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The day started out alright. He woke up before his alarm, turned it off, let his mother come in to wake him up a grand total of five times before actually getting up. Got to school precisely one minute late. Hopped the fence while eating toast. Slept through morning classes. Nearly punched a guy in the face because he tried to wake Jotaro up. Turned out the guy was a teacher but Jotaro just stared him down and the teacher let him off the hook. Perfectly normal. Average. Boring, in fact.

And then lunch rolled around.

As usual, Jotaro stuck his bento under his arm and sauntered out the door with his hands in his pockets. As usual, he stopped by a classroom a few doors down (to mooch notes off a particularly grateful and terrified nerd) and his favourite vending machine (sometimes two banana milks would drop!) before heading for that one stairwell in the creepy old building everyone claimed to be haunted. (Jotaro himself had contributed to the rumours, back when he was a first year, when he learnt it would keep people away. He’d enjoyed peace and quiet during lunch break ever since.)

He was halfway across the school when he saw a boy and a girl standing under the sakura tree behind the school, the gentle breeze tousling their hair and showering the scene with pale pink petals. It was like something straight out of a shoujo. It made Jotaro feel sick to his stomach.

Normally, Jotaro would just walk right past them. He’d ruin the moment, probably, given the limited amount of space between the tree and the wall, but honestly? He didn’t give a shit. If they really wanted privacy they should have invented a sakura tree ghost or something. Not that it would have deterred Jotaro, but he would have respected the effort.

So, you ask, what was it that made Jotaro bite back a curse and desperately duck out of sight?

Even though he could only see her from the back, Jotaro could tell exactly who the girl was: Miyakawa Yui, third-year, student council president and scariest person in the world. Not many people could intimidate Kujo Jotaro, but this tiny girl who stood a full 50cm shorter than him stood on par with Great-Grandma Elisabeth. Miyakawa was a fan of Jotaro’s– her words, not his– and was almost guaranteed to be carrying out some plan to trick Jotaro into falling in love with her at any given moment. Her commitment was admirable, in some ways, but mostly it was just creepy. He’d turned her down several times before, but she seemed convinced that persistence would yield different results. Jotaro felt like a heroine in one of those trashy afternoon dramas his mother liked to watch. (He wondered how much the actresses must be paid, to pretend like a man refusing to take no for an answer was at all attractive. If Jotaro had written the script, the heroine would have beaten the guy up with her bare fists, like, ten episodes ago.)

“So, what did you want to meet about?” Miyakawa asked, polite and formal as she always was when she wasn’t trying to shoehorn Jotaro into a date. “Do you have a particular concern about the school–?”

“N-No!” the boy cut her off hurriedly, obviously flustered. “U-Uh, no. I just… uh, here!” There was a rustle of plastic. “F-For you, senpai! My family o-owns a flower shop, so…”

Wait, was this an actual confession? Jotaro felt baffled. Everyone knew Miyakawa was (unfortunately) obsessed with Jotaro. Was this guy a first-year or something?

“Thank you?” Miyakawa said, sounding just as confused as Jotaro. “It’s, um, lovely, but why did you want to meet with me?”

The boy took a deep breath.

Oh no, thought Jotaro, bracing himself for impact. This guy was for real. He was going to do it. He was really going to confess to her.

“Miyakawa-senpai,” the boy gasped. “I-I really like you, please go out with me!”

He did it, thought Jotaro, feeling a little surreal. Poor bastard.

“You… like me?” Miyakawa repeated slowly, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What… What about me do you like?”

The question obviously took the kid by surprise. “U-Uh, well,” he began, fumbling. “O-Of course, you’re, uh, very pretty, but, um, w-what I like the most about you is your determination. You never give up on something once you’ve set your mind to it, even if the whole world tells you it’s impossible! I… I could never be so confident in myself, so it’s something I really admire about you, senpai.”

Man, this guy was in deep. Jotaro felt bad for the guy. He had no idea the girl he was crushing so hard on was actually the spawn of the devil. Ignorance truly was bliss.

“My determination, huh?” Miyakawa said absently, almost like she was talking to herself. “Perhaps that’s the key.”

Jotaro froze. That sounded ominous.

“…The key to what?” the boy asked, nervous.

“Jotaro-kun,” Miyakawa sighed, and Jotaro felt a chill run up his spine. “I’ve tried flirting, making him chocolates, going to all his baseball games to cheer him on– but he doesn’t respond to anything! I thought it’d be like in manga, you know, and the strength of my feelings would reach him, but…” She sighed again. “I just don’t know what to do anymore…”

“Oh,” was all the boy said, softly, but Jotaro could hear the poor kid’s heart breaking.

“Yes,” Miyakawa said decisively, somehow oblivious to the damage she’d caused. “I think I’ll showcase my determination, next. It’s gotten one boy to confess to me already, hasn’t it?”

The boy didn’t answer. Jotaro was legitimately appalled. He had the social skills of a hermit crab, but even he knew what she’d done was just downright cruel. The poor sod had bared his heart to her, and she’d just driven a stake right through it.

“Oh, yes, your answer,” Miyakawa added, like it was an afterthought. “I’m sorry, but it’s a no. I’m far too in love with Jotaro-kun to even consider anyone else. It’s not that you’re unattractive! It’s just, well, how could you compare to Jotaro-kun?”

That was it. Jotaro just saw red. It was like she didn’t even realise what a heartless bitch she was being. Well, Jotaro thought furiously as he stepped out from his hiding place, it was time someone destroyed her.

“Hey,” Jotaro called, striding up to the pair like a man on a mission. Miyakawa whirled around immediately, eyes sparkling as she cried, “Jotaro-kun!” but Jotaro kept his eyes fixed on the red-haired boy who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Jotaro-kun, you know–” Miyakawa started babbling, but Jotaro shoved her aside.

“You,” Jotaro said once he was right in front of the boy, pointing at him to make sure they both knew exactly who he was talking to. “You’re the most attractive person I’ve ever seen, date me.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open in shock. Somewhere to Jotaro’s left, Miyakawa let out a horrified squeak.

Without waiting for an answer, Jotaro turned on his heel and plucked the single red rose (really, kid? Way to come on too strong) from Miyakawa’s hands. “You don’t deserve this,” he snarled at her. “It’s mine now.”

He grabbed the still-gaping boy’s wrist and dragged him away. The kid didn’t even protest, just followed along with that dumb look on his face. The one time Jotaro looked back to glare, Miyakawa was staring after them, absolutely bewildered. Good.

“Um,” the kid said timidly, when they finally came to a halt, “aren’t there ghosts in this building?”

Jotaro snorted. He fished his banana milk out of his pocket and tossed it at the boy. “Sorry,” he grunted, feeling embarrassment start to creep up on him now that the rage was dying down.

The boy laughed, though it sounded hollow. He fiddled with the banana milk, poking the straw in and taking a sip. “It’s not your fault it’s haunted,” he said lightly, leaning against the wall.

Well, it kind of was, but Jotaro wasn’t about to tell him that. “She was a real dickhead,” he offered instead. And then, because he felt like he should at least try to be comforting, “You can do better.”

“Well, you’re proof of that,” the boy said, still using that light, joking tone. “You did just scream at me to date you.”

Jotaro felt his face start to burn. “I didn’t scream,” he mumbled, mortified. Had he really said something so embarrassing? Where had his brain-to-mouth filter gone?

“Hey,” the boy said, jolting Jotaro out of his pit of shame. His eyes flicked up to meet Jotaro’s, violet and piercing. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Jotaro grunted, because it was true. The poor bastard had suffered enough.

The boy eyed him a little longer, but didn’t argue. He heaved a great sigh and pushed off the wall, brushing the dust from his uniform. “I have to go before the shop runs out of bread,” he told Jotaro. “I’ll see you around.”

“Are you okay?” Jotaro found himself blurting out, feeling oddly concerned.

The kid didn’t even turn around, just saluted Jotaro with two fingers and continued walking. Jotaro watched him sip his banana milk as he walked away, strides even and calm, like nothing had even happened.

It wasn’t until he disappeared around a corner that Jotaro realised he never got the boy’s name.

The next day, Jotaro found a note in his shoe locker, weighted down by a little bottle of banana milk.

Jotaro knows he gets his rebellious side from his grandfathers– even in their 90s, they constantly find things to bicker about. Grandma Suzie and Jotaro’s mother, Holly, are the only people who can keep them in line, but they’ve whisked Jotaro’s daughter, Jolyne, away for a week-long girls-only holiday. As far as Jotaro knows, they were going on a cruise somewhere in the Atlantic. They’d probably tell poor Jolyne wildly inaccurate facts about sea life and teach her how best to embarrass the living daylights out of Jotaro.

That’s all well and good. It’s good for Jolyne to spend some time with her grandmother and great-grandmother. Jotaro is supportive of it, even if he later dies of mortification under the combined efforts of all three women.

It’s just.

When his mother came to pick Jolyne up, she also dropped off his grandfathers.

