something lost but impossibly still there, still there, still there—

It’s you. It always had to be you.

He reached up to claw at his throat and as panic blinded him to everything else still he saw the terror on Jotaro’s face with perfect clarity, all he could think to do was reach for him, all he could think to say was help me.

“The WORLD!”

His scream was cracked and deafening, and when time settled, Kakyoin’s expression had gone bright with different remembered fear. Jotaro took a deep breath.

You don’t think there might be worse things than me being scared?

“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

The complete silence, the complete stillness, it always caught him off guard. He remembered what Kakyoin had said, about stopped time being the only place he could truly be alone.

Star reached for Kakyoin’s neck, holding the back to stabilize it with one hand as it pulled the razor blades out flat with the other. The movement was precise and gentle in equal measure. There would be wounds, but no arteries had been damaged. Not fatal.

As he watched the blades hang in the air, temporarily immune to gravity, he thought of the floor of his mother’s house, an unconscious teenager, a growth choking his brain. He thought of Kakyoin’s eyes snapping open, murderous and full of fear. The first thing he’d done was call Jotaro a bastard.

Sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t known he was doomed to love him even then, when he said hold still, and Kakyoin held still, because despite everything, what he wanted most was to live.

I was alive, but I wasn’t living, he had said once. I don’t know if that makes sense to you.

It hadn’t then. It did now.

Jotaro rounded on the Stand user, the assassin, and Star Platinum’s howled ORA rang across the beach, the echo persistent even after time resumed. Rare, to hear the Stand itself cry out in pain.

The user collapsed to one knee with a disoriented gasp, clutching a broken collarbone, and before he could look up, before he could realize what was happening to him, Jotaro had slammed his fist down on the crown of his head. He hadn’t bothered using Star.

The third punch might have been playing it safe. After the fourth it was clear that the assassins wasn’t getting up. By the fifth he had fallen into bloody overkill, he hardly even saw the skin split, hardly felt the bones break. Jotaro had gone somewhere no one could touch him, and that world was nothing but a roaring crimson blur.

His fist stopped moving. He had not decided to stop moving it. Jotaro turned and there he was, Jotaro’s wrist caught in his hand. Kakyoin had stopped him mid-swing, Hierophant wrapped around Star Platinum to hold its arms still, the two Stands almost appearing to embrace.

“You can stop now,” Kakyoin said, soft and kind. “You don’t have to keep going. You can stop.”

Jotaro stared down at him, ears ringing.

“You can stop,” he repeated, tightening cold fingers around his wrist. “It’s okay to stop.”

Green light started to break the crimson haze apart and though he wanted to help it through he didn’t remember how, he barely even remembered his own name, and it didn’t matter. Kakyoin had already caught him. It was over the moment he had stopped the blow from landing.

Jotaro took a deep, shaky breath, in freefall. Slowly he lowered his fist, though Kakyoin didn’t loosen his grip. At his side, Star Platinum went still in Hierophant Green’s arms.

He looked at the still figure beneath him.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Kakyoin glanced down, at the half-open eyes so full of blood that the whites seemed black, and he understood, nearly too late, what it had cost Jotaro to save him.

“It’s okay, it’s—you’re okay, it’s okay, but we, we have to go. We have to get out of here—can you run, are you—?”

Jotaro nodded mutely.

The first drops of rain clung to their clothes, their hair, their eyelashes, mixing with blood and sweat as they fled, so close to the feeling of tears on their cheeks that they could hardly tell the difference. Kakyoin led him by the arm at first, then dropped his hand to lock their fingers together as though it were second nature, all the while repeating it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s okay, until it lost all meaning, like a prayer in a language he couldn’t speak, like the fact of believing was the only true thing and it didn’t matter if there was a God to hear or understand because Jotaro was there, and Jotaro heard him, and Jotaro felt something long numb start to prickle deep in his chest.

The rain began falling in earnest and Kakyoin pulled him towards a deserted-looking church, unlocking a a half-hidden door towards the side of the building with Hierophant in a single swift movement. The hall itself was empty and dark, and though it smelled of candles the only light came from floor-length windows behind the altar that faced the neighboring beach.

It occurred to Jotaro that Kakyoin had known where this building was, had known enough about it to expect it empty, known where the side entrance was and seemed practiced at unlocking it. But he’d had the pier. It was stupid, to assume Kakyoin wouldn’t need his own place to be alone.

He looked around, nodded, and the two of them collapsed to their knees almost simultaneously, the exhaustion hitting them from every direction, and they stared at each other in silence until Kakyoin grimaced.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—I don’t know what the hell I was saying, I didn’t—”

His face twisted with remorse. “I shouldn’t have said it, I was just trying to—trying to hurt you, I don’t know why, I don’t want to—I was so angry but I shouldn’t—I didn’t mean—”

Kakyoin abruptly fell silent. He looked across at Jotaro, who had grabbed his face in both hands, unable to think of any other way to get him to stop apologizing.

There was too much to say. There was nothing at all to say.

“I know,” Jotaro said gently.

He couldn’t say I didn’t mean it either, though he wanted to, though he wished it were true, because sometimes he did wish Kakyoin could forget him, though not for any of the reasons he would think. Not because he didn’t want him there, but because he did. Because he did, and when Kakyoin made his case, he would always win, and maybe that did make Jotaro weak, maybe all of it had been pointless, and maybe, for once, both of those things were okay.

