all-american :: jotaro x reader

chapter 3 :: all-american relations

It's colder at night, I've discovered. For whatever reason, I expected it to be warmer here.

My mom, even after all these years, still remembers this place like the back of her hand. We weave through alleys ad sidewalks without any trouble.

A single cigarette butt lays on the sidewalk by the inn. I stare at it while we walk by.

"You should pick it up and keep it. You know, as a souvenir for your first day back." Snapping out of my trance, I look at my mom, who has noticed me staring at it, and laugh. "You're right, maybe I should."

My grandparent's house sits atop a restaurant. It's a little place they run that sells traditional sweets. When I was younger, if they were working when I came by (which was often), I would get a free piece of mochi, "courtesy of knowing the owners" (as they mentioned).

The place is still open, I guess, even though it's almost nine at night. The light from inside spills out onto the sidewalk as we lift the cloth hanging over the doorway and walk inside.

The moment our feet step onto the wood floor, my grandparents call my mom's name with much excitement, taking time to hug and fuss over her first before turning to me and mentioning my name a little less excitedly.

"Welcome back," my grandmother says, giving me a hug, and the moment she touches me the familiar old-person smell mixed with incense and sugar fills my nostrils. My grandfather does the same, taking much effort in hugging me. I take as much effort to hug them back, because, to be honest, I have missed them. A lot.

"I have something for you," my grandpa says, pulling something from behind his back. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands!"

I do what he says, and feel something round and soft hit my palm. When I open my eyes again, a little piece of mochi sits in my palm.

For whatever reason, my eyes start to water.

Who knew Japan would turn me back into a crybaby?

They take us, very courteously, to the rooms upstairs, where we catch up with each other over a plate of sweets my grandparents have made for us and a few hundred gallons of green tea.

"Tell me about school in America!" They ask me, the room suddenly going quiet. I look at them for a second blankly, before swallowing my mouthful of food and replying "great".

"You didn't come all the way from America just to say 'great', did you? Come on! Share some more!" Jokes my grandpa, and I smile. "It's different from the ones here. Lots of testing, and everyone's really diverse. I had lots of friends in school, and it was a good place to be, but I'm exited to go to school here."

"Testing of what?"

I look down and smile a little, in anticipation for my own joke. "My patience."

My mom shoots me a look.

"It depends on the subject."

As the night drawls on I find out my grandparents are more interested in America than I thought that they would be.

After a few minutes of talking about America, they switch to my mom to catch up with her. That's alright, though, because I'm not...the best at answering questions on the spot.

I stare out the open window. A tree blocks half of my view from the outside world but just past it's branches, I can see the roof of my house. A cat sits on top.

The cat paws at something on the roof, taking some time to roll it back and forth like it's inspecting it. My brows furrow then I discover that it's a dead bird. I shiver, hoping not to see the cat eating it, And look back down at the wood table where we're sitting.

I feel kind of bad for saying this, but...to be honest, I'm getting kind of bored here. Thankfully, though, my bladder saves me just in time before anyone can ask me why I am so fixed on staring out the window.

I get up a little more forcefully than I intended to, my knees slamming against the bottom of the table, making it shake a little. Mom holds on to her cup tightly and frowns at me as if to say "really?" Returning the look, I stutter out a "I need to go to the bathroom."

I politely dash to the other side of the room and slide the door over, and try to find the room that looks most like a bathroom. Mainly, one that has a toilet it it.

Eventually I do, but it smelled so badly of incense in there I had to cover my nose with my shirt to keep myself from crying incense tears.

I wash my hands with this cute little soap that my grandparents have (it's in the shape of a fish!) and dry them off, wiping off the residue water on my shirt before walking back.

I stop right in front of the door.

I mutter, "oh my god." They're talking about Dad.

I lean in to see if I can make out what they're saying. My mom is using that stern but upset voice she uses when you can tell that she isn't trying to show that she's about to break down. (It's kind of sad I can recognize that tone...)

I press my ear against the door.

"I...still can't believe it. After all these years and he just..." my mom whispers.

My grandma comes after. "I understand your sorrow, sweetheart. He was lower than dirt." She spits the last part as if she knew all along.

My grandfather, on the other hand, has a little bit of a problem with thinking out loud, wonders, "Wait, what did he do again?"

The sound of glass- well, China, breaking comes from inside the room. Knowing my mom, at first I thought she had thrown a teacup at my grandpa, but also knowing my mom, she grips things tight when she gets emotional.

I still don't think she notices because we've lost countless cups, plates, a bunch of my toys when I was younger, and just objects around the house in America, and this is our first cup back in Japan. An accomplishment, maybe?

"Oh! My goodness, you're bleeding!" My grandmother exclaims. My mom is silent. I can hear a hand hit my grandfather and he exclaims in pain for a second. "Here, I'll-"

Footsteps come towards the door. I freeze for a second before realizing I need to get back into the bathroom so it doesn't look like I just heard everything.

I dash into the bathroom just in time, coming out a little bit after the door opens. My grandma might be a little old, but she's still fast as heck - she's in and out of the bathroom with bandaids and I guess the Japanese version of Neosporin, maybe?

I walk back into the main room and act all surprised. My mom's face is blank. My mom's eyes are blank. Her hand grips a ghost cup as my grandma fusses over the little slice on her finger.

She gets up after she realizes my grandma is all done. She sighs, defeated, and grabs my arm and makes her way to the door. Giving one last sympathetic look to my grandparents, she mutters, "I'll finish talking to you when she-" she gestures towards me, "isn't around."

I feel offended, but...strangely curious.
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A/N
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