Chapter Text
Jan 23, 1989 Monday 8:15 AM
Tokyo carried a different kind of noise than Morioh. The streets pressed in tighter, the air thicker with movement, every step and voice folding into the next without pause. Kakyoin walked with a folded umbrella hooked loosely in his fingers, its fabric still damp from the morning drizzle, and let the city’s sound draw him forward.
Hierophant Green moved just ahead, its reach taut and deliberate. In a place he knew by heart, the Stand would have skimmed forward freely, its tendrils unfurling like a scout. But here it stayed close, brushing along corners, tracing the slope of each stone, measuring the ground as though expecting it to shift beneath them.
The voices ahead swelled as he neared the school gates, friends trading homework complaints, weekend plans tossed into the air, gossip tumbling over itself in eager fragments. He could follow the noise easily enough, but still he counted his steps, each one measured against the map Hierophant was drawing in his mind.
His parents claimed they had moved to Tokyo while he was still in the hospital. They said it made sense; he was already enrolled in a Tokyo school, and the hospital had been nearby. But he didn’t remember choosing this school, or why he had ended up hospitalized hours from home. They insisted it had been his idea, that he had always preferred cities, that he had never been close to anyone in Morioh anyway. None of it felt real. Still, he let it go and turned instead to what could be measured: the faint shift in sound as the ground changed at the threshold of the school gate, the warm rush of passing air when someone brushed by.
A group of girls hurried past, their voices high with chatter about a test he hadn’t studied for. That wasn’t a concern. Schoolwork had never been a problem.
But their laughter didn’t fade when they passed. It joined with others, swelling ahead of him. What had begun as fragments of talk now gathered into a larger chorus of bright voices overlapping, spilling across the school gates in an excited current.
Hierophant’s tendrils curled forward again, skimming the path, until—mid-step—they recoiled sharply. The background noise had changed. High voices, quick and sharp, cutting toward him too fast.
“He’s gotten taller, too.”
“You think he even notices?” one whispered, giggling.
“And his… his broken arm has healed.”
“Tell us how you broke it!”
“I bet it was a fight~!”
“That’s so hot!”
“Agreed!” they squealed together, voices pitching higher with excitement.
Kakyoin winced at the shrillness, at the way the crowd veered suddenly toward some unseen point. Girls, too many of them, too loud, gathering too quickly, and whatever they had fixed on was moving.
Hierophant shifted to guide him around the swell, but his attention faltered. He stepped too far. His shoulder collided with something solid, not a wall, but a body. Broad and Heavy, not that it mattered because the umbrella still slipped from his grasp, clattering to the wet ground as they both went down.
There was a sharp intake of breath before one voice whispered, almost nervously, “This is gonna be bad—”
“Ah—apologies,” Kakyoin said, already pushing himself upright, hand lifting out of habit. His fingers brushed wool, a uniform jacket maybe. Regaining his balance, he sent Hierophant forward again, clearing a fresh path as he crouched to retrieve the umbrella. His palm found its cool, slick surface, and with a quick shake, he flicked the dampness from the fabric as he stood.
“I’m not used to this route. I didn’t notice you in time. Are you alright?” He gestured lightly toward his own eyes, a practiced explanation, though there was no immediate response. He couldn’t hear movement, but he could feel the weight of attention on him. Then, flatly:
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”
The voice was deep and disturbingly calm for someone who had just been knocked into the pavement by a stranger. Kakyoin tilted his head. He couldn’t place it, but something in the tone felt… familiar. Before he could chase the thought, the crowd pressed back in.
“Jojo, let me help you up!”
“Hey, who do you think you are, running into Jojo like that?”
“Wait—he’s that transfer guy, isn’t he? I think I’ve seen him before.”
“Kakyoin, right?” one of them chimed.
“He’s really handsome,” another added, not even bothering to whisper. “The prince type, maybe.”
Kakyoin kept still, face flat. But the boy beside him did not.
“SHUT THE HELL UP.”
The shout cut through the chatter like a blade. Kakyoin flinched, not out of fear, but from the sheer force of it. Whoever this boy was, he sure didn’t waste words… But it seemed to work as the squeals and protests of the crowd faltered instantly, dissolving into muffled giggles and whispers that drifted away as the tide of students carried them off.