Wordlessly Kakyoin leaned forward and rested his head against Jotaro’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. For a moment, they let themselves be quiet.

When Jotaro reached Kakyoin on that Cairo rooftop, his heart had already stopped. He had no way of knowing how long Kakyoin had been dead for, only that he couldn’t let it be true, and it had been Jotaro who reached into his chest and touched his heart while it was still and cold, begging him not now, not you, not here. It was Jotaro who called him home, Jotaro who clutched his heart like a rosary until it skipped and began once more to beat.

He had no idea how to tell Kakyoin that he remembered, with perfect clarity, how it felt to hold his heart in his hands. He had no words to begin telling Kakyoin what he meant.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Kakyoin’s hair. His voice cracked, and it didn’t matter.

Through the window behind the altar he looked towards the sea, and from the rocks, just barely close enough to recognize, a lone monk seal watched him with its strange, round eyes. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Jotaro smiled.

Oh, Noriaki, if you only knew.

He closed his eyes and in his head echoed it’s okay, I’m sorry, it’s okay, I’m sorry, like a broken record, like the three-layered beat of a skipping heart.

your body is not a word, it does not lie or speak truth either. it is only here or not here.

Jotaro figured he had spent enough time sitting in hospital waiting rooms to last a lifetime. The antiseptic smell gave him a headache, but he had told himself he wouldn’t leave until Josuke was out of surgery, though he had been assured by multiple doctors that his injuries weren’t life-threatening, and had then spent another twenty minutes convincing Okuyasu of the same thing.

“Jotaro!”

He whipped around and smiled wearily when he saw the red-haired figure nearly sprinting towards him, limp long since cured at Josuke’s insistence.

“Hey,” he sighed. “You’re he—”

The rest of the sentence was cut off as Kakyoin slamming into his chest knocked out the air he had intended to use for it. He laughed, more relieved than anything else.

“Are you okay?” Kakyoin demanded, pulling back without releasing his viselike grip on Jotaro’s hands.

“I’m fine,” Jotaro said. “I was never in danger.”

Only half a lie, really.

“Kids got the worst of it,” he added, glancing down the hall towards the operating room Josuke had been rushed off to.

“Yeah, you said…” Kakyoin shook his head, eyes growing serious. “God, they’re only sixteen.”

“We were seventeen.”

“Which is still older than sixteen.” He squinted at the directory. Kakyoin had allowed Josuke to heal the injury to his spine, but not his eyes. He claimed it was because he was so used to the scars he had convinced himself he liked them. Whatever his actual reasons were. “Are the others—are they all right?”

“Mostly.” Jotaro hesitated, remembering what Josuke had mumbled in his painkiller-induced haze. “Something…happened…to Okuyasu. But he’s, you know. Josuke. Was there.”

“Something happened,” Kakyoin echoed, raising his eyebrows.

“Said his heart stopped for a pretty long time.”

“He—his—it what?”

Jotaro looked down at his hands. “Wasn’t there. Kira got him. He’s, I mean, he’s right over there,” he said, gesturing towards the other end of the room where Okuyasu had fallen asleep in one of the blue plastic chairs. “He’s okay. Just seemed like it freaked Josuke out pretty bad.”

“Jesus,” Kakyoin breathed. “Tell me you—you got him, right?”

“He’s gone.”

He considered for a moment. “You have to use it?”

Jotaro nodded slowly and Kakyoin squeezed his arm sympathetically, saying nothing. They were quiet for a while, listening to the soft hum of the lights, raised voices in the distance. Okuyasu shifted in his sleep, sighing restlessly.

“You know it—that it happened with you too, right?”

Kakyoin blinked up at him. “Sorry?”

“You heart was out too. For a while.”

“Oh.” He paused. “I mean, I…I did know, yes.”

“Could’ve done with Crazy Diamond back there,” Jotaro muttered, and Kakyoin chuckled quietly.

He wondered if this was the right time to say it, the right place. He figured it probably wasn’t. He decided to say it anyway.

“There’s something about that I didn’t…never told you.”

Kakyoin tilted his head slightly. “Oh?”

“I mean, medically, you were dead. For, for I don’t know how long.”

“Right.”

“I was the one who—it was me. Who restarted your.” Jotaro made a vague hand gesture that was presumably meant to represent a heart. “I’d done it before with Star, during the…so I knew it would work. Could work.”

Kakyoin leaned back and watched him, bemused. “I know that,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve always known that.”

“You—” Jotaro stared at him. “You what?”

“Well, yes.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize you thought I didn’t know.”

He looked back at Okuyasu. It was a strange and terrible thing to have in common.

“How?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you know?”

How did you know?

Much of it was still hazy, would always be hazy, given the thin line between life and death he had walked that night. He had been on both sides of it, though he couldn’t quantify how he had known he was dead, only that he knew what had pulled him back, the sound he would always know, a heart loud enough to drag a dead man home.

He thought of saying I know the way your hands shake when you’re afraid. He thought of saying you’ve got a desperate soul, Kujo Jotaro. It’s a miracle you ever manage to control it at all.

Instead, Kakyoin smiled up at him. “You’ve got huge hands,” he said. “Impossible not to recognize.”

Jotaro snorted, looking almost relieved again. Kakyoin got to his feet.

