January 23, 1985.

"Wow! Can't believe Avdol's late," Polnareff shouts, ducking through the garage door half an hour late for practice. Jotaro chucks a can of sprite at his chest and Polnareff catches it with an "oof! Thanks dude!"

There's a chill in the room, the cold January wind hanging in the air even after Polnareff's yanked the door closed behind him, the heating system not fully able to keep up with it. Kakyoin sniffs. The mortification of other people seeing his boogers simmered down to slight embarrassment about twenty minutes ago, when his fingers started tingling from the cold.

"What's Avdol up to?" Jotaro grunts, picking Star Platinum back up from its stand.

"Just, uh…" Polnareff plonks himself down on his stool and picks up his drumsticks. "Uh, shit dude, I don't know actually. Just told me to go on ahead and he'd meet me later. I didn't think anything of it at the time but I guess he got breakfast someplace, maybe?"

Kakyoin looks up from his synth and sniffles loudly. "What'd you do?"

"Huh? I didn't do anything, I don't think." He looks thoughtful, his foot restlessly tapping at his double bass pedal. "I can't think of anything. Dude, maybe he just wanted some alone time!"

Jotaro huffs, not looking up from his guitar. "You fucked up, dude."

"Probably." Kakyoin gives up on his front panel sliders and sinks into the open seat next to Jotaro. He cracks open a can of something cold and the fizz of it hits him in the nose. "Not that I've much experience, but don't people usually fix these things with flowers and a movie date? Or maybe Avdol's a romantic dinner kind of guy."

Jotaro coughs. Polnareff stares down long enough at the skin of his bass drum for Kakyoin to feel like he maybe should have opened his mouth to fill it with his shoes instead of using it to form words. Just when he thought he was getting the hand of snarky small-talk.

"Dude, I love where you're going with this but Momo and I aren't... dating. If that was where you were going. I think so. And, uh, I gotta be honest with you, I totally wouldn't mind if we were and I'd sell my liver to get a shot at it, but he's like..." Polnareff sighs wistfully, finally looking up from his drum kit. "He's at, like, a whole different level, man."

Kakyoin fumbles awkwardly for a reply, but settles on a terribly cheap "I'm sure that's not true. He might say yes if you asked!"

Polnareff looks like he sucked a lemon and Kakyoin gave it to him and suggested he try a bite, then wails dramatically and drapes himself over his high toms. Kakyoin bites his lip and looks at Jotaro with a look he hopes conveys an appropriate amount of desperation instead of the completely soul-encompassing amounts he really feels. He thinks he's succeeded.

Jotaro shakes his head and gets up, his knees creaking, and shoves his guitar at Kakyoin. He trudges to the door separating the kitchen and the garage and noisily cracks it open. Polnareff flaps his arm at him uselessly. Kakyoin winces, nervously fidgeting with Star Platinum's whammy. "Sorry, I… I just thought—"

"Don't worry about it. He's just being a baby," Jotaro grumbles, walking back in and chucking a bag of cheez doodles at the back of Polnareff's head with very little finesse. "Mom buys these solely for when he's pulling this entry level theatre class shit."

Kakyoin frowns at Polnareff's back, still curled over his drum set, occasionally letting out pitiful whines and sniffles. "I don't know, Jojo. He seems upset."

"He has no feelings." Jotaro grabs Star Platinum by the neck and lifts it out of Kakyoin's lap. He strums thrice, testing the tuning. "Eat the doodles, dude. It's the extra crunchy ones."

Polnareff's back twitches. Kakyoin watches him for one, two, three seconds, and Polnareff drags his arm from underneath his chest several inches to the right to collect his bag of cheese puffs. He drags it towards himself with the very tips of his fingers and half turns to push himself up and crack it open. "Do not think I won't wallow in this later, mister Frontman," he half-shouts, stuffing his hand in the bag. "When I'm done replacing my heartbreak with food."

"Yeah, yeah." Jotaro strums the first couple chords of a song Kakyoin doesn't recognise and thinks might be self-composed. It's nice. He's playing mostly high up the neck, and it's soothing in a dark way, like being inside during autumn rain. Polnareff's noisy chewing sounds are drowned out by a nice, peaceful static in his brain Kakyoin connects to feeling content and a little lazy.

His toes froze about ten minutes ago so he toes off his shoes and wiggles them around in his socks. He grabs one of the magazines Polnareff keeps bringing and piling up on the little side table in the corner, half-turns on the sofa, and politely and subtly shoves his feet up to midfoot under Jotaro's thighs.

