[It's somewhere in here, probably, that Adrian appears in the doorway for a moment, summoned by that slightest of sounds from Jotaro's throat and all but compelled by his nature and his adoration to come and check on him. It's enough for him, though, to see that Kakyoin has their mutual boyfriend well-tended, and so he lingers there only a moment before slipping away again, back to resume his own devices while keeping a careful ear in the main room's direction like before.
The couch is soft. Softer than the cushions had been, or maybe just soft in a different way. Kakyoin's voice helps ground him a little; the touch helps ground him a great deal more. Fingers trace around his face and find their way to his lips, and he can just barely gather the strength and presence of mind to close his lips slightly around them, a faint sucking motion that might be just as much muscle memory as it is a conscious thought.
Words slowly start to take shape again. Water makes him think of how dry his throat feels, or maybe it's just rough from all the noise he'd been making before. Pills mean swallowing. Both of those things mean he has to get up from where he's been placed, and just the thought of trying to move right now seems all but insurmountable.
Maybe he could open his eyes. It wouldn't be dark behind his eyes. There'd be things to see and perceive and think about.
Maybe he can just take the slightest look.
His eyelashes tremble, long and wet, as his brow furrows just a fraction and he tries to make his eyes slide open. They're about a quarter of the way when he catches a glimpse of red and thinks oh, Kakyoin.
Jotaro. That's right. He's Jotaro. And there's Kakyoin, and Hierophant, and Star —
Remembering Star is all that it takes for his Stand to fade into being at the side of the couch, looking fussy and doting and ready to serve his exhausted master's every need, and after a moment he seems to act on that very desire — reaching for Kakyoin's hand, moving it from Jotaro's mouth to the top of his head and shaking it slightly, guiding him to ruffle Jotaro's damp, sweat-sticking curls.]
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The couch is soft. Softer than the cushions had been, or maybe just soft in a different way. Kakyoin's voice helps ground him a little; the touch helps ground him a great deal more. Fingers trace around his face and find their way to his lips, and he can just barely gather the strength and presence of mind to close his lips slightly around them, a faint sucking motion that might be just as much muscle memory as it is a conscious thought.
Words slowly start to take shape again. Water makes him think of how dry his throat feels, or maybe it's just rough from all the noise he'd been making before. Pills mean swallowing. Both of those things mean he has to get up from where he's been placed, and just the thought of trying to move right now seems all but insurmountable.
Maybe he could open his eyes. It wouldn't be dark behind his eyes. There'd be things to see and perceive and think about.
Maybe he can just take the slightest look.
His eyelashes tremble, long and wet, as his brow furrows just a fraction and he tries to make his eyes slide open. They're about a quarter of the way when he catches a glimpse of red and thinks oh, Kakyoin.
Jotaro. That's right. He's Jotaro. And there's Kakyoin, and Hierophant, and Star —
Remembering Star is all that it takes for his Stand to fade into being at the side of the couch, looking fussy and doting and ready to serve his exhausted master's every need, and after a moment he seems to act on that very desire — reaching for Kakyoin's hand, moving it from Jotaro's mouth to the top of his head and shaking it slightly, guiding him to ruffle Jotaro's damp, sweat-sticking curls.]