“Josuke will be here in the morning,” he told Jotaro. “And if he does get out, Okuyasu is probably the one he should see. Let’s go back.”

Jotaro stayed where he was for a moment, watching Okuyasu sleep, a twin miracle to his own. Then he stood, and he followed Kakyoin home.

#jjba #jotaro kujo #kakyoin noriaki #jotakak #cringe as i type this but i know i have to #feat. jotaros catholic guilt #i hate ships i hate fan fiction i only write about gay people being bad at being in love #i tend to call this version of events everyone lives but at what cost #long post

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

Phango - Not So Strangers In The Night

(Swagger Bishie + Identity Reveal + Ghost King)

Dash wants many things but there’s two he’s sure he just can’t have, Danny meanwhile, doesn’t think ‘can’t’ is an actual word.

Dash sighs mentally, eyeballing Danny out of the corner of his eye. There had always just been something about how lithe the guy’s body was, the way his clothing would occasionally cling or hang off him giving away the skinnier body underneath. Personally, he would never wear oversized clothing himself, but it was more than a little attractive on people with petite frames.

Watching Danny stretch his arms over his head and yawn in a way that was almost cat-like. He doesn’t know when Danny’d gotten his teeth done like that, the fangs, but they added an even more slender and sharp edge to his face. Moving his gaze up the other teens' jawline to mentally trace out a sharp line all the way past the tapered ears. Everything about Danny’s face was sharp, defined...and incredibly attractive.

Glancing back to Danny’s arms just before he lowers them, the oversized sweater just thin enough and just heavy enough to give away the ever so slight hint of defined muscles underneath. Dash has no clue how that happened and he was honestly a bit hurt and dismayed when he noticed Danny bulking up. How could he not notice? It was so very obvious every time he grabbed around the now practically rock hard biceps to drag the kid off for his daily beating. Or when he snuck a peek down Danny’s shirt, as he always did, when pinning him up against some locker. He knows attacking Danny is pretty stupid, but Dash knows he’s not a smart guy. And really? A jock with a loser? A freak? Never. He’d be a social pariah. So he gets his hands on his secret little crush the only way he knows how. With rough hands and a strong dose of aggression. He does relish the closeness too though with that strange muscle Danny’s built, he does wonder why Danny never truly fights back. He honestly wouldn’t mind getting rough up by the lithe teen. That was half the reason he loved football after all, and working out. The bruises, the cuts, the sore muscles. Pain was a pleasure and carried a feeling of power. Knowing just what your body could do and take. And he’ll admit to testing Danny’s limits sometimes. Seeing just how much pain he could take, which honestly just left him feeling very impressed...and attracted.

But back to why Danny’s muscle growth had bugged him. In the beginning, it did anyway. See Danny had always been skinny, there was a daintiness to him, yet lithe. It’s not like Danny never had muscle, no, it had just been muscle potential hidden away. And wondering just what he could do if that potential developed was a bit exhilarating. Just like getting a new teammate on the field. But his fellow jocks were all rather brutish in their muscle and psyche, which Dash firmly did not have an interest in. And sure, maybe he had gone a little blind, thinking that the only real options were skinny, beefy, or fat.

So imagine his hidden horror with that mindset, when Danny -with the perfect femboy bod, with all the sharpness needed to have a somewhat pixie look- seemed to be transitioning into the beefy category? Over time that worry was quelled, Danny’s muscle was so different. He never seen such a lean tight kind of musculature, Danny even seemed to become more sharp; sharper jaw, the ears, even his eyes had a sharpness. It was, dare he say, exotic. Which if anything, only added to the femboy pixie look. Which okay, sue him, he liked cutesy shit; definitely explained his taste in men. Not that anyone actually knew that. Dash Baxter, number one football star and the example of masculinity, being interested in anything ‘cute’? Never. He had an image he had to keep.

That was one thing he was insanely jealous of Danny over. Danny’s freaky family made it so that it didn’t damn matter what he did or how he acted. Nothing was unexpected behaviour from a Fenton. And he was already a social pariah. Danny could literally transform into a dog or some shit and no one would really be all that surprised. He might get a few new insults hurled at him but that’s it. But Dash? The slight wrong move and goodbye scholarships or dealing with a furious father. ‘Cause don’t let it fool you, regardless of what the colleague heads said publicly, they absolutely did discriminate. Especially in sports. And bi in football? Bi and hocked up with a cute little thing who was a social outcast of the lowest most mocked kind? Surely his life and future would explode right in front of his face.

And of course there was the issue of if Danny would even be interested. Because finally owning up only to get rejected? By said lowest of the low twink? That would beyond worse. So yeah, the risk wasn’t worth it. And he wasn’t quite dull enough to not realise that Danny probably did not like him, the ‘bullying’ and all that. So even if Danny did swing that way, well, Dash’s chances were pretty well nothing.

Making a damn point to jeer mockingly and with a level of intimidation at the weirdo trio as he passes them on his way to class, firmly making a point to not react to picking up on Danny clearly not being fearful and even smirking slightly. It honestly pleased him immensely that Danny didn’t seem to actually fear him. Again, it was something like hidden strength. That was one thing that had always separated Danny from the other skinny kids, he wasn’t fearful. He was bold and loud. Even if that only really showed if you looked for it or caught him on more of his more mirth filled days. Simply put, Danny had never been pathetic. Never been weak. Even back when he was physically very much weak -Dash had to give him fitness training for peats sake- he had never been mentally weak.