The silence that followed was almost more startling than the noise, broken only when the boy beside him moved, in an action he could only imagine as standing up. Kakyoin caught the crisp pull of fabric and the sharp sweep of a sleeve, like someone brushing dust away, the motions so effortless it was as though the fall had never happened.
“Please use this, if you’d like,” Kakyoin said, extending a handkerchief. A moment later, the cloth tugged from his grip. The stranger’s grip strongm as the fabric slipped from his fingers.
“Thanks,” the boy replied.
Kakyoin lingered for a beat, listening to the rasp of cloth against fabric before it stilled.
“Jojo,” Kakyoin said evenly. “Is that your name?”
“Nickname.”
Kakyoin didn’t press, but he didn’t withdraw either. He hummed lightly, then continued, “I’m Noriaki Kakyoin. I transferred here not long ago, but due to an accident, I’m just officially starting today.”
Silence followed, the kind that might have been awkward if either of them were the type to fidget or force conversation. Kakyoin wasn’t. And it seemed this boy wasn’t either.
“Jotaro Kujo,” the boy said at last.
Jotaro. That was more like it. Kakyoin parted his lips to speak, but the bell rang, pulling his attention away. He turned his head toward the sound, priorities shifting, then angled back toward where Jotaro had spoken.
“Well then,” Kakyoin said, stepping aside. “It was nice to meet you.”
He turned, Hierophant sliding ahead as the courtyard noise dissolved behind him. The doors yielded easily beneath his hand, and he stepped inside without hesitation. The schedule was already memorized, the layout traced and stored in his mind. His path carried no uncertainty.
As for that boy, Jotaro Kujo. The name lingered for a moment, nothing more. He hadn’t reacted to Hierophant, which told Kakyoin all he needed to know. Just another person who couldn’t see. A faint sigh escaped him, too quiet for anyone else to notice. Strange name, stranger still. But in the end, unremarkable. He filed it neatly away.
______________
Jotaro didn’t move at first. He just stood there, watching as the crowd thinned and scattered under the second bell. But his gaze stayed fixed on the figure weaving calmly through it. Hierophant moved ahead of Kakyoin like a service dog. Jotaro almost expected him to glance back, just once. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t.
He really doesn’t remember me.
Jotaro’s fingers tightened around the handkerchief. The last time Kakyoin had handed him one was after he’d fallen down the stairs, cut his leg open, and nearly cracked his skull on the pavement, saved only by Star Platinum’s reflexes. Then, out of nowhere, Kakyoin had appeared and offered him that same neat square of cloth. At the time, Jotaro thought it was weird. Too formal, like some mix of arrogance and forced politeness that he didn’t care to unravel.
Not until he was forced to, when the guy tried to kill him of course. But now, after everything they’d been through, after he understood what it meant and why, it was worse.
He didn’t believe in fate. Not really. But if fate was real, it had a sick sense of humor. Because here they were: the guy who had saved his life more than once, hell, probably his first real friend, was handing him the same cloth, for the same reason. Only this time, Jotaro carried all the context, and Kakyoin carried none. Like this was how they were always supposed to meet.
And Kakyoin didn’t even look back. Jotaro wasn’t sure why that thought stuck with him, but it made his jaw tighten. He couldn’t stand the way Kakyoin just walked away. He scowled lightly before finally turning and starting toward the building.
He’d known it might be like this. The doctors at the Speedwagon Foundation had warned him before Kakyoin was discharged.
The hemorrhagic shock caused long-term cerebral oxygen deprivation.
The occipital damage accounts for the vision loss. But the memory gaps… that’s different.
The wound had been abdominal, yes, but the result was massive blood loss that starved Kakyoin’s brain of oxygen. Some areas had recovered; others hadn’t. His vision was the greatest question mark. The doctors suspected the damage was lasting, maybe permanent, but they couldn’t say for certain. The memory loss was even harder to pin down. Still, his eyes remained that same striking violet, reactive to light, unchanged visually.
The Foundation called that a good sign, but Jotaro wasn’t so sure. He’d read about deep-sea creatures with perfect-looking eyes that reflected light but saw nothing at all. He knew the truth. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved Kakyoin had bumped into him instead of some random punk
Considering he knew Kakyoin was blind. He wasn’t confused when Kakyoin gestured toward his own eyes. Still… thinking back on it now, he wondered how much Kakyoin really understood about his own condition.