Several pages of a special on the Police and photos of Duran Duran on tour later, Kakyoin gently wiggles his toes to shake off pins and needles. Jotaro snaps his A string. "Ffff-shoot—"

"You know," Polnareff interrupts, "we really do do a lot of goofing off for a band that's going to open for a band that's, like, actually known by people."

Kakyoin turns the page to look at the margin notes Avdol'd added to the article on Cyndi Lauper. "I'm having trouble with my sliders. Avdol's really good with them."

"Dude, you don't know how to work your own synth?" Polnareff wipes his cheesy fingers on his muscle pants. He strokes the skin of his bass drums. "I'm so glad I just have to hit this baby to make some noise. None of that knob stuff."

"Anything you touch automatically becomes knob stuff," Jotaro mumbles, picking a new string from a small roll of them he keeps in his bag and fumbling to untangle it. "'Cause you're a knob."

"I—" Kakyoin debates on whether to comment or let it slide. "Huh. I, uh, I prefer knobs over sliders, actually. I think they're easier to work with." He pauses. "I'm making this worse, right?"

"Definitely still talking about dicks," Polnareff supplies.

"Alright then." Kakyoin puts his magazine down and sits up. He tucks his feet underneath his knees and leans his elbows near his knees. "So, Passione, right?"

Jotaro finishes tuning his newly replaced string and strums all of them once. "Right."

"Mysterious, mysterious Passione." Polnareff fiddles with one of his drumsticks and sticks the other in his pocket. "Those mysterious Passione boys."

Kakyoin frowns, suddenly self-conscious. He wrings his hands together in his lap. "Am I the only one who knows, um, jack shit about this band?"

"I know their lead singer is like… deadly hot."

Jotaro does something that might constitute an eyeroll in Polnareff's direction. "Which one, hoser. There's two."

"Ah. I recant my statement and rephrase to say I, too, know jack shit." Polnareff sheepishly taps his bass pedal. "We're not really as in with the hip and happening as we like to pretend."

Kakyoin sighs. "I think you're the only one who thinks you are."
"I know some of them are really tall, and some of them are, like, real small," Jotaro provides, shifting his guitar in his grip.

He starts playing — sarcastically, Kakyoin thinks, if that's at all possible — a tune on his guitar Kakyoin faintly recognises as a Japanese children's song he learnt when he was little.

"Uh, thanks, that'll be a big help, I guess. At least…" Kakyoin hesitates, stares at the shitty wall posters Jotaro's undoubtedly picked out. "Since none of us knew who they were, at least none of us will be too starstruck to perform, so that's… that's a plus."

Polnareff exaggeratedly swings his legs around to turn himself around by ninety degrees and get up off his stool. "Silver Linings Broriaki with the rescue, huh? But this guy is going to rescue some cold fizzy drinks from the Kujo kitchen."

Jotaro stops strumming in the middle of a furious string of F-chords. "Get me a coke."

"I didn't—" Kakyoin weakly calls after Polnareff disappearing out of the door. "Is that my nickname now? Is there— can I object to this still or is it, like, too late?"

"Too late, dude." Jotaro pulls his legs up on the sofa without missing a note. His nursery rhyme playing seamlessly flows back into the low, soothing plucking of strings he was doing earlier, and he makes himself comfortable with his back against the armrest, extending his legs to fit comfortably unerneath Kakyoin's knees. The blood in Kakyoin's legs is slowly being replaced with pins and needles but he feels too comfortable the way he is to stretch them. It's fine like this.

He picks up a new magazine from the pile and attempts to ignore the cramping in his ankles. He's comfortable for about five seconds, but then startles up when there's a noise outside he identifies vaguely as Avdol cursing.

Jotaro's garage door creaks and rolls up and open loudly, and the first thing they see is a dog. A small one, with more wrinkles condensed in its neck than in the entire rest of his body. A little like God botched a Boston Terrier, and it's right here, dragging its legs and being very unhappy about being leashed. Avdol walks in, slowly, to give the dog time to follow, right when Polnareff busts out of the kitchen into the garage balancing a couple bottles and cans in his arms. He looks positively delighted and drops a cola can Kakyoin hopes isn't for him on the floor.

"Dude! This morning? Sorry for whatever I did, man. Didn't mean to, and all that. I'm a shithead, you know me."

Avdol frowns and stops next to Kakyoin's synthesizer. "Huh? You didn't do anything this time, Jean."