Sitting at the back of the class next to Kwan, sneaking glances at Danny here and there. This was something he liked to do in the less important and boring classes, recently anyway. Sure he had always admired Danny with glances here and there but another one of Danny’s changes was just too intriguing not to watch.

Danny often slept in classes, that was boring and honestly made him worry some which is why he went easier on the guy on the days he seemed to be napping more often than not, but when he didn’t and it was one of these more useless classes? He’d go between looked over the other students and scanning the town through the window next to him. The sharpness to his eyes was most noticeable then and there was something about the way he looked over the rest of their classmates. It reminded Dash of how people talked about how gods and angels would gaze upon humans. Like they were impossibly and unimaginably above them yet fond and even protective. It really added to that pixie aesthetic Danny had, made him seem just that more ethereal. ‘Ethereal’ that’s a new one, maybe he got more out of Lancer’s crappy poetry babble than he thought. That thought makes him wonder if Danny would like fancy words and that poetry stuff. All the fae in his moms' romance novels -which yes he did secretly read- seemed to love that kind of stuff. And sure, he’s pretty sure Danny’s human, ethereal aspects aside, but a guy can imagine can’t he? Dash quickly brings his attention back to the teacher as Danny’s watchful yet distant gaze travels to him. At least he isn’t a blusher, Dash is more than a little thankful for that.

Dash is laying on his bed, quickly turning his head to the side as an explosion sounds. Promptly springing up and sticking his head out the window at spotting Phantom zip by, “WOOOO! Go get him Phantom!”, he can’t help but beam as Phantom glances back and sends him a little wave with a cocky smile.

Dash sighs and flops back against his bed, his crush on Phantom was another dirty little secret. Sure he may pass himself off as ‘his biggest fan’ and he certainly wasn’t nearly as bad -or delusional if he’s blunt- as Paulina, but he definitely was a part of the Phantom Crush Club in spirit. Since of course no one knew about this crush either. Queer thing aside, Phantom was a ghost. Which yes, was part of the attraction so sue him, again the whole ethereal thing. Man that word’s becoming a personal favourite.

Phantom’s glow combined with the white of his hair and skin, that definitely qualified as ethereal. The powers were whatever really, cool and probably really fun but not where Dash’s attraction is based. And really, if anything made Dash’s type clear it was his two crushes. Both of them had the lithe pixie feel to them. Sharp in all the right places and brimming with hidden strength. Though Phantom’s might be much more literal. But honestly, Dash preferred Danny’s less showy nature. Phantom demanded attention, the skin-tight jumpsuit definitely did not help reduce that, and he was loud in a way that could border on obnoxious. Danny was a sleek black cat with piercing knowing eyes, Phantom was a mighty dragon always coiled for a fight.

Blinking at the ceiling, “I’m getting all fancy, man I really need to sleep”. Turning over in his bed only for his hand to brush against the corner of a book, “hurgh?”, pulling it out towards his face and squinting. Staring at the little scrap paper used as a bookmark, “probably a bad idea”, but flicking the book open anyway; a bit curious where he left off.

“I wondered if my head and heart would ever reconcile, or whether I'd just cursed myself to relive this moment for the rest of my years, half assured I'd made the only choice available to me, half always whispering if only, the whole of me filled with bitter regret“ ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash blinks and grumbles, “you didn’t have to call me out like that”. Deciding to flip around to a random page.

“Are you in love with me?" I blurted out.

A terrible silence followed. Rook didn't turn around.

"Please say something."

He rounded on me. "Is that so terrible? You say it as though it's the most awful thing you can imagine. It isn't as though I've done it on purpose. Somehow I've even grown fond of your - your irritating questions, and your short legs, and your accidental attempts to kill me."

I recoiled. "That's the worst declaration of love I've ever heard!” ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash chuckles but sighs, “fate hates me”. Deciding to try once more, flipping closer to the beginning.

“My cheeks warmed, and a wistful pang plucked a sweet, sad chord in my stomach. It was simple, really. He didn’t want me to forget him once he’d gone” ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash blinks, he did always rather like seeing the slight busies he left on Danny. Which now that he thinks about it, they didn’t seem to form anymore or stay for long. Which, okay yes, bugged him, not like he knew why really. Guess it was kind of obvious now. Maybe Danny would See those bruises and remember him. Was that stupid? Likely. Snapping the book shut and sticking it more securely under the mattress, before making a point to force himself to settle down to sleep.

He finds himself waking up way too early for a school day, turning his head to look at the little football-shaped clock, it’s red light glare at him reading ‘3:42’. If non-ghostly objects could be malicious, he’s sure every alarm clock would be. The early morning leading to him thinking back on his current book, the story of a fae royal and human falling in love. Forbidden love that would cost the fae his reputation. Sounded a little familiar huh?

Twenty minutes later and his mind’s still on that damn book, so he throws the blankets off and decides to get dressed. Thankfully sneaking out was relatively easy in his house, normally everyone was so loud that quiet noises went completely unnoticed. So just walking out the front door was a perfectly fine thing to do.