To most people, he probably looked like a polite, capable young man. He carried himself without a cane, his movements fluid enough that sometimes his condition wasn’t obvious. Hierophant guided him, but only Stand users could see it. For everyone else, it was just rumor for now, but Jotaro figured it would spread soon enough.
But that was only the surface.
The part Jotaro hated most was the rule the Foundation had laid down: leave it alone.
That meant no nudging. No hints. Don’t show him old photos (weather he can see them or not). Don’t bring up Dio. Don’t talk about Stands. Don’t mention the journey, unless Kakyoin does first. If the memories come back, they have to come back on their own. If they dont, forcing it could do real harm.
You could destabilize his progress.
Back when they’d said it, Jotaro had bitten his tongue. He’d been tempted to push back, to tell Kakyoin everything anyway. They were acting like he was fragile, but he wasn’t . Kakyoin was strong, and Jotaro liked that about him. But in the end, he hadn’t argued. Because deep down, he knew it was for the best.
He shoved the handkerchief into his coat pocket and pushed the doors open. It didn’t matter how much he wanted his friend back, especially after almost losing him. He couldn’t risk losing him again.
But as he moved down the hall, shoulder throbbing from the fall, stepping into the main corridor ahead, he could already hear it—
“So… is it permanent?”
“You don’t have to answer if that’s rude. I just wasn’t sure.”
“I heard you were in the hospital for a while. That must’ve sucked.”
So they’d already figured it out. Classmates, circling the transfer.
“Yes, I’m blind. And yes, I’m adjusting,” came the even reply.
Jotaro didn’t need to look to know who they were talking to. Still, he did, just once. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Kakyoin standing in the midst of everything, statuesque and motionless, his hands relaxed in front of him, fingers interlocked. Hierophant beside him, not protective, just present. Like it was centering him or, possibly, determining how much they were able to see.
One of the girls gave a soft laugh. “Your eyes are still really nice, though. Kind of striking.”
“I appreciate that,” Kakyoin said.
Jotaro’s gaze lingered. The students edged closer, their voices cloying, but Kakyoin didn’t lean toward them. He didn’t lean away either. He accepted their words but the barest tilt of his head signaled that he heard them but nothing more.
Hmph.
Jotaro smirked faintly. He’d always figured Kakyoin would take attention in stride, the same way he had with those two girls on the airplane during Tower of Gray. Back then, he’d been articulate and steady under pressure, never wasting words the way a certain Frenchman or the old man did. And when he did speak, it was direct and confident, sometimes even unexpectedly funny. He could still see traces of that in him now, but it was buried deeper. Like Kakyoin felt farther away than he had any right to be.
Jotaro looked away and kept walking. Not his business anyway. On another note, the teacher would be pissed he was late again. Not that it mattered. They could mark him late every day for the rest of the semester, and he still wouldn’t care.
His hand stayed in his coat pocket, wrapped around the handkerchief. The fabric was still faintly warm, where his best friend had held it.
___________
12:30 PM
The bell rang, time for lunch.
Before half the class could stand, Jotaro had his bag slung over one shoulder and was already in the hall. He didn’t bother glancing back. Voices chased him anyway, squeals of his name like birds in heat. He pulled his cap lower, cringing at the thought of them as he neared the stairwell. One girl was already there, leaning too casually against the railing, chatting with another bitch. His teeth clenched, frustration itching to spill over. If she saw him, he’d have to snarl again just to clear the path. So instead, he rolled his shoulders once.
“Star Platinum. The World.”
Time cracked like glass. And in its wake was sweet, sweet silence. Movement frozen in mid-blink. Movement hung mid-blink, sound cut away. A girl’s shoe hovered inches off her heel. The one at the stairwell had her lips parted, caught just at the edge of turning. Jotaro stepped past her, and by the time the world caught up, he was already on the roof. He knew the old man had been clear about using his new power responsibly, but if preventing violence counted, then this use of the time stop was perfectly justified.
The sun hit hard as he ducked through the doorway onto the roof, almost too bright for mid-January. He squinted, shrugging off the weight of it. The rooftop was still, that was what mattered. He moved toward the far corner, out of sight from the door, and pulled a cigarette from the inside of his coat. Just one. He wasn’t some chain-smoking idiot anymore. Egypt had already fucked up his lungs enough with stress-smoking, and Kakyoin had been the one to drag him off the habit afterward, but now, obviously, that didn’t matter.
