Eloquence

Kujo Jotaro Is Gorgeous...

Holly has made a habit of leaving a bowl of cherries on the table every day. Kakyoin would be grateful, but she did it so simply and so matter-of-factly that he hardly registered the change. The bowl of cherries is simply there in the same way as the table and the clothesline outside.

Kakyoin is re-doing his drawing of Jojo. He had sat up at the table after a few minutes of moping, scolded himself, and started over without the distraction of the real Jojo sitting close enough to touch. Since then, he's taken it out to work on whenever he's had a few spare minutes. He's changed the angle a bit, moved the table in his mind's eye to show some of Jojo's massive legs tossed over the side of it. He thinks he's done a fair job so far, though he's left the head blank since he can't decide whether or not to add the hat and high-collared jacket.

"That looks good."

Kakyoin accidentally tattoos Jojo's stomach with a startled slash. The damage isn't too bad; the line wouldn't be more than an inch long in real life. He'll just have to work it into the design of the clothes, when he gets around to drawing them. Oh.

To Jojo, the drawing must look intentionally naked. Which it is. But not like that. Kakyoin is going to put clothes on it later. He's just drawing the underlying structure first. And reassuring himself that he hasn't lost his ability to draw torsos.

"Sorry. Did I startle you?" asks Jojo.

"Uh. Yeah. You're so quiet." Kakyoin slams his sketchbook shut far too late. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you started shading in his left arm." Ah. So quite some time. "Who are you drawing?"

Nobody. It's just practice. Some celebrity. A compilation of references. Polnareff. Even that one especially buff Stand user who made a habit of wandering around half-dressed. These are the lies that Kakyoin commands his mouth to tell. 

His traitorous mouth chokes on the words.

"You," it says.

He waits for Jojo to be angry, to rip away the drawing. He waits for Jojo to walk away without a word and request moving to Avdol's room to be as far away as possible from the freak who likes to draw him naked.

I haven't put clothes on it yet, Kakyoin wants to say. But he can only wait as the silence between them swells and festers.

Finally, Jojo grunts. Kakyoin squeezes his eyes shut. This is it. Their friendship is over. Jojo won't want to so much as speak with him anymore.

"Sorry," Kakyoin half-whispers. As if that will help.

"No, it was my fault, right? Just make it another scar or something."

"Huh?" Kakyoin says, eloquently.

"The line on my stomach. It's not too different from one of the scars DIO gave me."

And Jojo drops his jacket and strips off his shirt.

Kakyoin squeaks.

He doesn't mean to, but he does anyway, high-pitched and panicked.

He's already seen it. He's already seen it. He's already - he's never going to get used to the sight of this. And now there's no morning grogginess to cloud his vision.

Kujo Jotaro is gorgeous.

That much, at least, Kakyoin already knew. But when the rush of blood leaves his head, when his heart ceases its frantic pace and his vision clears - and Kakyoin is rather impressed by how quickly that happens - he realizes something else.

Kujo Jotaro is absolutely covered in wounds.

"Wha- When did- Jojo. Why didn't you..."

Jojo simply looks at him, confusion written in neat cursive across the inquisitive tilt of his head.

"I mean... I guess... Oh my goodness I hadn't seen you shirtless since before the desert stand."

Jojo's expression clears.

"I... it makes sense. Of course it does. Fighting DIO. And all. But what left those ones?" His hand reaches out of its own accord to graze a cut near Jojo's hip. He jerks it back, suddenly aware of his proximity. "Sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"Steak knives."

Kakyoin's stomach lurches. The wounds are closed now, nothing but angry red lines that Kakyoin knows from experience will disappear soon. It was a misnomer when Jojo claimed that DIO had left scars. The man's skin seems incapable of retaining any imperfection for more than a month, and Kakyoin suspects that there were injuries on Jojo's arms to match the ones on his torso, already healed. But still.

"I didn't realize..." He should have, though. He wonders what's wrong with himself, missing something so blindingly obvious. Of course Jojo was injured. Kakyoin was injured. Polnareff lost body parts. Mr. Joestar died of blood loss and was resuscitated. Avdol and Iggy were eaten and spat back out by nothingness. But somehow, Kakyoin had expected Jojo to escape unscathed. He scowls. 

"Does this work?" Jojo drops into a chair, tosses his feet up on the table. Gets up and looks at the drawing again. Sits back down with his arms positioned differently.

Is he.. "Are you... modelling for me?"

Jojo shrugs.

Isn't that an interesting development, muses Kakyoin.

"Right, then." He stands up. "You need your arms a little more like this..." (Jojo's arms are very solid, Kakyoin notes) "and your feet go here - hold that." Kakyoin moves back to his chair, adjusts its angle. "No, a little more to your left. Back just a bit. And lose the hat." He looks back at his drawing. "Never mind. Put it back, it works fine. Just a nightmare to draw like that."

Kakyoin hesitates, then stands. "Stay right like that. I'm getting water and... yeah, and masking tape. That's a good pose."