Five minutes later finds him wandering the sidewalks of Amity. If he’s being totally honest, even if Danny wasn’t some social peasant or whatever, he still wouldn’t go for it; even if he was a girl. Why? Hitting on girls like Paulina was easy, expected even. There was no risk. Even if girls like we rejected him, that’s what they were expected to do most of the time. But someone he was actually interested in? That was risky. The thought of trying to take it was thrilling, attractive, fun. Actually trying? Nope.

Kicking a rock down the gravel as he enters the park, eventually bumping into to something or someone. Snapping his head up and cursing his luck -or maybe he should be thanking it?- at seeing it was Danny he ran into...literally. Watching as Danny steadies himself quickly, his hood fällig down in the process. Dash has to make a damn point to not stare and change his face to a scowl when the moonlight practically glows of Danny’s pale skin. Why did he have to be so, um, right, ethereal? “Watch it loser”.

Danny squints at him, then throws Dash through a loop by responding with, “no one wanders around at four am for good reasons”.

Dash blinks a bit at those watchful blue-eyes, losing a bit of the fake bite that Danny hopefully passes off as tiredness, “then why are you here?”.

“Why would I tell you why?”, with that Danny turns back to look over the rest of the park from the little bridge thingy they’re on.

Dash scoffs, “whatever Fentwerp”, joining in looking over the park. The two settle into silence, though it doesn’t take long for Dash to glance at Danny’s back; the dark grey hoodie was arguably in horrible condition but it just looked like a style choice on Danny. Everything probably looked good on him. Flicking his eyes away to avoid Danny possibly noticing, because really, there was no one else here so any staring from him would be rather obvious. That gets him thinking though, when had he ever been just one on one with Danny? With neither of their friends around or teachers? Never. It had never happened. Dash didn’t do lonely, he also didn’t do silence for that matter, and Danny’s friends were practically attached to him. Honestly, he’s pretty sure both of them are crushing on Danny; Valerie definitely still had a thing for him, everyone knew the goth did and the techno-geek had a thing for everyone. And yet none of them were going for him...why? They didn’t really have anything to lose and Valerie already had once. Right, even Paulina had dated him; even if she claimed it was to piss off the goth. Maybe there was just something about Danny that made him easy to crush on but impossible to love? Maybe it had something to do with how he was, what was that word? How could he have forgotten it already?....oh right, ethereal. Or maybe it was because he was ethereal. It was pretty obvious people are, um, put-off? -That sounds right- by things that seem inhuman. What with all the horror movies about such people, and that was a pretty common theme with human/non-human romances. Personally, he didn’t get it. Sharp, predatory, the thrum of potential power or danger, the otherworldliness -he’s pretty sure he’s read it described with that word once- he liked that.

Flicking his eyes back to Danny watching as he opens his mouth to sigh almost soundlessly, fangs dragging across his lips. Yeah, shit like that is going to be the death of Dash. With the silence officially be too much for the jock, Dash mutters, “four am is a stupid time”.

Danny snorts, “perfect for you then”, before pushing off the railing and eyeballing Dash. Smirking slightly, “you still keep a collection of teddy bears?”.

“Oh screw y-”, Dash cuts himself off, there’s not really anyone here to play pretend for. “Yeah, so what I like cute shit, what’s it to ya Fenton”. Including cute shit like you, being left unsaid.

Dash doesn’t miss how Danny’s eyes seem to glint while Danny tilts his head at him before those eyes glance around a little. Dash isn’t sure what he sees or is looking for, while Danny hums before speaking, “so often you aren’t quite what you seem, huh Dash?”. Then walking a bit to stand side to side with Dash, hands in his pockets, “you allow those around you to dictate who you are. Stop that, it’s stupid. You’ll never find what you want or who you fit with that way”.

Dash turns and watches Danny walk off. In some way it almost feels like Danny was never actually here. Looking back tot the bridge and touch where Danny’s hand had been to find it cold. Was he tired enough to actually be imagining Danny being, well, Danny? He’s not sure he’d even be able to imagine the sharpness of Danny’s eyes. Sighing a bit and not sure if he wished the maybe Danny had stuck around or not. Before deciding to walk some more, the air smelled nice at least and no one was around to give a damn how he acted.

Turning and walking off the bridge only to nearly shriek from some blonde-haired guy just suddenly being there. He doesn’t look friendly and the scar over his face doesn’t help that, yet Dash finds himself frozen in spot. He knew he could move, kinda wants to, but something just feels like he shouldn’t. Maybe it was the piercing blue eyes, how even with the strong moonlight he had no shadow, or the cruel-looking smile that somehow felt kind.

Swallowing a bit thickly as the man approaches, the clicking of his purple walking stick being the only sound. The stranger looks up at him slightly, “restless soul, looking for something in another land. The kind heroes and villains dance upon. You think you know your path best, and yet, are just a vagabond too fearful of quicksand to walk from the desert dunes to find an oasis of blues and greens. You are parched dry from your ways, yet refuse to chase waters deeper than you know”.

Dash blinks, catching the moonlight glint off the strange gear cog collar pins, “what?”.

The man chuckles, “you hold tears of the potential of judgment. A soul of man, whose fading light will one day be at its end. Seeking to paint your existences canvas with the lord of graves. One who you’ll grant find in time, one way or another. Painted soot or painted snow. Regardless. Would you not rather run your hands through the textures while you can enjoy it and endeavour it while having a pulse to half match under your skin?”.

Dash’s brain is pretty well mud right now, “who are you?”.