He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, then pulled out his lighter and flicked it. The flame flared, kissing the edge of the paper, then snapped out under a streak of wind. The lighter slipped from his grip. He looked down, hand moving automatically, but it wasn’t on the floor.
“…The hell?”
Frowning, he patted the inside of his coat. Maybe it had fallen into the lining. But his search came up empty.
“That’s not good for you, you know, Kujo.”
The voice came from his left. Jotaro turned, eyes narrowing to find Kakyoin sitting on the low wall near the roof’s edge, legs crossed, a half-opened bento balanced neatly on his knees. The lighter spun once between his fingers, held delicately like a pen. He didn’t test the flame, just held it up like evidence.
Jotaro almost blinked. Memory loss or not, there was no way Kakyoin was already on his ass about smoking.
“Even if you’re a fourth-year,” Kakyoin added mildly, tilting his head slightly toward him.
“I’m not,” Jotaro muttered. “And it’s none of your damn business anyway.”
Kakyoin raised a brow. “Mm. You’ve got a deep voice. When I bumped into you earlier, I could tell you were tall. Seemed a fair guess.” He shifted the lighter once more between his fingers. “Also, I’d prefer not to smell smoke while I eat,” he said sternly, but not unkind.
Jotaro didn’t answer. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t on his ass; he just didn’t want the smell around his lunch. Nice thought, though.
“Didn’t think I’d see you up here,” Jotaro settled on after a beat. “I figured you’d be enjoying all your new transfer-student attention.” His voice carried the edge of sarcasm.
“Not exactly,” Kakyoin replied, tone still breezy, though something in his body language told Jotaro he still had his guard up. “Most people eat in the cafeteria. Or linger in the halls—”
“I don’t,” Jotaro cut in.
“Okay…” Kakyoin replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your fan girls with you then.”
“Hell no.”
“I guessed as much.” A faint smile flickered across his lips, there for a breath “Maybe we aren’t so different after all.” and gone the moment his words ended.
He returned to his food then, picking up his chopsticks as if that ended the conversation. But Jotaro wasn’t ready to let it drop. He studied Kakyoin a moment before speaking, voice flat.
“Hey, how’d you know it was me? Or were you just guessing?”
“Your steps are heavy,” he said simply. “Not hard to pick out, even without sight.” Still, he made no move to return the lighter.
Jotaro’s gaze dropped slightly. It wasn’t just Kakyoin holding it. His fingers were barely touching it now. Hovering, almost like he was pretending. For anyone else, it would’ve looked like sleight of hand, or wind catching the weight. But Jotaro saw it, plain as day, but he questioned it anyway.
“And if you’re blind, how’d you snag my lighter?”
Kakyoin didn’t look up, moving his chopsticks aside as he spoke. “Again, I’m blind, not deaf. I could hear you light it from over here. It wasn’t hard to grab once it hit the ground.”
“Is that so?” Jotaro started, voice low, “But that’s not all there is to it, is it?”
Kakyoin finally looked up. Jotaro didn’t waste the pause. “Tell your melon to give it back.”
Kakyoin’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing. His full attention now on Jotaro.
“…My what?”
“I’m assuming you don’t know what a Stand is,” he said. “So I’ll call it what it looks like. Assuming you remember that much.”
Jotaro knew what the Foundation had said, but clearly, a Stand wasn’t new to Kakyoin, so using that to justify himself, Jotaro kept speaking, gesturing lazily at the lighter, even if it was useless.
“So. That shiny green melon you've got. Tell him to give my lighter back.”
Kakyoin didn’t speak at first. His expression wasn’t awe, it was more like disbelief, carefully restrained behind a composed mask but still giving him away; his fingers twitched ever so slightly.
“You… can see him?”
Jotaro shrugged. “Kind of hard not to. He’s holding my lighter like a damn server.”
A pause. Then, with barely a motion, one of Hierophant's tendrils extended, carrying the lighter and setting it gently into Jotaro’s outstretched palm before retracting. He didn’t say thank you. Kakyoin sat still, but something in his posture shifted. Like a thread pulled taut, that polite disinterest from earlier was gone. In its place, something more interested.