Again, Jotaro loves his grandfathers. He does. But when they’re both stubborn old men who can barely hear a thing yet refuse to wear their hearing aids, things get… difficult.

“Jotaro!” Grandpa Joseph exclaims when he totters through Jotaro’s front door. “We haven’t seen you in ages, boy! Why don’t you ever come and visit?”

“He’s got better things to do than come see our ugly old mugs,” Grandpa Caesar grumbles back, swatting at Grandpa Joseph’s head with the speed and strength of a much younger man. He leans heavily on his walking stick as he takes his shoes off. The stick wobbles in a manner that terrifies Jotaro, but when he offers his arm as support the old man waves him off impatiently. “I’m not that old!” he insists. He is ninety-three.

“Yes you are, stubborn idiot!” Grandpa Joseph tells him, braced against the wall for balance as he slips on his indoor slippers. “Let the kid help you!”

“Grandpa, I’m 41,” says Jotaro.

“When I was 41,” Grandpa Joseph begins, and both Jotaro and Grandpa Caesar groan.

“Nobody wants to hear your grandfather stories!” Grandpa Caesar shouts, and nearly falls over when he tries to jam his feet in the indoor slippers. Luckily, Star Platinum manages to catch him, and delicately slides his feet into the indoor slippers. “You see,” Grandpa Caesar crows at Jotaro triumphantly. “I don’t need your help!”

“He helped you with his Stand, doofus!”

“What? I couldn’t hear what you said, but it was an insult, wasn’t it?!”

Caesar’s musings on his human self’s intelligence were interrupted by the front door slamming shut. “Caesar!” shouted Dio in a particularly petulant voice, stomping about in the entry hall. “Caesar!!”

Caesar sighed. “What?” he asked, annoyed. At a regular volume, thank you very much, because unlike his wretched maker, he was considerate of the fact that Dio could hear him perfectly fine from the other side of the house.

“Those damn werewolves across the street!” grumbled Dio, stomping into the library with vampiric speed. “They’ve invited us to a- a barbecue! Of all things!”

Caesar snorted, turning a page in his book. Of course this was about the Joestars. Dio hated them. Caesar didn’t really know why; they’d been nothing but perfectly pleasant since Caesar’s birth. It was probably something like their dog took a shit on Dio’s lawn a hundred years ago and Dio was still salty about it even though the dog in question was dead. Dio was petty enough for it to be true.

“That damn Jojo!” Dio snarled, punching right through the ugly, beat-up old armchair they kept around for this specific purpose. “Vampires and werewolves have been enemies for millennia! I have openly despised him and his wretched family for a hundred years! And now he wants us to come to a barbecue– all for some neighbourly bonding! Have you ever heard of a more ridiculous thing?!”

“No,” Caesar said dryly, because there really was no point arguing with Dio. “What an awful thing to do.”

“Absolutely outrageous!” agreed Dio, clawing at the armchair in rage and leaving an impressively deep gash on the seat. “A barbecue indeed! We can’t even eat!”

Caesar wasn’t even listening anymore. “Very thoughtless of them.”

“Yes, quite,” said Dio rather hotly. And then, like an idea had occurred to him, “In fact, we should go over there right now and prove to them how thoughtless an invitation it was!”

“Right, of course,” said Caesar absently, then paused. “Wait, what did you say?”

Dio tsked impatiently, already halfway across the house. “We’re going out, boy!” he declared triumphantly, once again far too loud for Caesar’s poor ears. “Put on your coat and we’ll be off!”

Human Caesar must have been an idiot. Of all the vampires in the world, why Dio? Why make vampire Caesar suffer so? Had he been a masochist as a human?

“Now!” screeched Dio, making Caesar flinch.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” Caesar yelled back, closing his book with a disgruntled thump. He’d been looking forward to a quiet night of reading by the fireplace, maybe sipping some blood out of a wine glass, something real classy. Instead, he was going to spend it hanging around some rowdy werewolves, sniffing food he couldn’t even eat. Great.

He was not looking forward to this barbecue at all.

“You came!” cried Jonathan Joestar with far more enthusiasm than a visit from Dio warranted. “It’s good to see you, Dio.”

“I saw you literally five minutes ago,” snapped Dio, glaring.

“Yes, but I’m always pleased when you take me up on my invitations!” Jonathan chirped, unfazed. “Ah, and you’ve brought young Caesar, too! Finally grown into your fangs, have you?”

“Not quite yet,” Caesar admitted, a little embarrassed, “but I’m getting there.” His bouts of bloodlust were definitely decreasing, but he wasn’t ready to go out into proper society quite yet. While that, unfortunately, meant being cooped up in the house with only Dio for company most of the time, it was better than going beserk in the middle of the street and killing every human within smelling distance.

Jonathan nodded sagely. “That’s quite alright,” he told Caesar kindly. “You’re only six months old, aren’t you? Most vampires take years to fully master control. You’re doing very well.”

Caesar glowed with the praise. He was so much nicer than Dio was. Why couldn’t human Caesar have asked Jonathan to give him the Bite? Sure, werewolves weren’t quite as immortal as vampires, but they still lived a damn long time.

“It’s quite unusual, actually,” Jonathan continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder– perhaps you practiced magic as a human–”

“Are you inviting us in or not?” Dio cut in harshly, because of course he couldn’t bear for attention to stray from himself, the arrogant bastard.

“Oh, yes, of course, please come in,” said Jonathan, stepping back to let them in. “Now, Caesar, I must tell you, there are a few humans in our pack–”

Caesar froze. Dio gripped his elbow roughly, a silent reminder that his maker was here to control him should it become necessary. “Jojo, are you mad?!” Dio demanded. “Are you looking to traumatise the poor child–”

“Don’t worry, it will be quite alright!” Jonathan assured them, warm smile still in place. “They’re all wearing amulets to conceal their scents. Standard practice; our young ones can get rather overzealous, too,” he added, winking at Caesar.

Caesar took a deep breath to calm himself down. Everything would be fine. There were at least a dozen werewolves in the house, judging by the heartbeats, and Dio, too. They’d never let Caesar actually attack anyone. It’d be fine.

“Alright,” he said, voice small but firm.

Dio dropped his grip on Caesar’s elbow. Instead, he started sniffing around conspicuously. “Where’s the blood?” he asked, eyes narrowed at Jonathan. “Or did you intend on serving vampires meat?”

Jonathan gasped, eyes wide. Caesar was surprised. Had he actually–

“Oh, did you forget that we can’t eat?” Dio sneered, delighted. “What an absolutely dreadful host you are–”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Jonathan cried, distraught, as he dashed into the kitchen. “We were just warming it up for you– nobody likes cold blood, do they– and I think we might have left it a little too long–”

There was a hurried click, a sigh of relief, and then Jonathan came back into the room carrying a large dispenser filled with A negative. “Not to worry!” he said happily. “Thirty-seven degrees exactly. I’ve slapped one of those new charm things on it to keep it warm all night! Isn’t technology brilliant?”

“Yes,” growled Dio through gritted teeth. “Very lovely indeed.”

Caesar coughed to disguise his laughter. Jonathan didn’t notice, just continued chattering on about something or other as he led them through the house; but Dio shot him a nasty look.

Caesar widened his eyes and blinked at him innocently, just to see Dio’s face twist into an ugly glare. Maybe this barbecue thing wouldn’t be too bad, after all.

They’d only been at the barbecue for an hour, and already Caesar was bored out of his mind. Dio had been dragged off into some adult conversation about the economy and stocks and other boring things like that in the first ten minutes, which Caesar had been happy about since it meant he didn’t have to put up with Dio’s whining. Unfortunately, it left Caesar leaning against the wooden fence all by himself, awkwardly sipping at the blood in his wine glass as he watched the party go on around him. The three picnic tables on the other side of the yard was obviously the kids’ tables; Caesar considered approaching them, but he could hear the slightly-slower heartbeats of humans among them, though he didn’t know exactly who they were. Better not to take the risk. He’d never forgive himself if he tried to eat one of those tiny toddlers.

Still, it was… nice, in a way, to hear the sounds of a huge family. It was familiar, soothing, in a way that made Caesar think his human self had been used to a large household. The Brando house was just as large as this one, and well lived-in, but much, much quieter– especially since it housed two stealthy vampires instead of a whole pack of boisterous werewolves.

“Enjoying yourself?” asked a kind voice from Caesar’s left, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“U-Um,” said Caesar, caught off-guard. “I– yes, yes I am.”

The blonde woman beside him laughed. “No need to lie about it,” she said, smiling at him with a twinkle in her eye. “You might not have a heartbeat for me to listen to, but I can still tell when a man is lying to me.”

Caesar was sure that if he still had blood, it would be rushing to his face. “I-I’m very sorry,” he started to stammer, mortified. “I didn’t mean–”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologise!” the woman laughed, not unkindly. She clasped her hands behind her back, looking out at the party with fond eyes. “When I first came to one of these things, I was terribly nervous. All these werewolves– what was a human girl going to talk to them about?”

Was she human, then? She was oddly scentless, and her heartbeat seemed slower, calmer than most of the others.