He shrugs, “I’m a tale of time, that history has lost. I see, I guide, I exist. And you, you are a bird that thinks it’s a boar”.

One thing Dash can always do is pick up on insults, and that was an insult, even if he has no clue what that was supposed to mean, “I’m not a meathead”.

The stranger holds up a finger and smiles, his eyes have an oldness to them that is honestly unpleasant, “precisely. You fear not the dark nor the monster with in, you fear the light and things far weaker than you. The boar charges and fights the bull, the bird lives alongside it. You feign your charges, act the boar, even as your flyer eyes see that the target is something to walk with, not against. You do this so others think you are a boar, why would you want to? boars die foolish. Be glad your bull is more of a lording cat, one that won’t strike you down”.

Dash blinks and steps back a little bit, “er, whatever you weird old man”. To make a point, Dash walls forward and around the stranger, but not too close because seriously, what the fuck?

The stranger doesn’t move but follows Dash with his eyes, speaking again just as Dash walks past, “you may find your lithe cat will enjoy your feathers quite fine. And one more thing”, Dash glances back and the stranger winks with a grin, “it’s not time that’s stupid, it’s what you do with that time”.

To say Dash is confused, as he walks the gravel path feeling slightly paranoid, would be an understatement. Lancer’s weird poetry crap made more sense than that. But the weirdos' last words sounding so much like Danny’s is giving him a weird gut feeling that the guy was somehow talking about Danny. Officially deciding he needs to back to sleep, he must be having awake fever dreams or something.

Dash walks through the school doors, firmly glad he got more sleep. Part of him wants to confirm seeing Danny wasn’t some weird fever dream, the other part is a bit distracted when, in his taking in of Danny’s lithe form, he notices the small gear cog charm hanging off his chain belt. It looked exactly the same as the weird guys' pins, has Dash just walked into some strange fantasy story or something?

Looking away and storming through the halls like he owns them, which he does, when Danny looks to him. Catching Danny’s eyes seemingly becoming sharper for a second and his hand brushing the charm on his belt. Why did he feel like Danny noticing where he was staring was somehow...what was that word? Some that started with a ‘c’?whatever, it was somehow a strong play.

Danny just suddenly appearing and stepping out of a bathroom stall, that Dash is sure was empty, during lunch rather confirms his thoughts. Looking Danny over through the mirror, his head was titled and he quickly locks gazed with Dash through the mirror. This was that sharp edge really showing through, and god damn if that wasn’t stupidly attractive. Snapping at him, “what you being creepy for, you freaky weirdo”.

Danny scoffs and rolls his eyes, “it seemed rather timely”.

Dash blinks a bit at Danny almost jarringly quickly snapping his gaze back to Dash’s face in the mirror. The first thought to worm into his head is that this seemed like a cat stalking after a bird. Then basically getting dropped kicked in the brain by Deja Vu. Muttering at the mirror, “what is it with that bird shit”.

“What, someone give you a weird birds and the bees talk?”, Danny snickers, “thought you were too old for that”.

Dash squints at the mirror, was that what that guy was going off about? Honestly anything seems possible. Looking Danny over, if there was one thing everyone knew it was how used to strange he was. How part of it he was, because of his family. But Dash knows there’s more to it than that, that he was something different and strange all on his own. He’s also sure that’s not just his interest in the ethereal boy talking. Deciding to go out on a limb, not like anyone would judge him for using a Fenton to figure out some weird shit, “maybe? Who knows what’s up with weirdos”, turning around and looking more directly at Danny, who’s looking at him with critical sharp eyes, “some guy going off about drinking ‘oasis’ of blue and green. That my cat will like my feathers”.

Danny smirks knowingly and moves to wash his hands in the sink, “sounds like a riddle if I’ve ever heard one. Maybe think of who you associate with blue and who with green”, chuckling and shaking his head a little, locking eyes with Dash in the mirror again, “and who you think of as a ‘cat’. Otherwise, sounds like someone’s telling you to stop holding yourself back and chase after what you want”. Danny walks out leaving Dash just kind of staring at the sink.

Dash spends the rest of the day casting glances at Danny a fair bit more often than he usually does. Pretty well sure the boy knew what the strange guy meant but was just letting Dash figure it out himself. He finds he can respect that a bit, even if he’s definitely annoyed. The fact that Danny is seemingly brushing up against him in the hallways doesn’t help, or maybe it does. Because fine, yes he likes it. The fantasy of Danny being forward towards him in an attracted way won’t stop circling in his head. But it isn’t until the second to last class that something clicks. Watching Danny suddenly stiffening, like he often did before running off to the bathroom mysteriously, Dash could have sworn Danny’s face twisted in anger and eyes flashed green for a second as he stands and speed walks out of the classroom. Leaving Dash blinking and getting slapped by Deja Vu again. ‘Blue and green’, blinking more at that making other things click in place. Everything about Danny was lithe, he’d even described him as cat-like. Was weird dude telling him to get with Danny? The hell? How did weird guy even know that?

He guesses that’s one way for the universe or whatever to say something’s fate or some bullshit. But real life doesn’t work like that...right? Well okay, ghosts are real so there is some make-believe that’s real. But then Dash, Hell no one, would ever describe Danny as a bull. A bull that’s a cat, that doesn’t even make sense. Shaking his head as class ends.

