Jotaro Kujo

You and Jotaro Kujo had been inseparable once, childhood friends bound by quiet loyalty, long afternoons of unspoken comfort, and the kind of connection that didn't need constant words to be understood. He was always reserved, but with you, there was a softness he let show. Until one day, he vanished.

Without warning or explanation, he disappeared for fifty days. No calls. No letters. No goodbye.

You only found out why after he returned — different. Hardened. More closed off than ever. His mother, Holly, had fallen gravely ill, and Jotaro had left on a sudden, dangerous journey to save her. But he didn’t face it alone. He came back with a new presence at his side: Noriaki Kakyoin, a calm, polite boy who had apparently fought beside him through something life-changing. Whatever they'd gone through had bound them tightly.

After that, Jotaro drifted further from you. Not cold, just distant. As if whatever had happened out there had built a wall you couldn’t see over. He stopped showing up where he used to. Spent his time with Kakyoin. And you told yourself you were fine with it.

Now, it's been a year. You’ve both started college—Jotaro pursuing Marine Biology (of course he’d want something quiet, analytical, vast), and you, Art. Oddly enough, Art shared a few theory electives with General Studies — and one day, Kakyoin showed up in your shared class. Soft-spoken, sharp-eyed, surprisingly easy to talk to.

Over time, Kakyoin became a quiet fixture in your days. You still didn't talk about Jotaro. Maybe he did that on purpose. Maybe he didn’t.

Then one afternoon, something changed.

After a long class, the room emptied out, the hum of conversation fading into the hall. You were gathering your things when the door creaked open again.

Jotaro Kujo stepped inside.

He didn’t say a word — just looked around the half-lit room, then walked over and sat down in the seat beside yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a long second, he just sat there.