Caesar shifted nervously. “I, uh, think you might like to stand further away, I’m a newborn–”

“So I just didn’t,” the woman continued as if Caesar had never spoken, her smile never faltering. “I didn’t speak to anyone at all. For hours, I just stood by and looked in from the sidelines. Everyone looked like they were having so much fun– and I was absolutely miserable.”

“T-That’s– terrible, but my bloodlust–”

“And then I realised,” she interrupted yet again, turning back to smile at Caesar warmly, “that the only thing stopping me from having a good time was my fear. Not of the werewolves– but of myself.”

Caesar paused. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly, staring into her wise blue eyes.

“Sometimes,” she said with a cryptic smile, “you need to take a leap of faith.”

Caesar blinked at her, trying to make sense of her words–

“Hey!” shouted a rather large young man from the middle of the yard, where all the kids were gathered, stretching and warming up as led by a boy with an impressive pompadour. “We need one more for Long Pole Charge! Anyone? Mom and Dad? C’mon, you guys aren’t that old yet!”

“We’d kick your butts too hard!”

“Aw, c’mon!”

Caesar was intrigued. He wondered what kind of game this Long Pole Charge was. Knowing werewolves, it probably involved a lot of rough physical contact–

“One volunteer, right here!” called the blonde woman next to Caesar, and none-too-gently shoved him forward.

Caesar turned back to stare at her with horror. “What–”

“Leap of faith,” she told him, winking. “Have fun!”

“A brave volunteer!” cried the large young man from before, bounding over and slapping Caesar on the back in a friendly (but quite painful) gesture. He quickly slung one beefy arm around Caesar’s neck as if they were old friends, and shot the blonde woman a sly grin and a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Granny Erina, you’re the best!”

Granny Erina returned the thumbs-up, cackling at Caesar. She was the worst, Caesar thought helplessly.

“Hey, you weren’t here last year, were you?” the man dragging Caesar across the yard asked, as if there was any way he’d have missed a vampire showing up at a werewolf family reunion. “I’m Joseph, macho badboy extraordinaire!”

Macho badboy extraordinaire? “I’m Caesar.”

“Nice to meet you, Caesar! We don’t get a lot of vamps at our barbecues– are you Uncle Dio’s plus one?”

The way Joseph waggled his eyebrows implied a relationship that made Caesar legitimately nauseous. “He’s my maker,” Caesar managed through his disgust. “We’re not– he’s more like a father figure–”

“Hey, it’s all cool, we don’t kinkshame,” Joseph said casually, a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

“You’re the worst,” Caesar told him, glaring. “I de-volunteer myself, I’m going home.”

Joseph laughed, like he thought Caesar was joking. Or maybe that arm around Caesar’s neck was there to impede any attempts at escape. Both seemed likely.

“Alright, everyone, huddle up!” Joseph yelled at the gaggle of Joestars spread out around some form of court that had been crudely drawn in the dirt with werewolf claws. The kids clustered around Joseph excitedly, looking to him with bright eyes. A little toddler who was inexplicably wearing sunglasses tugged at Joseph’s jeans; Joseph (finally) released Caesar and swept her into his arms.

“Are we starting yet?” whined a little girl wearing a butterfly tank top. “We’ve been waiting for ages!”

“It’s only been five minutes,” a small blond boy sniffed at her.

“Ages,” the butterfly girl repeated stubbornly. The two kids exchanged glares, baring their teeth and growling at each other, until a teenager in a ragged hat nudged them both with a large leg.

“Save it for the game, guys,” Joseph laughed. “Alright, everyone. Mr Tall Dark and Dead Inside over here is Caesar from across the street, he’ll be on Jotaro’s team today. Uh,” he whirled around to face Caesar, “Jotaro’s the broody emo kid over there. You’ll be playing Defense first, that okay with you?”

“Uh,” said Caesar awkwardly. Did Joseph expect him to already know how to play? “I’ve never played before.”

“Oh!” said Joseph, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Right, sorry about that. Uh, basically, Attack team’s gotta get from one end of the court to the other, and Defense team’s gotta stop them. There’s a bunch of rules and stuff, but as long as you don’t, like, maim someone it should be fine. Okay, everyone ready?”

Wait, what? Was that it? Caesar opened his mouth to protest, maybe suggest he watch a game before diving into it, but somehow he found himself shoved and manhandled by various people until he was standing on a horizontal line behind a human woman with short, dark hair who was already crouched into what looked like a grappling stance.

The shrill sound of a whistle pierced the air before Caesar could look around any more, and suddenly the attack team was charging towards them, howling their battlecries. Jotaro, who had been placed on the first line, moved surprisingly fast; he managed to block two of the five runners, tossing one across the field carelessly and throwing the other over his shoulder to immobilise her.

The human woman in front of him let out a terrifyingly loud warcry and leapt at the three runners, pouncing directly onto the huge bodybuilder-esque man and toppling him into Joseph, sending all three of them falling into the dirt. She tried to reach out and grab at butterfly girl’s ankle, but the girl nimbly avoided the attack and kept running.

Belatedly, Caesar realised that he was next in line. The butterfly girl, quick as lightning, ran past Caesar under his outstretched arms. He whirled around, trying to grab her, but just barely missed. He was about to give chase when a loud roar from behind him; Joseph had managed to detangle himself from the other two and was charging at Caesar head-on. The court was small enough that there wasn’t room to manoeuvre around Caesar, not for a big guy like Joseph; the only way past was through. Caesar dropped into a crouch and planted his feet into the ground, almost reflexively, like his body had done this hundreds of times before–

Caesar ducked down and caught Joseph around the waist. He was pushed back a few inches, his heels leaving distinct tracks in the dirt, but held firm. Joseph was strong – he struggled desperately to escape, trying to pry Caesar’s arms off, but nothing would shake Caesar. Even when his efforts sent them both tumbling to the ground, Caesar held on, knowing that there was no way Joseph could get past the other two blockers and complete the run with Caesar as dead weight.

“Man, you’re clingy,” Joseph panted, squirming. “Just give up already, aren’t you tired?”

“No, are you?” Caesar retorted, grinning to show off his fangs. “I could do this all day.”

“Stubborn bastard,” Joseph accused, but grinned back.

Suddenly, the whistle sounded again. Both Caesar and Joseph looked up– little butterfly girl was at the far end of the court, jumping up and down and shouting with excitement.

“Well done, Jolyne!” Joseph yelled at her, his smile wide and triumphant. “Score’s 1-0 to Joseph team, alright!”

Caesar groaned and released his grip, letting his arms fall to the ground with exhaustion. Joseph was on his feet in a flash, going around to high five his teammates and ruffle Jolyne’s hair and just generally celebrate in the most obnoxious way possible.

“Don’t mind,” said a very large, very muscular man Caesar swore he’d seen on the other team, helping Caesar up with one beefy arm. “We’ll get ‘em next time. Catch your breath, we’re running next.”

Caesar nodded, competitive spirit burning like fire in his stomach. The next few rounds proved that the teams were pretty well-balanced. They’d decided that the first team to a 3-point lead would win, but neither team seemed to be able to pull ahead. Eventually, Caesar’s team managed to snag two games in a row, prompting hearty, excited yells from his team and jeers from the other.

“Let’s settle this!” shouted Jotaro as the team settled onto the defense lines, and everyone, including Caesar, yelled back an affirmative.

Of course, this was the moment Joseph decided to cheat. He plucked the sunglasses-wearing baby from Granny Erina’s arms and set her gently onto the court. “Oh my god!” he gasped then, putting his hands to his face dramatically. “Shizuka Joestar, the most fearsome runner of them all, is on the court!!”

“Win this one for us, Shizuka!” shouted the rest of Joseph’s team, clapping and cheering. “You’re the best, Shizuka!”

“Dirty cheaters!” Caesar’s beefy teammate, Messina, yelled at them, but didn’t protest when Shizuka, babbling happily, started toddling across the court.

It was the best run all day. Shizuka tugged at Jotaro’s pant leg, and he came tumbling to the ground. She wrapped her arms around Tomoko in a hug, and Tomoko keeled over, pressing kisses to her chubby cheeks before pretending to die. Thrilled by her winning streak, the little girl went straight for Caesar. The sight of her wobbling over to him on unsteady legs made him smile, and he crouched low to pretend-block her path.

“Watch out, Shizuka, that one’s pretty tough!” cried Joseph from the sidelines, and Shizuka stuck her tiny hands into Caesar’s face. Caesar fell backwards with a dramatic gasp, covering his face with his hands in mock pain. Shizuka laughed, bright and pure, and decided to crawl over Caesar’s body instead of going around. The scent-masking amulet around her neck swung as she moved and brushed against Caesar’s neck, tickling him.