Walking out thinking of soot and snow, and didn’t that guy also say something about heroes? Soot was black right? Googling away to find that yes it was, as he makes it to his next class. Of course snow was white. So black and white. Well shit, that was Danny and Phantom’s hair colours; and Phantom was a hero. Danny had organised that rescue mission, so could he be labelled ‘hero’ too. Not really, it was a one-time thing after all.

Groaning and hitting his head into the desk only for the teacher to snap at him about paying attention. Mentally shoving all this crap away, basically mentally screaming at it to sort itself out.

Seeing Danny after last class across the hall and walking towards Danny with a glare, because he absolutely needs to take out his romantically frustrated aggression and, if he’s honest, mentally frustrated aggression -because thoughts of that weirdo just will not leave him alone- on someone.

Dash grabs him and slams him into the lockers, speaking without a whole lot of power behind his worlds, because he’s more than a little preoccupied and Danny’s eyes glittering with mirth and knowing does not help, “you know, I kinda feel like making you eat locker, weirdo”.

Danny speaks with a smirk, “weirdly cute you mean”. Dash sputters and promptly drops Danny, turning on his heel and speed walking off. Though he does throw a glance over his shoulder back at Danny, who looks more smug than anything he’s ever seen before; making Dash blush furiously and then feeling annoyed at blushing.

Dash decides that night that if his head’s just gonna be stuck in a pit of ‘just ask him, you know you want to’ and weird mutterings about painting with the lord of graves -whatever the heck that means- then he might as well finish his book. Well, his mom’s book but still. It seems suiting enough.

He flat-out drops the book when he gets to the point where Gadfly -an ageless fae who can see the future and all the twists and turns it might or might not take- functionally admits to setting up Isobel with Rook. The mortal with the inhuman prince, who -as Dash finishes the book with a fair amount of shock- comes to stand as the King of all fae. The lord of fae. The lord of graves? Was Danny some kind of ethereal prince? King? Or something? And heck! Gadfly was even blonde too! The Hell? And didn’t weird guy go off about Dash painting or something? Isobel’s a painter. Officially finding this a little too weird, Dash closes the book and tucks it away. Looking out the window and deciding that another -not really early enough to be morning but too early to be night- walk might get him more answers.

Somehow, Dash thinks as he watches Danny fiddling with a dandelion puff from afar on the same bridge as before, this isn’t surprising. Shaking himself off and making a point to shove down all the weird stupid feelings, before walking over with his hands in his pockets. “So you’re out here again”

Danny speaks without looking to him, “so are you”.

Dash scoffs and looks at his shoes a little, something tells him Danny wouldn’t be out wandering the night because of a book and some weird guy. The boy would probably handle it without being fazed much at all, “what? do you just wander around in the dead of night for fun?”.

Danny chuckles and side-eyes him, “maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Under the moonlight seems like a great place to be, don’t it?”.

Dash leans against the bridge railing, “it is ethereal I guess”.

Danny laughs and it’s a bit loud, “ethereal, that’s a big word for you. Now I wonder what could make you learn a word like that. Something so applicable to the strange and otherworldly”.

Dash bites his lip slightly at that, feeling incredibly called out, though ha! ‘Otherworldly’ was a word used for it. For people like Danny. Dash scoffs, “whatever, it’s got it’s uses”.

They stand in silence, both looking in opposite directions for a while. Until Dash blushes slightly at Danny humming, recognising the tune as Strangers In The Night.

Now Dash isn’t that much of an idiot, he’s not smart but he’s not dumb. He can recognise a blatant call out when he sees one. Danny knew. And...wasn’t being a dick about it, much. Wasn’t brushing him off. Dash isn’t sure if he’s confused by that or not.

Turning his head slightly to look at where the strange man had been last night before blurting out, “you’re mean”.

Danny laughs loudly at that and looks at Dash, who firmly avoids turning his head further to meet the gaze, “oh yes, says the bully. But you know what they say, ‘he only hits you ‘cause he likes you’”.

Dash jerks a bit and gapes, maybe he underestimated the boldness of Danny. While Danny sighs after a while of furthered silence, “it’s a darker night out hmmm? The darkness always holds something, a secretiveness to it. Where you can watch without being seen or act without being watched. In every story it crawls with monsters, things of depravity. Things people think are wrong, shouldn’t see the light of day. But those things are free in a sense that those who secluded themselves to daylight can never be. Monsters and those who hide, yet even they need to be brought into the sun sometimes. Wouldn’t you say?”.

Dash’s brain had stalled on the monster comment. That weird guy had gone off about monsters too. The whole him not fearing monsters or something? Danny was clearly weird, different. Didn’t people get called monsters in all those mutant movies over being different? And Phantom, well, the Fenton’s literally shouted that he was a monster. This was turning into some beauty and the beast shit. That makes him practically pitch forwards and face-plant into the ground.

Danny catches him and mutters, “geez, are you so repressed that the idea of not being so makes you want to eat the ground you walk upon?”.

Dash just blinks at him as he stands in front of him, because the whole thing with beauty and the beast was the beast transformed. Could look two different ways. And Danny’s eyes were green. Phantoms eyes were green. Danny raises his eyebrows at Dash sputtering at him, “that’s, it’s not, that ain’t”, Dash blinks, this explained a lot and Phantom was so bold, he took what he wanted, yet here he? -They? However it works- was seemingly waiting for Dash to make some kind of decisions thingy. Muttering, “have my cake and eat it too”.

