[He really is beautiful, Jotaro thinks helplessly, treated to all Kakyoin's grubby weeping imperfections from just a few inches away and beside himself in the face of them. Kakyoin tries so hard to be, tries to fight and scrabble and grasp for every last thing he is so that he can always trace a path back to the origins of each of his qualities, cause and effect and a documented paper trail.
He's never had to try to be beautiful. Just look at him now; he's grumpy and his hair's a mess and his eyelashes are damp and sticking together in clumps, and it feels like if Jotaro had to let him go right now, he couldn't make himself do it. Unthinkable. He could never.]
I never said we'd make them different than what they already would've been.
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He's never had to try to be beautiful. Just look at him now; he's grumpy and his hair's a mess and his eyelashes are damp and sticking together in clumps, and it feels like if Jotaro had to let him go right now, he couldn't make himself do it. Unthinkable. He could never.]
I never said we'd make them different than what they already would've been.
[He's kidding. Provoking. It feels amazing.]