Suddenly, the tickle became a sharp pain that travelled like a jolt of electricity through the rest of Caesar’s body, shocking a strangled gasp out of him– and then that pain turned into pressure, constricting Caesar’s chest and squeezing the breath out of him, even as he gasped for air. He barely registered panicked shouts, faces leaning over him, worried hands on his shoulders–

–and then he was seeing something else– hundreds of claw marks on grainy wood– walls splattered red with blood– a scream, a blood-curdling scream that seemed to go on forever–

“Caesar!” Dio’s voice, this time, cutting through the fog like only his maker’s could. “I’m taking him home, right now–”

Other voices joined the fray, but Caesar couldn’t make any of them out clearly:

“–at’s happening–”

“–bloodlust?–”

“–fault, all my fault–”

My fault. The words echoed in Caesar’s brain for what felt like ages, growing louder and louder and louder–

(For more than a few moments, you truly considered arranging a horrible, offensive ceremony, to scare off the princess he is to wed– but doing so would scare off her father, too, and the kingdom cannot be made to suffer for your sins.)

You wonder what the princess is like. From what you hear, she is beautiful and lovely and kind, a warm ray of sunshine next to her father’s ice-cold demeanour. She is mischievous, too, you hear the scullery maids gossiping when you go to fetch his meals from the kitchen. A match made in heaven, they coo. How lucky, they sigh.

She sounds perfect.

You hope she is. He has you to keep him humble, his council to teach him wisdom, the heavy crown on his head to remind him of his duty to his people; he needs someone like her to keep him human, to lift his spirits when he is weighed down by responsibility, to make sure the light and joy in his heart never dims.

(There was once you believed– hoped– that you could do that, for him. But you have tried, all these years, to do just that, and the darkness you absorbed so he didn’t have to, the sorrow you bore to preserve his joy– they weigh you down like a stone in your stomach, eat at you like a parasite destroying you from within. You know now that your dream was impossible to begin with; there was blood on your hands and black in your soul from the moment you entered service. How could one so impure ever achieve a goal so noble?)

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t realise someone’s joined you until he speaks your name, gentle and hesitant, like you might break if he raises his voice. It’s not as untrue as one might think.

You ignore him, gazing instead at the stars outside your window. He is getting married tomorrow, you think, as your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, to smooth over soft, pampered skin, to run your hands over every inch of him and memorise every detail.

No. It would be a sin, now that he is betrothed, and you have sinned enough for one lifetime.

He calls your name again, this time pleading and distraught, and comes to wrap his arms around your waist and press kisses to your hair. This isn’t the end, he whispers, naïve. This doesn’t change– us.

Oh, but it does, it does, because even if he can live with wronging his wife, you cannot. You are a man of pride and chivalry and honour, and never have you so desperately wished you weren’t.

He is getting married tomorrow.

And yet, you cannot bring yourself to pull away.

You turn suddenly and kiss him, hot and desperate, fingers tangling in his dark hair. He seems surprised, tries to say something when you break apart, but you suck hard at the hollow of his neck, and his words trail off into a gasp. It will leave a mark, one that his princess will undoubtedly discover, and the thought fills you with a fierce satisfaction.

You’ve made your decision.

Tomorrow, he will get married. Tomorrow, this– you and he– will end. From tomorrow onwards, both of you will fulfil your duties, your roles, your destinies, as perfectly as is expected of you.

So tomorrow, you will go to confession, and tonight–

One week ago, Joseph met up with Josuke to catch up over coffee. He’d barely seen his little cousin since he’d moved to the city; now that Josuke is here for university, it was the least Joseph could do as a responsible adult to treat him to some coffee and cake.

That was all well and good. He’s always gotten along well with Josuke despite the age gap. The coffee was superb, the conversation flowed smoothly, they both took little jibes at each other as they were always wont to do, it was like old times. Joseph had been having a grand time, laughing it up and soaking in nostalgia.

And then the phone call came.

The call itself was nothing spectacular, just Caesar checking in and asking what Joseph wanted for dinner. Caesar was just coming down from a nasty cold, ill enough that Joseph refused to let him go into work but well enough that he was starting to get restless. Joseph scolded him for trying to cook when he should be sleeping (“You’d just get snot in the food, idiot!”) and said he’d buy back the nice beef stroganoff from that one place Caesar really likes and told him to not, under any circumstances, watch that day’s Masterchef without Joseph. Standard, everyday stuff, really.

Only, when Joseph hung up and turned back to his cousin, Josuke’s eyebrows were raised so high they were practically disappearing into his hairline. “Bro,” he said, sounding mortally offended. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone?”

Joseph frowned. “I’m not?” he said, confused. “Why would you say that?”

“Uh, the phone call?” Josuke said, like it was supposed to be obvious.

Which, of course, it wasn’t, because, “That was just Caesar. You know, my roommate I’ve been telling you about? His mom made cannolis for me to bring home last Christmas–”

“Dude,” Josuke interrupted, his face suddenly gravely serious. “You know I’d be cool with you having a boyfriend, right? Like, it’s not a big deal, I’d support you all the way.”

Why was Josuke bringing that up now? “Uh, thanks?” Joseph said uncertainly. “But–”

“I’m just salty because you didn’t tell me about it,” Josuke continued, pouting a little. “I get why, of course, but this seems like a pretty serious relationship, and you know that I, of all people, would never judge you–”

It was a little too much information for Joseph to handle at once. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “Let me get this straight. You think Caesar and I have a serious relationship?”

“Well, you watch Masterchef together every day and haven’t shut up about him since we sat down, so yes.”

Joseph felt lost. “Well, we aren’t,” he told him lamely, mind reeling. Caesar was his best friend! Wasn’t it normal to follow TV series with friends? And of course he had lots to say about Caesar, he was the one person Joseph came into contact with the most, seeing as they, y’know, lived together. And one more thing, “What do you mean, you of all people?”

Josuke froze. “Uh.”

And then Josuke came out to him, but that’s a whole different story.

Josuke didn’t know what he was talking about, Joseph thought to himself, feeling weirdly outraged about the whole thing, as he stomped up the stairs with plastic bags of takeaway in his hands. (He used to take the lift, but Caesar insisted they take the stairs because it was better for their health.)

Josuke was just– trying to rile Joseph up, probably. The kid probably didn’t know anything about dating, anyway. He obviously couldn’t appreciate the fact that two fully-grown, attractive adults could live together without being in a romantic relationship. Why, Joseph had shared flats with equally if not more attractive people than Caesar (who, despite his handsome face, Joseph knew for a fact could stuff three whole slices of double pepperoni pizza into his mouth at once) and had never had any inclination to date them. Caesar was no different.

Joseph texted that to Josuke immediately, stabbing at his phone with just enough force as was necessary. It was justified! After all, it was an absolutely preposterous idea. Imagine, Joseph and Caesar, dating. Ridiculous.

That’s because you’re already dating him, Josuke replied almost instantaneously, like he didn’t have any studying to do. Can’t miss something you already have.

That– That was–

YOU ARE WRONG, Joseph typed back furiously, and shoved his phone into his pocket as he wrenched the door to his flat open.

“Hey,” he called, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. “You feeling better?”

Caesar’s head popped out from the huge pile of blankets on the sofa. “Could be worse,” he grumbled, his nose stuffy and his hair in a mess, but his eyes lit up at the sight of the plastic bag in Joseph’s hand.

Joseph grinned. “I got lasagne, too, we can share,” he said, setting the plastic bag down on the coffee table to strip off his coat. Caesar was already budging up to make room, clicking through their recordings to put on Masterchef.

“Cold,” Caesar complained when Joseph burrowed into the blanket-nest with him and tucked his feet under Caesar’s thighs.

“Warm,” Joseph replied smugly, and handed Caesar his beef stroganoff. “Shit, they forgot to give me another spoon. Ah, whatever, we’ll just share.”

“I’m sick, idiot,” Caesar protested, eyes glued to the TV. “Just get up off your ass and go get one from the kitchen.”

“But I’m lazy,” Joseph whined, sprawling himself over Caesar as annoyingly as possible. “I’m probably already infected anyway!”

“Don’t come crying to me when you get sick,” Caesar sniffed, giving up. “Now shut up, we’re missing the show.”

Joseph shut up and rearranged his limbs into a more comfortable position against Caesar, warm and familiar, settling in to wait patiently for the spoon. Josuke was obviously delusional, Joseph decided. What did he know about Joseph and Caesar? Absolutely nothing. After all, here Joseph was, basically cuddled up to Caesar, and he had no particular desire to date him or kiss him or otherwise be romantic with him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Really? Josuke had texted.

Joseph groaned and buried his phone under a cushion, where its buzzing could plague him no longer.

See, the thing is.

That was just the beginning. The first day. The calm before the storm. Everything is all messed up now, and it’s all thanks to goddamn Josuke. If Josuke hadn’t come to university in the city, Joseph would never have met up with him. If they’d never met up, Josuke would never have assumed that Joseph and Caesar were dating. If he’d never assumed they were dating, he’d never have brought it up. If he’d never brought it up, Joseph would never have thought about it. And if Joseph had never thought about it, he’d be living his life in perfect happiness.

But all that happened, and since then Joseph couldn’t stop thinking about it.