Danny scrunches his face up and laughs, “I never imagined Dash would genuinely confuse me-”, getting cut off by Dash just saying screw it and kissing him, hard.

Dash pulling back but promptly hugging the weird ethereal creature, “I am so many levels of confused”. Danny just chuckles and pats his back, “yet maybe less in some way. Though you know, you really should ask first”.

Dash jerks and basically holds Danny by the shoulders away from him, Dash wasn’t that dumb of a guy but he was definitely a little stupid.

Danny rolls his eyes but smirks, batting off Dash hands before grabbing his shirt collar and kissing back, “you’re an idiot”.

Dash mutters, “you’re a weirdo”, as Danny backs off. After a bit of silence Dash looks at his feet and sticks his hands in his pockets, “so, uh, now what?”.

Danny shrugs and goes back to leaning on the railing, “I dunno, you work through your confusion I guess”, glancing at Dash, “just know that I am never a confused person anymore”.

Dash looks out across the park, well that was as blunt as anything. Why though? “I’ve literally beat the crap out of you for years. And,”, Dash worries his lip a little, blushing slightly from the unusual coldness on them, a coldness from Danny, “and you could have fought back anytime”.

Danny gives him a knowing look before smirking a little, “so you figured that out too huh?”.

Dash doesn’t give him a chance to say anything more, “as of two seconds or whatever ago. My head is mud”, Dash barely cuts himself off from saying ‘congrats’ or ‘thanks’. Who the Hell says that to some who just kissed them?

Danny screws up his face and it honestly looks like something out of a bad movie where the characters make some great discovery. When he chuckles and shakes his head, “so that’s what you meant by the cake thing”, squinting at Dash a little, “now you know I have to ask this, but knowing isn’t why you did that, is it?”.

Dash doesn’t know whether to nod or shake his head because both would be a lie, “I just figured out my two, um, interests, were smashed into one. Excuse me for not being myself, or whatever, enough and pleased, to have some self-control”.

Danny smiles at that, shoving Dash’s shoulder lightly, “lucky you I guess. Who’d you like more?”.

Dash sputters, Danny was a little much, always was, but that’s part of what he liked about him. The fearlessness, the hard sharpness, and he was cutting Dash the Hell up, “you”, Dash keeps talking as Danny raises his eyebrows, “Danny”, continuing when Danny raises his brows further, “Fenton. The weird lithe kid with sharp edges and the whole pixie thing going on”. Dash looks around some, ignoring the slight smirk on Danny’s face.

Danny bumping shoulders with him, “oh fancy words Dash. You know I love words with meanings, that I love to give out nicknames. Maybe you should be Teddy Bear”. Dash blushes more than a bit furiously at that which just makes Danny laugh, “oh yes, that will do wonderfully”. Danny sighing after a while of Dash blushing and staring defiantly into the distance, “not that we have to be public about... whatever this is”.

Dash looks back to him at that, nodding slightly, “that is...why I never would have tried normally. Weird dude threw me through a loop”, smiling a little and shoving Danny lightly, “I think I’m glad he did though”.

Danny nods, “if there’s anyone who can understand secrets Dash, especially for safety’s sake, it’s me”, gesturing around, “night seems to suit us. It’s always been something of mine. There’s not really anything wrong with hiding in the night, if you care to join me in that anyway”.

Dash gapes a little, that felt like a stupid question. Why would he question if Dash wanted this to be a ‘thing’. Dash should be the one worried about that, “yes. That is- why would you even ask that?”.

Danny chuckles and gives him a smile that’s got a sadness to it, which Dash is officially having none of and feeling more like his rather brazen self, just kisses him again before he can respond. Dash then saying, “it doesn’t matter”.

Danny chuckles and shakes his head a little, “you sure watch me a lot huh. Like what you see?”, Dash forced down his blush this time while Danny smirks and glances around with that searching look before looking back to him, “care to see how I own my night?”.

Dash just nods a little before going slightly slack-jawed at the near blinding ring of light and Danny suddenly being Phantom and just floating around to be away from the bridge slightly, holding a hand out to Dash, “well? I could rip off superman and say I promise not to drop you or you can stop holding yourself back”.

Dash barely wastes a second before grabbing Danny’s hand and letting him pull him up off the ground. Dash asking the only other question he really has or that’s still bugging him as Danny wraps his arms around him and just...goes up, “so weird guy also said something about king of graves?”.

Danny laughs and shakes his head a little, “that cheeky bastard”, before looking down at Dash’s face, “Ghost King, Dash. Something beyond what any ghost or mortal could be”.

Dash again feels slapped by Deja Vu, he’s never going to be able to look at that damn book the same again, “you know, I was reading a book where...”.

Dash winds up explaining his ‘girly’ book interests as they fly around, oddly unfazed and comfortable with the whole fly thing. While Danny simply exists as the strange ethereal being he is, face glowing brightly against the night sky; leaving Dash feeling like he just caught a star in a wishing bottle and think that maybe poetry might be a good idea.

End.

#danny phantom #phandom #phangoweek19 #phango19 #danny fenton #dash baxter #romance #swagger bishie #ghost king Danny #clockwork #identity reveal #homophobia #acceptence #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #my writing #clockwork is just out here setting people up

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