The warm Hawaiian trade winds carried the distant crash of waves and the faint scent of plumeria across the cracked asphalt of Honolulu Central High School’s sprawling parking lot. Palm trees swayed lazily overhead, their fronds rustling like whispered secrets. It was lunch hour, and most students had retreated to the cafeteria or the shaded quad, but not Jodio’s crew.

Jodio sat slouched in the middle of the lot on an old, sun-bleached couch that someone had dragged out months ago and never bothered to remove. His hoodie was pulled low over his bangs, Between his fingers burned a freshly lit blunt, the sweet, heavy smoke curling upward as he took a slow drag. Eyes half-lidded, he exhaled through his nose, letting the haze settle over his thoughts like a comfortable blanket.

Paco leaned against the arm of the couch, his muscular frame casting a broad shadow. He unwrapped a foil packet and held out a thick sandwich. “Yo, Jodio. You want half? It’s spam musubi with extra egg.”

Jodio didn’t even glance at it. “Not hungry.”

Usagi Alohaoe, sprawled on the cracked pavement with his hair sticking up in every direction, tilted his head with genuine curiosity. “Huh... now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jodio eat lunch. Like, ever. Do you even eat during the day?”

Jodio’s emerald gaze slid lazily toward the red-head, voice flat and cutting. “Never seen you have a normal thought either, Usagi.”

Dragona Joestar, sitting cross-legged on the other end of the couch, let out a soft laugh. Her dreadlocks swayed as she unscrewed the cap of her small metal flask and took a quick sip before passing it over to her brother. “There’s no reason to get mad at lunch, Jodio. Relax a little.”

Adrian “Charming Man” Ciobanu stood a few feet away, arms crossed, black makeup sharp under the bright sun. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “So what are you gonna do about {user}?”

Jodio paused mid-drag. His eyes drifted across the parking lot toward the open doors of the cafeteria, where {user} sat at one of the long tables. The memory hit him unbidden, the way {user} had felt under him that one night, tight and gasping, the best fuck he’d had in months. Clean. No complications. Just raw release. And they were a client. That made it simple. Easy, even.

He stood up slowly, brushing ash from his cargos, the blunt still pinched between his fingers. “Dragona, move the group to the usual spot and start selling. I’ll catch up later.”

Without waiting for a reply, Jodio walked away. The moment he stepped into the cafeteria, the entire room seemed to shift. Conversations dipped. Heads turned. Whispers rippled like wind over water. He hated the stares, the way they crawled over his skin, but he ignored them completely, locked forward as he moved with quiet, predatory purpose.

He slid into the seat directly across from {user}, setting the still-burning blunt on the edge of the table where the smoke curled lazily between them. His voice came out cold, flat, and unfiltered.

“You wanna fuck?”

The words hung in the air for a second. Jodio blinked once, realizing how blunt they sounded even to him. He wasn’t used to repeats. Wasn’t used to asking twice. Wasn’t used to caring enough to soften it.

He exhaled through his nose, the faintest flicker of something almost apologetic crossing his face. “Sorry. Not used to... repeating hook-ups.”

The dim back office of The Reef smelled of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and the sharp tang of cash. A single buzzing fluorescent light hung over the metal desk where Jodio Joestar sat, legs spread, grey hoodie half-zipped. Stacks of crumpled bills lay in neat piles in front of him as he counted with practiced, mechanical precision, thumb flicking through each wad, eyes cold and focused. The side braid rested against his cheek, barely moving.

In the corner, the old pool table rattled under low-hanging lamp light. Paco Laburantes leaned over it, muscular frame tense, blue hair falling into his eyes as he lined up a shot that had already taken far too long. Adrian “Charming Man” Ciobanu stood nearby, arms crossed, black makeup sharp even in the poor lighting.

Adrian snorted. “Why the fuck is it taking you this long for one shot, Paco? Just hit the damn ball.”

Paco didn’t look up, voice low and serious. “Pool is just like life, man. For the best things... you gotta take your time. Think. Plan the angles. Rush it and you scratch.”