On Monday, Joseph let Caesar sleep in and went to the gym by himself. Caesar’d called in sick from work, anyway, and he needed the rest. It was harder to stay awake and motivated to work out without Caesar’s annoying chatter in the car. Plus, the coffee machine was some fancy complicated thing Caesar refused to let Joseph touch lest he break it, so Joseph was running on zero caffeine this morning.

Needless to say, Joseph was a little grumpy when he stepped into the locker room.

“Hey,” he grunted at Messina and Loggins, heading for his usual locker across from them. Both men did a double take at the sight of him, eyes wide and nearly bugging out of their heads.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Messina asked, concerned.

Oh God, not this again. Joseph was not in the mood. “He’s not my boyfriend!” he snapped, letting his bag slam down onto the bench.

Messina and Loggins looked at each other, seemingly holding an entire conversation solely with their eyebrows. (Well, eyebrow ridge, for Loggins, seeing as he was taking clean-shaven to new heights.) Joseph ignored them both, mood even darker than before, and hung his work clothes up in his locker before slamming it shut.

“I’m sure whatever it is he did, he didn’t mean it,” Loggins tried hesitantly.

Joseph wanted to strangle something. A fight. They thought he and Caesar were having a lover’s spat. Because they thought they were dating. Goddamnit!

“We’re not fighting,” Joseph bit out, fuming. “He’s sick, had a fever last night. And we’re not dating, either!”

The two men exchanged worried glances. “Alright,” Loggins said slowly, obviously humouring him. “Hang in there, kid.”

“You’re good for each other, you and Caesar,” Messina added. “Don’t give up without a fight.”

“Wh– I told you, we aren’t–!”

“Okay, okay, we got it.” They clapped his back, friendly and kind, and headed for the door.

“But we really aren’t dating!” Joseph shouted frantically at their backs.

His only answer was the sound of the door swinging shut.

“Why,” Joseph moaned, and buried his face in his hands.

On Tuesday, Joseph brought out his lunch at work and found that Caesar’d made the little octopus-sausages Joseph loved. Last week, Joseph would have Snapchatted his lunch with a thank you and be done with it, but today Joseph was stressing over whether or not regular friends and roommates made cutesy lunches for each other. No, said Josuke’s voice in his head. Caesar hates the octopus-sausages and would never do them for himself. Which means he took the extra effort to make these specifically for you.

Did that mean they were dating??

“Ooh, nice,” Smokey commented, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Man, I wish I could get lunches like those. You’re lucky.”

And comments like these! Last week, Joseph would have assumed Smokey was only jealous of his lunch, but no, said Josuke’s voice, like a stubborn bastard, he’s jealous of the relationship he thinks you’re in.

“Don’t say that,” Joseph snapped, more viciously than Smokey deserved, scaring the poor kid out of the break room. He’d apologise to him later, but right now Joseph couldn’t believe that everyone he knew seemed to believe he and Caesar were dating.

The worst thing was, people at the office had been making these sorts of comments for literally months.

Even his coworkers thought he’d been dating Caesar. For months.

Months.

Joseph let his face fall on the table, feeling very much like crying.

On Wednesday, Joseph came home feeling shitty.

“I told you,” Caesar had been saying for the last ten minutes. “I told you you’d get sick if we shared a spoon, but did you listen? No, no you didn’t, because you’re a huge idiot.”

Joseph, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon on the sofa, coughed pathetically. “Yes, okay, you were right, I was wrong, will you please start making me feel better? My throat feels like I’ve been eating gravel.”

“Stop whining, you’re only getting what you deserve,” Caesar told him. Stone cold.

“I did nothing to deserve your nagging,” Joseph mumbled, and there was a pointed clang from the kitchen, but otherwise there was no response. “Could you at least change the channel? You know I hate Wheel of Fortune.”

“You’re supposed to be sweating out a fever, not enjoying yourself,” Caesar grumped, but changed it to Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader? anyway.

“This isn’t much better,” Joseph whined, squirming in his cocoon. Maybe if he wriggled enough, he could get out–

“Lie still and suffer,” Caesar snapped, “or I’ll turn it off.”

Joseph gasped dramatically, feeling betrayal shoot through his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

…He would. Joseph shut up.

He was actually able to get into the show, eventually, and was shouting answers at the screen when Caesar finally emerged from the kitchen with two steaming bowls of food. Joseph nearly teared up. Caesar was the best roommate, cooking something delicious for poor sick Joseph–

“It’s plain congee,” Caesar declared, setting one down on the coffee table. “Yum yum.”

Joseph teared up for a totally different reason. “Caesar,” he wailed even though it made his throat hurt like a bitch, kicking so hard he actually managed to unravel the blanket cocoon. “That’s sick people food!”

“You are a sick people! Eat it!”

Joseph made a disgusted noise (that came out even more horrible than he’d intended thanks to all the phlegm in his throat), but sat up and took the bowl begrudgingly. He took a sip. The hot congee soothed his itchy throat as it went down, and all the fight drained out of him at once. Plain congee was sick people food for a reason.

“No chicken, no eggs, no dairy, no deep-fried food,” Caesar reminded him, settling down next to him with his own bowl of congee. His, Joseph noticed enviously, had salted eggs and chicken strips. “I texted your boss and called in sick for you, get some rest tomorrow.”

Joseph blinked. “You have my boss’ phone number?”

“No, I texted her from your phone.”

“Oh,” said Joseph, dumbfounded. Caesar knew his passcode. Which wasn’t surprising, seeing as he knew Caesar’s, and yet it was sort of blowing his mind. Was it normal for friends to do that? Was it weird that Caesar didn’t ask? And that Joseph didn’t care?

“Was that okay?” Caesar asked, interrupting Joseph’s freak-out. “I’ve texted people for you before, so…”

He had, hadn’t he. Several times. Joseph had never thought anything of it until now. Goddamn it, Josuke!

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Joseph assured him, mind still reeling. Caesar didn’t look convinced, so he nudged Caesar gently with his shoulder. “Hey, thanks.”

Caesar smiled and nudged back, and to Joseph’s horror, his heart squeezed tight in his chest at the casual contact. “No problem.”

Joseph flashed him a quick smile, then quickly turned back to his congee and the TV, feeling inexplicably warm where Caesar’s shoulder touched his.

What was going on?

On Thursday, Joseph woke up from his nap to a hand on his forehead.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Caesar whispered, pulling the blankets up over Joseph’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?” Joseph mumbled, sleep-heavy.

“About six. I was just about to go to the supermarket, you want anything?”

“Mm, I’ll come with you.” He started to sit up, blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

“It’s okay, you need your rest,” Caesar tried, looking concerned.

“I’ve been resting all day. You won’t get the tasty unhealthy snacks if I don’t go with you, anyway.”

Caesar laughed, fingers combing gently through Joseph’s undoubtedly terrible bedhead. “You’re not supposed to be eating those,” he chided softly. “Your fever’s gone down, so I guess you can come. Five minutes?”

Joseph hummed, stretching to wake his body up. Caesar ruffled his hair affectionately and left the room, closing the door with a soft click. Joseph could feel warm contentment in his chest, steady and strong, just from that small exchange.

Was it weird? a part of Joseph asked.

Who cares, the rest of him replied.

(This, of course, was when Joseph was still half-asleep and obviously out of his mind. That night, he excused himself to his room after doing the dishes and promptly screamed into his pillow.

“What is wrong with me?” he moaned pathetically, but no answer came.)

On Friday, Joseph and Caesar dug out their best bottle of wine and went to dinner with Joseph’s parents. It had been planned several weeks in advance, ever since his mother found out she’d have to make a business trip into the city and demanded they both dine with her. His father, nosy as he was, tagged along just to meet Caesar. At the time, Joseph had been bewildered but amused at their curiosity about his roommate, but now he was beginning to suspect that they, too, had somehow gotten the wrong impression.

Especially since his father got misty-eyed every time Caesar served Joseph from the sharing platter before himself, and his mother kept asking questions like, “What do you like about Joseph?” and “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

To his credit, Caesar answered the weird questions with his usual charismatic ease, seemingly oblivious to the romantic slant to them. Joseph himself probably wouldn’t have noticed anything out of the ordinary if Josuke hadn’t planted the seed in his mind.

As things were, however, the entire situation was making Joseph very flustered. “What is this, a job interview?” he complained to his mother. “Caesar, you don’t have to answer any of these.”

“Come on, Jojo, it’s only natural for a mother to want to know more about who her son is consorting with,” his mother argued, waving off Joseph’s whinging.

“Yes, son,” his father agreed. “You wouldn’t stop talking about him over Christmas, of course we’d be curious!”

“I did not!” Joseph yelled, trying hard not to go red.

Caesar elbowed him in the side. “Stop yelling, you’ll get us kicked out,” he said, looking smug. Joseph made a supremely ugly face at him to disguise his embarrassment. Caesar made an even uglier face back, much to Joseph’s delight and his parents’ amusement.

“You suit each other well,” his father laughed. “Keep our son in line, won’t you, Caesar?”

