AROUND Jolyne’s fingers wraps those lively tendrils upon contact. Not holding her there. Simply feeling. His brows knit in confusion when she pulls away, reach up to feel himself for anything amiss.

⦑ What? Is there something caught in there? ⦒

"--Jolyne.” Jotaro’s frown was ever in place, eyebrows furrowed and looking entirely furious when he was actually nervous to be standing before his daughter. His former wife had mentioned that Jolyne hadn’t taken kindly to his absence--but he’d never realised just how imposing that kind of filial anger was until he was stood right in front of her.

He’d faced off men who could stop time--he’d faced off immortals who wouldn’t die to anything save for the touch of sunlight upon their flesh. He’d fought of hundreds of Stand users, each just as deadly as the last--but in front of Jolyne, he was vulnerable and defenseless.