JJBA drabbles

Cantaloupe

      Polnareff hadn't showered in three days. 

      As a senior, he thinks to himself, he's supposed to be the most adult out of his remaining friends in highschool.   Still, he's eighteen and hasn't been in school for about a week.  He sees his friends flourishing, both as blossoming people and in their relationship.  It takes some of the  weight off of his chest and his head and his shoulders, even if for a brief moment.  

   Maybe sees isn't the right word.  He can see their group chat that was originally supposed to be for him, Avdol, Kakyoin, and Jotaro.  The four of them.  Best friends.  Ever since Muhammad graduated, it stagnated for a while after school started up again.  Occasionally Muhammad texted it, asking what was going on and how everybody was doing.  Now, every couple days it's just them trying to include Polnareff in plans that they were undoubtedly planning themselves and decided to rope him in because he doesn't really leave his house. 

    Avdol doesn't say anything there, anymore. 

  Looking up from his phone that he's doing absolutely nothing on, he lets himself wallow in the filth of his room.  Some small part of him thinks he should just get a shower, turn it the hottest it can go, and stay there until his home runs out of hot water.  

    He thinks of Muhammad, and suddenly the mild want is gone.  He can't fool himself into pretending that the heat of the water is the gentle warmth of his body.  It's a stupid thing to think of.  He's gone now, too, just like his parents. Just like Sherry.  

    He's not sure if him scolding him for not going to school or working or generally not taking care of himself and then hanging up is considered a breakup or not, but he hasn't texted back or called since then, and it's been almost a month.  When college first started for the other, they still managed to visit in quick hookups or dates, but the distance and schoolwork quickly made that impossible.  I guess, Polnareff thinks, it doesn't matter.

     He lays further into the foul blankets of his bed.  He can't remember the last time he washed those, though it was probably around the same time he washed the rest of his laundry.  Polnareff doesn't have a clean clothing item that he wears, and the things he doesn't he can't  manage to gather the energy to open his dresser for.  

     As time passes, his stomach starts to growl.  He's hungry.  He thinks back a whole other time (a year ago), when everything was fine and they were all eating lunch together.  That would be nice.   But the world feels like it's leaving him behind and the world doesn't stop like Jean-pierre does.  

      Jean-pierre stops.  He stops doing everything.  At first, he stops caring.  Then he stops doing the small amount of things he does care about, and then he does nothing at all.  Thinking is doing something, he supposes, but he tries not to do that either.  He fails, but he's failed at everything else too, so it doesn't really matter anyway. 

      He hears the front door open, and distantly hears somebody else call his name.  

    It's probably his uncle, who's original job was to take care of him and Sherry after their parents died, but Sherry's gone now and he doesn't care for Polnareff.  Every week he comes in through the unlocked door and leaves him just enough money for him to buy microwave dinners.   His stomach growls.  When was the last time he's eaten? The question takes up enough energy; he's not going to get up anytime soon. 

      He's lost a lot of weight, if he does try to scavenge for decently-smelling clothes, they don't quite fit him right.  

     He thinks he hears something.

     He recalls a time sometime last year where he and the group went out shopping together.  They're all  big fans of fashion, and if not fashion, dressing up, sans Jotaro.  Jotaro's like him now, or at least he was, or maybe he's just trying to establish a connection between him and the other boy that he percieves as slowly fading due to his absence.  

    His name is called again, and a flare of anger shoots through him, enough to get his heart to pump a little faster; enough to allow him to stand for at least a little.  

     He slams open his bedroom door, running down the stairs while starting to yell.  

"What the fuck do you want? I'm busy, I don't want to talk right now, and no I haven't dropped out yet--"   

      He's not sure he's right in seeing what he's seeing, but if he hasn't gone crazy yet, then Muhammad is standing there in front of him.  He suddenly feels embarassed, going from floating through the cold of space to slamming into presence in his living room.  He's still feeling , though, and that's more than what he was capable of doing just a few minutes ago.   

      "Do you normally leave your front door unlocked, Jean-Pierre?  That's dangerous."  

   Polnareff glances around at the numerous plastic food dishes that are scattered throughout his house, and all of the unwashed cups and dishes.  He almost wishes Avdol would go.  At his silence, avdol speaks up again.  

    "I brought melon." 

Polnareff stares at him for a good two seconds before letting out an obnoxious, loud, and unused laugh.  It's hysterical, yes, but as he looks at his boyfriend's face he can tell that its gone from extremely worried to at least a little bit relieved.  Avdol smiles.  

    "Come here, you fucking idiot." Polnareff speed-walks to his (disgusting) kitchen table, makes as much space as he can and sets up two chairs right next to each other.  He doesn't exactly feel like touching the other right now, as good as it sounds, but this was enough.  Avdol sits next to him, quiet as always, but presense so very loud.   

    As Polnareff runs a hand through is greasy hair, Avdol opens the container he brought.  Of course, the bastard brought cantaloupe.  Who the hell eats cantaloupe?  It's not bad, it's just boring.  And Avdol knows this. What an asshole.  

     And so he tells him.   

   He laughs, and they fall into a quiet silence, eating.  It didn't feel awkward; nothing felt awkward with Muhammad.  As they finished off the fruit,  he finally spoke up. 

    "I've been planning this since we last talked.  I was trying to get all of my projects finished and clear up my schedule so I could do something big with all of us, but Jotaro called the other day and said he was pretty sure you were killing yourself if you weren't dead already, so I came as soon as I could. I'm sorry, Jean."   Very gently, delicate even, he places a kiss on his forehead.   Then his cheeks, his noise, his neck, his shoulders, and his hands.  Polnareff feels warm.  

    "I'm doing fine."  He knows its a lie as soon as the words leave his mouth, the bitterness of it and lack of dental hygiene stuck on his tongue.  He subconsciously glances at the small bottles of medication on his counter that he hasn't been taking.  He doesn't want to think about it.  

      Muhammad purses his lips together in a mix of concern and frusturation.  Polnareff can tell he's thinking about whether to change the subject or leave it for later, and he can't decide which one is worse. 

      "Jean, you smell like shit."  He decides he's thankful. 

  _________ 

          He still feels awful.  He knows how bad his body looks, he knows how much weight he's lost.   He knows that right now, his mind is broken and for some reason he doesn't want to fix it.  But with his boyfriend's arms wrapped around him,  switching between loving and actual washing underneath the warm water of his shower, he finds that it doesn't bother him that much.  

       He feels light.