“How can he keep me in line when he’s the one getting us into trouble?!”

“I’ll do my best, Mr Joestar,” Caesar replied solemnly. “But given who Joseph is, that might not be possible.”

“Hey!” Joseph protested, but his parents were too busy laughing at him to care.

Later, when they decided to take a stroll through the nearby park before heading home, his mother took his arm and said, “You seem happy.”

Joseph watched as Caesar gestured animatedly, telling Joseph’s father about some restaurant they’d tried the week before. “I guess I am,” he replied quietly, honest and vulnerable.

“Good,” his mother hummed, squeezing his arm. “Then we’re happy, too.”

“Good,” Joseph repeated faintly, blindsided by the fact that his parents approved of his boyfriend who wasn’t actually his boyfriend.

And that he hadn’t corrected them once all night.

And that’s how Joseph ended up here, sitting on his sofa, questioning his entire existence, right before he has a steak-and-red-wine dinner not-date with his not-boyfriend, except he isn’t sure if it actually is a not-date with his not-boyfriend, or a real-date with his real-boyfriend that he’d been real-dating for months and months, and–

Basically, Joseph is losing his shit.

“Jojo, set the table, will you?” Caesar calls from the kitchen. He sounds like he’s in a good mood, humming a pop song he used to hate until Joseph played it non-stop for three days straight. It makes Joseph’s heart feel warm and content, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Jojo?” Caesar asks when Joseph fails to respond, and pokes his head out of the kitchen to blink at Joseph with concern. He’s wearing the Wonder Woman apron Joseph got for him on a whim three months ago over Joseph’s soft old university hoodie, and must be due for a haircut, because his fringe is tied up into a tiny ponytail on the top of his head, which is both ridiculous and somehow endearing.

And suddenly, just like that, it’s like all of Joseph’s worries fling themselves out the window.

“Hey, Caesar,” he says without really thinking about it, still distracted by the fuzzy feeling in his chest. “Wanna go out with me?”

Caesar pauses, surprised, but doesn’t freak out like Joseph half-thought he might. “Like on a date?” he asks slowly.

Joseph feels like he should be concerned about how calm he is about all this. “Yeah, like a date.”

Caesar eyes him suspiciously, like he thinks Joseph is joking, but something about Joseph’s expression must convince him, because a small, hesitant smile starts to grow on his face. “Sure,” he says, awed, like he doesn’t quite believe what’s happening.

Joseph can’t stop the grin that takes over his features. “Tomorrow?” he asks hopefully, wondering if it’s too soon.

“Tonight?” Caesar suggests, uncharacteristically shy. It’s unbearably cute.

“Tonight it is,” Joseph agrees, and marvels at the way Caesar’s eyes light up when he grins.

Joseph’s phone buzzes loudly.

I told you so, Josuke’s sent him, sounding smug even over text.

Jotaro flicked his wand with more force than strictly necessary. The leatherbound book he was supposed to be Summoning into his hands instead flung itself into Smokey Brown’s face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“S’fine, I’m used to it,” wheezed Smokey, clutching his bloody nose. The Hufflepuff was good friends with Joseph, so Jotaro wasn’t terribly concerned– a broken nose certainly wasn’t the worst injury he’d ever suffered, Jotaro was sure of it.

“Don’t get your blood on the books, boy,” snapped Dio. “Go on, you know where to find Madam Pendleton, shoo!” Under Dio’s withering glare, Smokey hastily shoved his things into his bag and hurried out of the classroom. “And you,” Dio hissed, turning to Jotaro sternly.

Jotaro stared back at him blankly, ready to be lectured– but then Dio’s hawk, Pet Shop, gave a shrill screech from the corner of the room, signalling the end of class. Jotaro raised his eyebrows at Dio innocently and started putting his things away. Dio’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Come see me at lunch,” he growled, then spun on his heel and stalked away with a flourish.

Jotaro rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.

--

“Sit down, Jotaro,” said Dio airily, voice silky smooth, when Jotaro reluctantly showed up to see him at lunch.

Jotaro remained standing, his hands shoved into his pockets. “What do you want?” he asked bluntly. No point being respectful to Dio, of all people.

“No need to be so hostile,” he sniffed, lacing his fingers together under his chin. “As your teacher and cousin-in-law, I’m simply concerned for your wellbeing. You’re normally excellent at Charms, but you’ve been off all week– and today you gave a kid a bloody nose!”

Jotaro resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. He really didn’t want to talk about it with Dio. “Maybe the kid was pissing me off.”

Dio remained unfazed. “You usually prefer using your fists to resolve those sorts of issues,” he pointed out. Sharp as ever. What a pain.

“Just give me a detention,” Jotaro told him, already turning to leave Dio’s office.

“Wait.” It said volumes about Dio’s terrifying aura of authority that the mere sound of it made Jotaro stop in his tracks. He was still half-convinced that Dio had some kind of magic to make himself seem more intimidating. He wouldn’t put it past him, honestly.

“You can deal with me,” Dio continued coolly, “or I can get Jonathan and Holly involved.”

Jotaro cringed at the thought. Bad as Dio was, at least he would probably deem the whole thing a waste of his precious time and send Jotaro away in disgust. Jonathan and his mother, on the other hand, would definitely stick their noses into everything and destroy Jotaro’s life by mortifying him at every turn.

Still, discussing his love life with Dio? Not something he’d ever wanted to do in his life, ever.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jotaro grumbled, embarrassed.

“Then tell me,” Dio insisted, leaning back in his chair. His stupid face was smug, like he knew he’d won. (He had, of course, but that didn’t mean Jotaro had to like it.)

I have a crush, he mumbled, but the words turned into grunts somewhere along Jotaro’s throat and refused to make themselves coherent.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Jotaro glared, then slumped into a chair, defeated.

Dio, astonishingly, took pity. “Is this about that boy we saw you with in Hogsmeade?” he asked, sounding bored.

“No,” mumbled Jotaro. The Sneakoscope on Dio’s desk started screeching at the blatant lie. Not that Dio didn’t already know Jotaro was lying.

Dio made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “That’s a terribly dull problem to have,” he told Jotaro derisively. “So mundane. Why can’t teenagers worry about more important things, like whether or not killing a dog because it was bothering you is morally correct–”

“That doesn’t need much thought–”

“Anyway, even though your little crush is dreadfully boring,” at this Dio rolled his eyes like it was physically paining him just to think about it, “fortunately for you, I am a benevolent cousin-in-law. My advice is at your disposal. Be grateful.”

Jotaro narrowed his eyes at Dio in suspicion. He didn’t trust any advice from Dio, not unless it had to do with Charms. Then again, he and Jonathan had gone from sworn enemies to husbands, so maybe he did know something about romance. He must have done something; it certainly wasn’t his winning personality that made Jonathan fall in love with him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dio snapped, then plastered a smarmy smirk onto his face. “The boy’s a Slytherin, yes? Then it’s simple. Listen to me, Jotaro: what Slytherins want most, more than anything, is to win.”

Jotaro frowned. “So you want me to let him win,” Jotaro said slowly, confused. He was pretty much doing that on accident anyway in Potions, since he was so absolutely pants at it.

Dio tutted at him like he was a particularly slow child. “No, no,” he huffed impatiently. “Every Slytherin has something they’re proud of, something they want and expect to win at all the time. To catch your boy’s attention, all you have to do is find out what he’s proud of and make him taste utter defeat.”

That… wasn’t what Jotaro expected. Was this how Jonathan had caught Dio’s attention? By utterly defeating him in something Dio was proud of? (Though, to be fair, Dio always had to be the best at everything. Jonathan would only have had to be better than him at one little insignificant detail.)

Dio wasn’t finished. “It’s likely that the boy has pride in his academics,” he said thoughtfully, which, yeah, Jotaro could see that. “I’m sure you already know this, but he’s the brightest kid in your year. You’ve been coasting along on natural talent, but you’ll have to work harder to impress this one. So,” ah, and here it came, the reason Dio was being so strangely helpful, “you should come along to Dio Club.”

Jotaro’s face wrinkled in disgust of its own accord. He knew there was some ulterior motive behind this benevolence.

“Before you turn me down,” Dio quickly added, “your little boyfriend shows up to every single meeting. Think about it properly, Jotaro. You’ll be honing your magical ability, which will improve your grades as well as impress him, and you’ll get to spend time with him an extra two hours twice a week. There are no downsides.”

You’re the downside, Jotaro thought at him grumpily, but kept it to himself. Dio, unfortunately, had a point. He hated the thought of giving up his free time to do extra lessons with Dio, but…

Ugh.

“I’ll come,” Jotaro mumbled, regretting it already.

“Yes,” hissed Dio, actually fist-pumping into the air like the lame nerd he was. “I’ll see you in my classroom no later than half-past. Run along now, go eat something before break ends, or Jonathan will have my head.”

Jotaro just stood up and left without a word. The things he did for Kakyoin, honestly.

