Emerald Heart (discontinued)

4

After changing into a more relaxed (long-sleeved) outfit, Kakyoin made his way over to Jotaro's house, fiddling with his fingers and repeating to himself that it would all be okay, he just needed to calm down.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. He was on the verge of a panic attack, he wished the door would just open already. Time was moving too slow.

"Oh, Kakyoin! Hello there!" Jotaro's mother stood at the door, waving at him warmly. "You must be here to see Jotaro, huh? He's in his room right now hun."

"Thank you Mrs. Kujo." Awkwardly Kakyoin stepped inside the Kujo residence, instantly noting that it smelled like Jotaro. He forgot all his sadness for just a moment before remembering why he was here to begin with. Right.

Kakyoin looked down at the floor as he made his way to Jotaro's room, fiddling with his fingers as well as clenching and unclenching his hands. He couldn't screw this up.

"Kakyoin." Reluctantly, he looked up to see Jotaro standing in the doorway to his room only a few feet away. "Glad to see you."

"Y-yeah, you too." He could hear the hesitation in his own voice. God.

"You look pale, what have you eaten today?" Jotaro put a concerned hand to the other boy's face, staring at him intently. Why does he do that?

"I, well," Kakyoin's cheeks began to tingle, his face was getting red. Shit, this was already going wrong. He would have to remember this. "I ate some fruit this morning, and I had a sandwich for lunch, and I haven't eaten dinner yet, because I wanted to eat dinner with you, and-"

"How much fruit did you eat? And how big was the sandwich?" Jotaro immediately inquired. "You look depleted. Come on, let's get some food in your little body." Jotaro grabbed onto his wrist, dragging him into the kitchen. Oh, that was too much pressure, it stung. Kakyoin gritted his teeth and bore it, it served as a reminder. This was good.

"We should go for something simple tonight, let's make spaghetti. Do you like spaghetti, Kakyoin?" Jotaro began rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out a pot and some dry noodles and placing them on the counter.

"Spaghetti, that's Italian right?" Kakyoin wondered, grabbing the stiff noodles to inspect them.

"I think so, but they eat it in America a lot too. That's where my Mom is from, she makes us a lot of American food using my Grandma's recipes. Do you know how to eat with a fork?" Jotaro pulled open a drawer full of glistening silverware, the sight somewhat unfamiliar to Kakyoin, who traditionally ate with chopsticks.

"Yeah, I've done it enough times so I can manage." He gulped, his nerves were absolutely out of wack. "S-should I fill that pot with water?"

"Sure, ⅔ of the way full. Make sure the water is hot."

"Sure thing." He started to run the water, the Kujo water heater was evidently efficient because the water warmed in a mere 10 seconds or so, Kakyoin feeling the temperature with his finger. It started to get really hot, so very hot. It burned. This scalding feeling was new, different but equally as-

"Oi, Kakyoin!" Jotaro jerked Kakyoin's finger from the faucet, holding Kakyoin's wrist as he grabbed a towel and patted his finger with the plush fabric. The pressure on his arm burned. "I think the water is hot enough."

Kakyoin's eyes watered. He was so close to getting caught, and the possibility still remained. What the fuck was wrong with him. He'd been here 5 minutes and he was already hurting himself in front of Jotaro. His eyes were watering up, they ached so bad from the previous days of constant crying. He couldn't do this again, his lip was quivering, he put his hand to his face to hide himself while he tried to gain some composure.

Jotaro rested his hand on his shoulder, muttering his name in concern. And that was all it took, hearing his name escape the lips of Jotaro, remembering how lovely it made him feel and how awful that feeling really was. And now he was on his knees, sobbing. He would much rather be dead than go through this. Really, he'd much rather just be dead.

"Fuckin-" Jotaro gasped, clutching Kakyoin's shoulder. He started yelling in English, from what Kakyoin understood he was calling for his mother. Jotaro's fluent in English, how amazing, he thought to himself. He wanted to learn some phrases in English for Jotaro. How saccharine it would be to confess his feelings in a different language, the thought however, made him sick to his stomach.

Mrs. Kujo entered the room, her and Jotaro conversing in English. He knew they were talking about him, even without understanding bits and pieces. He felt weak and out of place, burying his face between his knees and curling into a ball. There was too much noise. He wished he would just die.

Then without warning, Jotaro had his arms wrapped around him. Kakyoin's heart stopped. There they sat in the middle of the floor while Mrs. Kujo causally took over cooking their meal. Jotaro smelled really good, Kakyoin rested his face into the soft fabric of Jotaro's sweatshirt. Jotaro initiated this, it gave Kakyoin the idea that he was allowed to enjoy it this time. He could punish himself for it later.

"Do you want to talk about this in my room?" He asked, his voice soft. Kakyoin nodded, Jotaro instantly hoisting Kakyoin up and walking him to his room. The feeling of Jotaro on his body was wonderful, his warm hands and strong arms and the lovely feeling of the hot liquid that would surely run down his arm later and the sweet pitter-patter it would make as it plummeted to the ground. Kakyoin chuckled to himself. He was sick.

Jotaro sat the two of them on the bed, sliding the door shut behind them. He huffed, throwing his hat onto the ground.

"I don't know what to do. I- I don't know how to help you Kakyoin. There's something wrong with you and I don't know how to make it stop." Jotaro sat with him on the sheets, neither of them looking the other in the eye. "I thought tonight would go well, I really wanted it to. You've been acting off for the past few weeks, but now that I know what it is, I want to help you. I know it sounds stupid but you need to get through this and I want to be there to help you do it." He stopped and took a breath, clutching Kakyoin's hands. "You mean so much to me Kakyoin. I can't lose you."

He didn't know how to respond. Noriaki Kakyoin was in complete shock. The fact that he lied about having an eating disorder had almost slipped his mind, and yet it seemed to be so prominent in Jotaro's. Look how upset he is, Kakyoin thought. Look how much my silly lies are hurting him. What if he knew I was lying? He'd think I made him look like a fool. Like an idiot. He wouldn't want to be friends anymore, the others would probably start ignoring me as well. I'm such a fuck up.

"Oh Kakyoin, please don't cry again." Jotaro pleaded. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry Jotaro." He whimpered. "I'm so sorry. I'm having a bad day is all, I get nervous around other people and it-" he gulped. "It's just hard for me to eat is all, I don't want to hurt you by not eating as much as you might want me to." You fucking liar.

"I appreciate your honesty with this Kakyoin, I'm sure it takes a lot to say that. But I know these things take time. I don't expect you to eat a full course meal on the first day." Jotaro squeezed Kakyoin's hands. "What do you wanna do?"

"Go home."

"Go home..? But my Mom is probably done cooking by now."

"I'm sorry Jotaro, I'm exhausted. How about I come back tomorrow?" He was disappointing himself. He hated everything about this situation, he could hear the dismay in Jotaro's voice and see the sadness in his eyes, staring at a reflection of himself. He looked awful.

"How about I make you a bowl? You can take it home."

Kakyoin would let him have this one. Accepting the offer, the two of them walked back into the kitchen and made him a bowl of spaghetti, Jotaro insisting he walk Kakyoin home to which Kakyoin allowed.

As soon as they said their goodbyes, Kakyoin crumbled to the ground, sobbing. Sobbing because he missed Jotaro and sobbing because he was sobbing because he missed Jotaro. A few slits in his arm, a couple melatonin, and he was out, dreaming of a future that was surely never to come. If only he could control his thoughts. If only he could control his feelings. If only he were just dead.