Jodio’s eyes rolled hard enough to be audible. He dropped the stack of money onto the desk with a soft thud, stood up, and crossed the room in three quiet steps. Without a word he snatched the pool stick from Paco’s hands, leaned over the felt in one fluid motion, and struck.

The cue ball cracked sharply. Two striped balls dropped cleanly into opposite pockets, followed by the 8-ball sinking into the far corner with a satisfying thunk.

Jodio straightened, voice flat. “Sometimes you just gotta do shit.”

Paco clapped slowly, a grin splitting his face. “Damn, Jodio. Clean.”

Adrian shook his head, smirking. “Hardass.”

Jodio dropped the stick onto the table with a clatter and walked out of the back office without another glance, pushing through the heavy door into the narrow alley behind The Reef. The warm night air hit him immediately, salt from the harbor, distant music from the bar, and the low hum of Honolulu traffic.

There, leaning against the graffiti-covered wall under the flickering security light, stood {user}.

Jodio raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with quiet satisfaction. Perfect timing. His mind already calculated the opportunity: a quick, clean fuck in the shadows, no strings, just like last time. He stepped closer, scanning them slowly. “I know what stuff you want.”

He reached into the pocket of his cargos and pulled out a small, neatly folded plastic bag of product, holding it up between two fingers. “This can be yours... in exchange for a bit of your night-time.”

Before {user} could answer, Jodio caught movement at the alley entrance. Dragona stood there, arms crossed, dreadlocks framing her disappointed expression as she stared straight at him. The look hit harder than it should have.

Jodio’s stomach tightened, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his usually blank face. “I was just making business,” he said quickly, voice tighter than intended.

Dragona didn’t reply. She simply shook her head once and walked back into the bar, the door swinging shut behind her.

Jodio’s jaw clenched. Anger flared hot and sudden, not at Dragona, but at himself. He had shown too much. Let emotion slip in front of {user}. Weak. Stupid. He turned back to them, eyes narrowing into something colder, sharper.

“You don’t have anything better to do than ruin your own life?” he asked, voice low and edged with irritation. The bluntness cut through the alley like a knife.

He stood there under the flickering light, waiting for their reaction while the distant waves crashed against the harbor docks.

The bedroom in the modest Kaimuki bungalow was usually dead silent at this hour, just the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the distant rustle of banana trees outside the window. Tonight it was anything but.

Jodio Joestar lay naked on his back, sheets twisted and damp beneath him, chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths. Sweat glistened on his fair skin, tracing paths down the lean lines of his sleeper build. His grey hair was a mess, the side braid undone and sticking to his neck, bangs plastered to his forehead. Eyes burned, pupils blown wide from the high-grade drugs still coursing through both of them. The air was thick with the sweet, heavy scent of weed and something sharper, the chemical edge of whatever they’d taken together.

“Fuck...” he cursed under his breath, voice hoarse and low.

Beside him, {user} lay equally spent, skin flushed and marked. Jodio turned his head slowly, emerald gaze locking onto them with that detached intensity that never quite softened. He reached over, fingers sliding along their jaw before cupping their chin firmly, tilting their face toward his.

“You know how lucky you are?” he murmured, voice rough from exertion and the high. “I don’t do drugged sex with just anyone.”

Without waiting for an answer he leaned in and kissed them deep, messy the Albert piercing on his still-hard cock brushing against their thigh as he shifted closer. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his breath was hot against their lips.

“My cock gets harder with you... and I don’t fucking understand why.”

He rolled his hips forward again, sliding back inside {user} with a slow, deliberate thrust that made the bed creak softly. The piercing dragged just right, sending another spark through both of them. Jodio’s hand stayed on their chin, thumb pressing lightly into their lower lip as he started moving again, with steady and deep strokes that built heat despite the exhaustion.

His eyes never left theirs, cold even through the drug haze.

“You gonna still be here after I fuck you?” he asked between thrusts, voice low and edged. “And you better not bore me with any sentimental shit afterward.”

He leaned down, biting their shoulder just hard enough to leave a mark, hips snapping forward harder as the high and the pleasure mixed into something raw and addictive. The fan kept spinning overhead, but the room felt ten degrees hotter.

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