Kickstart My Heart

Finally Found A Home

Japan, January 1989

He had run away from his home.
From the ghost of a tasteless, meaningless life.
From repeating the rest of a school year he had basically spent brooding over dark thoughts and/or dozing off because of his lack of sleep.

He had run away from his mother, who was far from helping even though she was now alive and safe; all she'd been doing was cling to him like fucking glue and baby him. She was useless.

HE was useless.
Misunderstood.

Although Holly did almost die and did experience having a stand in the worst way possible, she was light years away from being able to so much as imagine her son's trauma, which he knew would be eating him from the inside for the rest of his life.

He was ALONE.

The calm of the Kūjō residence, the birds' singing in the trees, the grasshoppers' chirping had altered.

He had run, sprinted away.
Had rushed to the airport, to action and usefulness, he had frantically thrown himself into that stand arrow quest along with Polnareff, the only friend who could comprehend and share his pain.

He had to travel, had to keep MOVING or he'd let himself die.

His home, the haven of peace he used to feel safe in when he was a kid, was no more.

His mother was no more than an additional source of stress.

~

Kūjō Residence, Japan, present day

Jōtarō hadn't gotten enough sleep during the flight, so he dug his visor down to his nose to avoid getting blinded by the sun as he got out of the taxi.

Polnareff had stopped in front of the wooden sign, furrowing his nonexistent brows as he tried (and failed) to decipher the neatly calligraphed kanji.
Amused by such concentration from his usually careless friend, Kakyoin walked to him and stretched lazily, not in the least intending to help him out.

- Oi Kak, won't you translate instead of making fun of me? the Frenchman whined.

- Nope, watching you struggle is way more fun! Especially since you claimed you could probably speak better Japanese than Joestar-san.

- ...Shut up. (Polnareff turned to Abdul). Mohammed?

- Yes I am, but that's not what it says on the sign though, the Egyptian teased with a blink.

- Wha- Ughhh, stop messing with me already, you two!

- It says Kūjō, you idiot, Jōtarō sighed. This is where the old hag lives.

- Hey, don't you speak of your mother this way, young man! Joseph cut in.

His grandson shot him a tired scowl and took out a cigarette.
He shot Caesar an equally tired scowl when the blond held out his hand to ask for one.
- What about your Hamon?
- What about your manners?
- ...
- ...
- ...Fuck you, Nonno, you coulda bought yourself a pack at the airport.

The Italian paused.

Then his face lit up and his lips stretched in a soft, emotional smile.

"...Oh wow, looks like the appellation came out pretty naturally," Jōtarō realized in a snap.

He shrugged and lit Caesar's cigarette with a slight smirk nonetheless.

- Wow, very nice, Caesarino!! Jōtarō, would you start calling me Grandpa instead of Jiji if I asked for a cigarette too?! Joseph asked, eyes full of hope.