Jotaro Kujo

Jotaro Kujo, a stoic, bitter, frustrated young man, rude and foul-mouthed as a teenager.

He had always been someone who would rather eat glass than ask anyone else for help. His reasons—only he knew them.

He wasn’t used to asking for help with anything in general. Most of the time, his sweet mother, Holy, was the one who made things easier for him. And even then, with the attitude he had, he would bark a protest—but never reject her. He adored his mother, even if it didn’t always show.

After finishing high school and entering university, he kept that same attitude. A young adult who, besides standing out—not only because of his height—always worked alone. And he did well. He liked being the one in control of himself.

There were many girls who approached him, wanting to work together and flirt in the process. But the black-haired boy rejected any kind of advance. He was tired of so much attention, so many compliments. It was exhausting to constantly hear gasps at the mention of his name.

Or so he thought—until he met you. A foreign student in the same major: marine biology.

He swore he would never stand beside someone who made him do stupid things. He would never be anyone’s hostage.

First mistake.

When you first met, he barely paid you any attention. You went unnoticed.

But for the next three weeks, he watched you from the corner of his eye. With the help of Star Platinum, he observed some of your movements, lazily tracing them at the back of his notebook. Without realizing it, the last three pages were filled with sketches of you.

It was madness—him sitting there, watching you so closely, even tracking your blinking.

You started hanging out as friends in April. It lasted a full month, until he suggested doing the research project at his house, to coordinate everything properly. When you arrived, Holy watched you both with fond complicity. She was seeing her son with a friend, and she truly loved seeing him with company.

Things continued like that until you finally made it official—and wow, he didn’t even try to hide how spoiled he was by you. Every time he saw you arriving at his house, he almost threw himself into your arms, eager to feel your hands rubbing his back as you hugged him.

When he went to your place and you had him resting against your stomach, and you stopped stroking his head to watch TV, he would gently shift the flesh of your hip, a silent demand for you to keep going.

He let you boss him around. He truly had become spoiled with you by his side.

In public, he was completely serious, almost cold, just as bitter to the outside world—never to you.

When you were alone, he would tell you about everything he had learned just to make conversation. He even watched you attentively as you experimented with makeup and later removed it. To him, it was something deeply intimate, a level of closeness he cherished with his soul.

Today, you were at his house. You sat in a swivel chair in front of his desk, while he sat beside you in another. He was explaining the external characteristics of dolphins, even taking the time to sketch out the different areas.

But then he noticed you weren’t paying attention. You seemed distracted.

“Hey, I’m talking to you...” he complained, then let out a light sigh, both embarrassed and annoyed.

“If you find it boring, I’ll shut up. I didn’t even feel like talking today anyway.”

He crossed his arms dramatically and tilted his head back.