--

“Oh!” exclaimed Kakyoin, eyes (adorably) wide with surprise, when Jotaro entered the Charms classroom at half past four. “Jotaro, what are you, uh, doing here?”

Play it cool. “Isn’t this Dio Club,” Jotaro grunted, as casual as possible, looking around the room. There were only eight or nine students present, including himself. He recognised everyone present as fourth or fifth years; mostly Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but there was a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor making conversation in the corner of the room. Pretty low attendance; not surprising, considering how much of a jerk Dio was.

“W-Well, yes, but,” Kakyoin was still flustered. He had to stop. Jotaro was going to die, he was too cute. “You– You’ve never come before.”

Jotaro shrugged. “Never had a reason to,” he said honestly, looking Kakyoin right in the eye– then cleared his throat because that was the most embarrassing thing to say in this situation and oh Merlin Kakyoin probably knew Jotaro had a huge crush on him now oh no quick he should say something, anything, to cover it up–

Kakyoin flushed red and ducked his head shyly. Jotaro’s brain short-circuited. Whatever casual excuse he was about to make died in his throat.

He was so far gone, it wasn’t even funny.

“Good afternoon, students,” Dio announced, sweeping into the room with a flourish of his long, dark robes. His stupid smirk grew into a smug grin when his eyes landed on Jotaro. Jotaro resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at him. “Are we all ready to learn some real magic?”

The answering murmur was a tiny sound, but Dio didn’t seem to care. “Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Draw your wands and pair up, please.”

Jotaro glanced at Kakyoin nervously. Would Kakyoin want to pair up? After all, he probably had his own friends here at Dio Club, since he was a regular. Not that any of the other kids seemed particularly intent on being paired with Kakyoin, even the Slytherins. Maybe Jotaro was intimidating them? He did sometimes have that effect on people. His eyes drifted over to the Ravenclaws. Maybe he should pair up with one of them…?

“Um, want to be partners?” Kakyoin asked kindly, probably noticing Jotaro’s hesitance. Jotaro’s heart gave a loud thump. This was a terrible idea. Jotaro was going to expire on the spot if Kakyoin kept being this perfect.

“Sure,” Jotaro grunted nonchalantly, shoving one hand in his pocket and drawing his wand with the other, like he wasn’t absolutely freaking out right now. Kakyoin shot him a tiny smile with a glance out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to Dio. Jotaro nearly exploded.

“Alright,” Dio said, clapping his hands together, oblivious to Jotaro’s woe. “Professor ACDC would tell you that human transfiguration is ‘very advanced magic’ and shouldn’t be attempted until you’re sixth years. That’s condescending and untrue, because what’s important with this, and generally all magic, is dedication. If you don’t care about screwing up, if you don’t practice, then your spells fall to pieces. The consequences are just a little bit more… extreme with human transfiguration.”

The Hufflepuff let out a little squeak of fright. Jotaro could understand that sentiment; he remembered seeing Dio himself stomping around the Joestar mansion with a dinosaur tail for three whole days when he made Jonathan mad that one Christmas.

“That’s why,” Dio continued, a terrifying glint in his eye, “I hope you’ve paired up with a good friend, because you’re going to be transfiguring each other today.”

A horrified silence fell across the room for a moment– then everyone broke out into worried chatter. Jotaro felt faint. What kind of transfiguration were they doing? He’d heard from his cousins that they usually started off with changing the colour of their own eyebrows, but would Dio make them do something harder? What if he asked them to, like, transfigure their limbs? What if Jotaro permanently disfigured Kakyoin?! Oh, Merlin, Jotaro knew coming to Dio Club was a bad idea–

“Now, now,” Dio raised his voice over the racket, sounding surprisingly patient. “None of you brats will be able to do anything that I or Madam Pendleton can’t fix. Of course, it might take a few days, and could potentially be pretty painful to put right, but–”

“Professor,” interrupted the daring Gryffindor, voice calm as she patted the back of her Hufflepuff friend comfortingly, “you’re positively evil.”

Dio just grinned at her. “Flattery,” he said, voice honey-sweet, “will get you nowhere.”

--

Jotaro was convinced that Dio was a sadistic jerk who was out to embarrass Jotaro in front of Kakyoin, because he decided to ‘start them off easy’ and have them change the colour of each other’s skin. Significantly easier than growing a limb, he told them, which they’d be doing next week. Jotaro shuddered to think what kind of limb Dio would make them grow.

Having a task to focus on that required more concentration than mincing roots or juicing beetles was immensely helpful in reducing the awkward nervousness Jotaro normally felt when he was anywhere within five feet of Kakyoin. Of course, the task itself was pure torture, because failing at it wasn’t a very impressive show of magic, but succeeding meant he’d turned Kakyoin’s skin a strange colour, which was a burden he wasn’t sure if he could shoulder.

Not that he had to worry about succeeding all that much, because it took him the better part of the two hour session to get the hang of it. Which was embarrassing, because it had taken Kakyoin half that time. Kakyoin had outright laughed at him when he’d finally succeeded in turning Jotaro’s skin an even shade of lilac. It was a charming laugh, and he’d apologised right after, but it was still enough to make Jotaro flush with shame. At least it made him feel better about the amused snort he was unable to suppress when he managed to turn Kakyoin emerald green. Though, honestly, Kakyoin bore it a lot less awkwardly than Jotaro had, admiring the rich hue of his skin and comparing it to the Slytherin green accents on his uniform.

Jotaro hated to admit it, but Dio Club had actually been… fun. Sure, Dio’d had to remove those yellow pus-filled boils from that one Ravenclaw whose partner had gotten a little too excited, but everyone else was careful enough that nothing too terrible happened. Before Jotaro knew it, Pet Shop was screeching for the end of the session and students were rushing out of the door, eager to get to the Dining Hall (and away from Dio, no doubt).

“Going straight to dinner?” Kakyoin asked casually, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

Did that mean he wanted to walk together? That was a natural thing to do, right? Jotaro busied himself with tucking his bookbag under his arm as he mulled his response over. If Polnareff or Joseph noticed them coming into the Dining Hall together, they’d never shut up about it. Then again, half an hour into dinner they’d probably be too busy stuffing their faces to notice, so…

“Yeah,” Jotaro said awkwardly. “You?”

“Oh, same,” was Jotaro projecting or did Kakyoin look pleased at his answer? “Should we walk together?”

Jotaro nodded, hiding his face under his cap. His palms were sweaty; his heart was pounding double-time. Get a grip, he told himself fiercely. You’ve literally spent a whole day walking around with him, why is this flustering you?!

“I suggest you two walk together out of my classroom,” said Dio, because he was a terrible person who lived to cause others misery. “I haven’t had my dinner yet, either, you know.”

Jotaro glared at him. Dio blinked at him innocently. This is why nobody comes to Dio Club, Jotaro thought at him aggressively. Jerk.

“Let’s go,” he murmured to Kakyoin, and purposefully brushed Dio’s shoulder on his way out.

“Cheeky brat!” Dio sneered from behind them.

Jotaro stopped short and turned to look at Dio over his shoulder. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he quipped, and barely caught sight of Dio’s smirk melting off his face before he was striding away, hands in his pockets.

“Sick burn,” whispered Kakyoin with a thrilled grin when he caught up to Jotaro a few moments later.

Jotaro tugged the brim of his cap down to hide the little grin on his face. He had to agree, it was pretty sick.

“Are– Are you smiling?!” Kakyoin demanded, craning his neck to peer at Jotaro’s face. “Oh my god, are you actually–?”

Jotaro’s expression morphed back into its usual poker face. “No,” he said stubbornly.

Kakyoin laughed, the sound echoing around the empty hallway like a church bell. “You so were,” he teased, and oh Merlin, he was teasing Jotaro, this was– this was it– how was Jotaro supposed to deal with this–

“What’re you so happy about, Mudblood?” sneered an unfamiliar, scathing voice to their left. Jotaro felt himself tense at the slur, all traces of amusement draining out of his body. He vaguely recognised the Slytherin sixth-year who’d spoken– Steely Dan, if Jotaro wasn’t mistaken– but not the two large lackeys standing beside him like bodyguards. “Better wipe that smile off your face, there’s no dinner for Muggle filth tonight.”

Jotaro drew his wand smoothly, a curse ready on his lips– but Kakyoin stopped him with a light touch on his arm. Jotaro frowned at him, confused– but it was like a mask had fallen over Kakyoin’s face, smooth and unreadable. His blank expression sent chills down Jotaro’s spine.

“Oh, afraid we’ll hurt your new attack dog?” Steely Dan mocked. “What are you doing hanging around this thing, anyway, Kujo? Never took you for a blood traitor.”

Jotaro said nothing, eyes flicking carefully between Kakyoin and the sixth years. Kakyoin wasn’t the brawling type, but if a fight broke out Jotaro had great faith in his combative abilities, both magical and physical– which was more than could be said for these wimps, raised on Earl Grey and magic.

“What, are the both of you mute now?” Steely Dan spat scornfully. “Oh, or have you realised how lowly you are in the face of real purebloods–”

“What was it you called me?” Kakyoin interrupted suddenly, voice cool. ”I don’t think the message has quite sunken in yet, you should tell me again. Louder.”

