#jotahanweek

“It’s getting colder,” Rohan said, more to himself than to the man sitting by his side, an arm stretched along the back of the bench.

Jotaro took a drag of his cigarette, and then let the smoke swirl in front of him, softly and with the tiniest whistle as his breath escaped from parted lips, little by little. Rohan made sure his gaze didn’t linger for too long, and returned his attention to the shore.

They had the sky and the sea extending in front of them, vast and calm. Darkness swallowed everything and, far away in the horizon, it was impossible to discern where the sky ended or where the ocean began. All that was left for them was to gaze at the stars – the ones above and the ones that reflected on the surface of the water. It gave the impression that, at any given moment, clones of these starts would emerge from the ocean. These clones would pop their heads and look above, and as though suddenly filled with a bursting impulse, they would jump with all their might and join the other stars. Rohan spent a moment imagining what it would be like to be one of them, what it would be like to watch everything from above. Would it be any different? Would he be able to see things that, in the insignificant, frivolous existence that was given to him as human, he couldn’t conceive at first sight?

“Weird, isn’t it? How we’re always drawn to each other.” He added after a prolonged silence. Although Jotaro didn’t shift from his position, Rohan knew that he had been heard. That was what made Jotaro hard to read: he barely ever showed interest in his surroundings. Rohan leaned back on the bench, allowing his body to slide down only a bit and felt the sand below his bare feet grow colder as his feet hollowed a comfortable spot.

“Stand users are always drawn to each other. That’s the saying.” Jotaro glanced at him, the corner of his lips curved lightly into the hint of a smile. His features softened, and the clearness of his blue eyes seemed to brighten briefly. He was amused; he had purposefully chosen to mention a different matter simply to tease, and Rohan wouldn’t let him have it. Not this time.

“Thinking more objectively, it was an invitation what brought you here. Envelope, linen paper, dark-brown ink, evenly cut; personalized font and design, too.” Rohan could have been more spiteful, a little sharper in his words, but he wasn’t. Instead of the usual piercing feeling gnawing at his pride with every one of these remarks, he was met with the indescribable sensation that, perhaps, he missed this. Resting his chin on a palm, he looked further into the endless black before his eyes.

Again, the night became still.

Perhaps he accepted Tonio’s request for this. Perhaps he walked through all those doors of countless boutiques in Italy with both fiancé and Tonio so he could get closer to this moment. Perhaps he stood by the quietest, most isolated corner of the party so Jotaro could call him for a drink, so he could follow him to the beach and take off his shoes and socks and sit together with him to watch the stars and think of nothing but how he’d longed for this to happen sooner.

But Jotaro didn’t need to know. Not yet, not like this.

Cheers came from the party, and the shaking, small figure of a wishing lantern floating above their heads. It danced with the wind, which carried her higher into the night sky, breaking all bonds and whatever wishes that chained its bright figure to the earth. There, under the moonlight, its gleam and vulnerability, the softness of the paper and the flickering candlelight belonged nowhere --- to no one but to herself. Rohan became fascinated with the image, and his eyes followed its travel as it ascended a bit farther each time, until all that was left for him to see was a small, orange dot that might as well be another star.

He wanted to talk about the strange, bewitching beauty that night seemed to disguise everything with, the portion of its enchanting profundity that covered trees, sand, buildings and all else as soon as the sun hid behind the hills. He would have mentioned the many times he spent admiring all the mysteries that can be found only after the sunset, those discoveries that he claimed as his own and would have also tried to say more than he intended, but before he could let any word out of his mouth, Jotaro had already said enough with his own tongue.

Something swelled within his chest --- exaltation, passion, doubt, hesitation --- and his body tensed at the abruptness of Jotaro’s actions, his skin gradually growing accustomed to the wet, heavy warmth that emanated from the palms that rounded the line of his waist and fit perfectly, as if they were meant to be there. Rohan trembled, not with fear of what he could say or what feelings this craving might awaken, but with anticipation. Jotaro held him tighter, clinging to his body like he’d never done before --- like he did that night, hours away from the departure of his ship. It was overwhelming, and it was bittersweet. He tasted the glory and regrets, he savored the greetings they didn’t say and the goodbye he never heard. He sensed all of it, and got drunk off each word that died in Jotaro’s throat.

Jotaro pulled away, nesting Rohan’s face in his hands. He looked at him with attention, with need, as if he could escape from his grasp at any moment, so he didn’t blink. Despite his confusion, Rohan didn’t dare to ask. He watched as Jotaro memorized the frame of his jawline and the now disheveled clothes and hair; he noticed sadness and a familiar flame recently ignited in him.

“I can stop, only if you tell me so.”