Kakyoin sat still, but his head turned slightly toward Jotaro, eyes sharp even in their emptiness. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier? When we bumped into each other. You must’ve seen him then too.”
Jotaro met his blank gaze, unfazed. “Didn’t see the point in bringing it up.”
“…Didn’t see the point?” He echoed more to himself, “I’ve never met anyone who could see him before,” Kakyoin said. Hierophant Green shifted beside him. hands hovering loosely over Kakyoins shoulder. Jotaro flicked the lighter open once, then shut it again, he didn’t bother lighting the cigarette.
“You called him a Stand?” Kakyoin’s voice carried evenly, but his head tilted just slightly, like he was testing the word on his tongue.
“Yeah.” Jotaro leaned back against the wall, eyes settling on the sky. “Manifestation of your fighting spirit. Or soul. Depends who you ask.”
Kakyoin said nothing at first. His mouth pressed into a firm line, then softened, one corner lifting, not quite a smile. “Then my Stand’s name is Hierophant Green.” His hand rose, brushing lightly over the shimmer of green beside his shoulder. “He is my precious friend. And he acts as my eyes.”
Jotaro’s gaze flicked sideways, but he didn’t comment. Precious friend, huh.
Hierophant shifted in response, faint light bending in the air as its tendrils hovered close. Jotaro let his hand sink back into his coat pocket, then moved a step closer, lowering himself onto the wall beside Kakyoin. The scrape of his shoe against concrete was enough, Kakyoin turned his head a fraction toward the sound.
“You have a Stand as well then.”
“I only got mine around fifty days ago.”
Jotaro unwrapped the bento from his bag, voice flat, as if the number didn’t matter.
Kakyoin’s brow pinched faintly, the reaction subtle, fleeting. “Fifty… that’s recent.”
“Yeah.”
Kakyoin’s face eased again, head angling back toward the skyline. “I’ve had mine since I was a child.”
Well that explained the way he used it smoothly and instinctively. Like it had always been part of him. Jotrao pulled out a pair of chopsticks and started in on his lunch, the quiet punctuated only by the soft click of wood on plastic.
The sun shifted behind a sweep of clouds, glare dimming across the rooftop. Wind threaded through the railings, tugging faintly at Jotaro’s coat. Kakyoin sat unbothered, his hair barely stirring, violet eyes steady on nothing at all.
“You expected me to be more of a people person.” The words came without warning.
“Huh?”
“Earlier.” Kakyoin’s tone was even, almost casual, still not looking at him. “You said something about attention. I could tell you were surprised I wasn’t enjoying it.”
Jotaro shot him a sideways glance. “…I didn’t say that.”
A quiet curve of amusement slipped into Kakyoin’s voice. “No. But you’re not subtle.”
Jotaro grunted, the sound low and sharp in his throat. It wasn’t just the words; it was the ease with which Kakyoin read him that stung.
“I don’t dislike people,” Kakyoin continued, slower now, almost like he was thinking aloud. “But it’s tiring. Pretending to be interested in small talk when there’s no real connection beneath it.” His chopsticks moved idly, lifting a piece of egg as if it were an afterthought. “For a long time, I thought that was the only way. That interaction was useless if the connection couldn’t be genuine. If people couldn’t see every part of me, why see me at all?”
The egg disappeared between bites. Silence stretched. Then the final bell cut the rooftop air, echoing faintly off the concrete, interrupting their peace once more. And just like that morning, Kakyoin stirred, setting his chopsticks down. “But you can see Hierophant.” He said his voice was lighter now, though it carried something steadier underneath.
He rose, brushing at his uniform with that same careful calm. The Stand hovered at his shoulder, faint light catching as it closed the box and slipped it into his hands.
“And for that,” he added, turning toward the stairwell, “I hope to speak with you again, Kujo.”
Then he was gone, just like before. Descending the stairs without hurry, only leaving only the sound of the door closing behind him.
Jotaro stayed where he was, chopsticks idle in his hand, half-finished lunch forgotten in his lap. The wind picked up once more, tugging at his coat. He hadn’t asked for much. Hadn’t expected much either. But they’d talked. And even if Kakyoin didn’t remember why he talked like that with Jotaro, he still did.