What was he doing? Jotaro’s eyes roved over Kakyoin’s face, trying to find some clue as to his plan.

“You trying to be smart?” snarled Steely Dan, eyes suddenly dangerous. “You think you’re so clever, so witty, huh, you disgusting Mudblood–”

The word had barely left his lips before Kakyoin was waving his wand with a graceful flourish. Jotaro watched with growing fascination as Steely Dan’s skin turned a frankly horrifying sea of neon bright colours. It was almost artistic, in a tie-dye sort of way.

“Hmm,” said Kakyoin thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “It suits you, I think.”

“Agreed,” Jotaro piped up, eyebrows raised innocently.

Steely Dan stared at his hands in horror, dumbstruck. His mouth fell open, starting to shriek–

“Silencio,” drawled Kakyoin, flicking his wand sharply, and the sixth-year fell silent. Excellent charmwork there, Jotaro noted. Dio would have been proud.

The lackeys gaped at one another for a moment, then scrambled to draw their wands. Jotaro went to step forwards, ready to punch their lights out before they could utter a single spell, but Kakyoin stopped him yet again, this time by grasping Jotaro’s elbow, gentle but firm. It really wasn’t the time for it, but Jotaro’s heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

Suddenly, there was a flash of red light, and all their wands went flying out of their hands– into Jonathan’s.

“That is quite enough,” he announced firmly, putting his large body between Kakyoin and tie-dye boy. “You know we cannot tolerate the use of derogatory language here. Detention, one month. All three of you!”

All three boys gaped at Jonathan in horror. Steely Dan was the first to recover, whacking his lackey the arm none-too-gently.

“B-But Professor!” protested Lackey #1, on cue. “What about the Mu– what about him?”

“Y-Yeah!” agreed Lackey #2 with a nasally whine after a glare from Steely Dan. “Is he going to get away scot free for turning the Boss’ skin rainbow?!”

“Should we make it two months’ detention?” Jonathan suggested coolly, and the lackeys fell silent. Steely Dan pulled a face like he’d just eaten something truly disgusting. It suited him, in Jotaro’s opinion. “That’s what I thought. Go on then, off to Madam Pendleton with you. I’m keeping your wands for now; come to my office and get them before class tomorrow.”

The Slytherins grumbled, but left for the Hospital Wing, shooting hateful glares at Kakyoin and Jotaro. Jotaro stared back impassively, unfazed.

“You two alright?” Jonathan asked worriedly once the bullies were gone, crowding in close to fuss like the mother hen he was. Jotaro glared at him to make him back off, and Jonathan did, wearing a sheepish smile.

“We’re fine,” said Kakyoin, and ah, the perfectly pleasant, polite Kakyoin was back. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Jonathan insisted, offering them their wands from the bundle in his hand. “I’m just glad I happened to be walking past!”

“Yes, a lucky coincidence,” agreed Kakyoin, smiling cryptically. Which was kind of weird, but Jotaro shrugged it off.

“Those three have been causing trouble for Muggleborns, left, right and center. I’ve spoken to them several times, but nothing seems to have stuck…” Jonathan sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I’ll get Dio to talk to them.”

Jotaro snorted. Any talking Dio’d be doing to those kids was more likely to be torture. Being Muggleborn himself, Dio was known to come down hard on anyone who used the m-slur. Steely Dan and his lackeys were either extremely brave or extremely stupid to go around harassing Muggleborns when Dio was their Head of House.

“Right then, I shan’t keep you any longer,” Jonathan said, beaming at them. “You boys must be famished. Go on, then, before the Dining Hall closes.”

“Thanks, professor,” said Kakyoin. Jotaro nodded at him in gratitude, then Jonathan was hurrying down the corridors and disappearing around a corner.

Jotaro blinked after him. Where was he off to in such a rush?

“Probably doesn’t want to keep his husband waiting,” Kakyoin said, as if he’d read Jotaro’s mind. “Professor Jonathan always waits for Dio Club to finish before leaving his office, so they can eat together. It’s sweet.”

“How do you know that?” Jotaro asked, vaguely horrified, meaning both how Kakyoin knew what he was thinking and how he knew the details of his cousin’s marriage.

“I always see him on the way back from Dio Club,” Kakyoin replied. And then, with a sly side-glance that set butterflies loose in Jotaro’s stomach, “And your face is surprisingly easy to read once you get used to it.”

Jotaro turned away abruptly, tugging his hat low over his face to hide how red he was turning. “Let’s go to dinner,” he said loudly at the wall.

Kakyoin laughed, the sound bright and warm and delighted. “Are you embarrassed?” he teased, but thankfully didn’t push Jotaro any further. “Alright, let’s go.”

They walked to the Dining Hall side by side, comfortably silent. Jotaro thought about reaching out and catching Kakyoin’s hand in his.

Josuke, of course, ignores Rohan, comes crashing into his life with bashful apologies and determined friendliness. There hasn’t been a decent person I haven’t been able to make friends with, he tells Rohan with a grin, strongarming his way into Rohan’s house with a game system.

I’m not a decent person, Rohan says, watching him hook the system up to Rohan’s TV with quick, deft fingers that have saved lives.

Okay, Josuke says agreeably, already sprawled out comfortably on the sofa with the controller in his hands. Then kick me out.

Rohan falters. He is too rotten for the warmth of friendship, but he is also too rotten to chase it out when it has (finally, finally) made itself at home in his cold, empty house.

Don’t make too much noise, he grumbles, and disappears into his workroom.

Rohan listens to the sounds of Oh! That’s A Baseball!! 99 from his living room all afternoon. He doesn’t draw a single page.

(maybe josuke doesn’t hate me, a quiet voice in his mind says. the thought thrills and terrifies him)

Somehow, for some reason, Josuke doesn’t stop. He keeps coming over, keeps forcing his way into Rohan’s life, keeps breaking down Rohan’s carefully constructed barriers. Just kick me out if you don’t want me here, Josuke says, like it’s that simple, that easy to do.

(rohan wants to kick him out, but he’s afraid josuke will never come back–)

He tests the boundaries of what Rohan will allow, pushes them as far as possible before Rohan snaps.

The boundaries are unnervingly flexible.

(–josuke always does.)

It feels slow, gradual, the way Josuke lures Rohan out of his workroom, out of his comfort zone. He pesters Rohan into going out to eat ramen in the evening. He whines and demands a rematch when Rohan beats him at video games. He comes over with soup from his mom and good-natured ribbing when Rohan falls sick. He drags out the kotatsu when it’s barely turned autumn, and naps under it like it’s his own house.

He brings Okuyasu and Koichi over to study around Rohan’s warm kotatsu. They smile at Rohan like they haven’t before, bright and open and honest. Okuyasu says Rohan is a pretty nice guy underneath his scary prickly cactus needles. Josuke snickers, I told you so!

He won’t be so nice if you keep calling him a cactus, Koichi says dryly, like he’s defending Rohan. Rohan expects Okuyasu to flinch and apologise hastily. Okuyasu just barks out a laugh and tells Rohan, sorry, dude, you know I didn’t mean it like that.

It’s far too casual and not at all respectful, but… Rohan finds he doesn’t mind.

Rohan thinks, privately, that this might be what friendship feels like.

(you don’t need friends, his brain says coldly. it would be nice, a tiny voice in his chest whispers.)

One day, it storms outside. One day, Josuke gently grasps Rohan’s hand. One day, Josuke murmurs sweet words against Rohan’s fingers. One day, Josuke brushes wet hair out of Rohan’s eyes, drags soft fingertips across Rohan’s face, looks at Rohan like he’s something to be treasured, something to be loved.

And Rohan is so scared, so afraid, so terrified–

(–he can’t lose a friend, not his first, best friend, not for something like love, so fickle, so fleeting–)

It’s okay, Josuke whispers, pressing butterfly kisses to Rohan’s knuckles. His breath is warm, soothing, reminds Rohan to breathe. He says quietly, kick me out and nothing changes.

Rohan doesn’t want to kick him out, but after so long of basking in the warmth of friendship, he’s afraid love will be something different, something worse–

Let me stay and we’ll give it a try, Josuke continues, squeezing Rohan’s hand lightly.

And if I– if it fucks up? Rohan whispers, so full of doubt and fear.

Then everything goes back to the way it was, Josuke says, like it’s so simple, so easy.

Rohan looks at him, and thinks: this is the boy who would give his life for a man he hated, this is the boy who put life into a cold, dead house, this is the boy who pushed past my defences to be my friend.

And somehow, somewhere in Rohan’s chest, his heart of stone starts to soften and beat again, strong and steady and sure.

“Stay,” he says softly, and Josuke does.

(They kiss that night, awkward and fumbling, and Rohan feels warm and loved and cherished and wanted.

I don’t deserve you, he whispers when he thinks Josuke can’t hear.

“You deserve everything and more,” Josuke whispers back, and kisses him again.)