Jotaro picks his gentle fingerpicking back up and mumbles 'this time' under his breath, giving Kakyoin a look he interprets as a bit smug. Polnareff chooses to interpret the look as gay.

"Dudes! I told you I was free of blam— whaaat is… that?" Polnareff bends his knees and nearly folds himself in half to get a proper look at the creature semi-sheltered behind Avdol's legs. "Mutt?"

"Boston terrier," Avdol gently corrects, picking the dog up and setting it down on the corner chair usually reserved for empty soda cans. "I think."

He pulls the decorative doily off the back of the armchair and drapes it over the dog quickly settling down for a nap. Kakyoin finally unfolds his legs with a wince and effectively traps Jotaro's feet with his legs. "Are you keeping it?"

"Well…" Avdol drops down on Kakyoin's empty stool and fiddles with his slider panel. "I don't think he has owners. I've been watching him for a while, and he's always at the same spot, so… I'm assuming, of course."

"We can't!" Polnareff quickly throws the leftover coke can to Kakyoin before he drops that too. "I'm not a dog scientist! None of us are! What do dogs even eat?"

"Dog food, Jean."

"We—" He gestures wildly back and forth from Avdol to himself. "—We live in an apartment six stories high in a shady neighbourhood and can sometimes afford only cup noodles. Our balcony is detachable. I can't believe I'm being expected to be the voice of reason here."

Kakyoin gestures for Polnareff to settle down and sit. "He kind of has a point."

Avdol finishes resetting Kakyoin's sliders to their previous settings and looks over to the small, thin dog sleeping comfortably on the sofa. "I'll take on more shifts. It'll be fine."

"That's… not... Fine, alright." Polnareff drops down on his stool and cracks open his root beer. "I've exhausted all my common sense. How's Sparky for a dog's name?"

Jotaro hums and taps his chin in fake thought. Kakyoin feels his toes curl underneath his thighs. "I'm debating between fuck no or just... no. Emphasis versus short 'n sweet."

"Well, you just don't know anything," Polnareff counters, slurping at the neck of his bottle. "What were your cats' names again? Oh yeah—"
"I think Smith is a nice one. He's got the look of a Smith."

"Momo, he…" Polnareff closes his eyes and breathes deeply. "He does not look like a Smith. He's a Richard, at best."

They all watch Sparky-Smith-Richard sleep soundly, his ears twitching a little and his jowls moving with every deep exhale. Polnareff gets up and walks around his drum set to kneel next to the chair he's sleeping on. He stares for a while, slowly finishing his drink. He's around his final swig when he thoughtfully puts his bottle down and turns to Avdol. "What about Iggy? You know, like the singer guy? He married Suchi Asano. Him."

"Iggy," Avdol mutters. He repeats it, testing the name out. "Sounds nice. I like it."

"Sweet!" Polnareff finishes his bottle and settles it down next to the chair. Iggy makes low noises deep in his throat, every one of his extremities twitching before he groggily opens his eyes. He stretches lazily and looks up at his audience. Polnareff snickers. "What's up, dog?"

Iggy farts.

January 26th, 1985.

"Very confused about why I'm giving up my free Saturday hours to hang out with you zeeks." Jotaro apathetically folds the toes of his overpriced shoes over the edge of Avdol's tasteful coffee table.

"I'll tell you why," Polnareff sings gleefully, walking in from the tiny kitchen carrying an over-full tray. "'Cause you love us, but you wuuuuuuuv only some of us!"

Jotaro yanks a can from the tray without looking at the label. "I despise you."

"What else were you going to do?" Kakyoin picks something from the tray when Polnareff urges him to, wobbling it dangerously in front of his face. "Moodily pet your cats and blast the Cure?"
"No." Yes, Kakyoin mentally counters.

Avdol sits on his burgundy sofa and half of him disappears into the pillows, cradling a mug containing… tea, possibly. "Jotaro, hat off."

"You always… Goddam— fine."

Avdol takes a long sip from his mug. "I love these little get-togethers. Really good for band dynamics."

"Speaking of band dynamics!" Kakyoin pulls his legs closer to his own seat, using the tip toes of his shoes to prop up his knees. "Uh, so, like," he starts, pulling a handful of folded flyers from his coat pocket, "I've been looking around for some info on this band we're opening for, right?"

"Uh, huh?" Polnareff leans over to stuff a handful of saltine crackers into his mouth. Kakyoin thinks about how half his conversations with Polnareff take place while eating. Either Polnareff eats a lot, or he should find better times to come with interesting tidbits. Both, probably.

"And they're apparently really popular." He rifles through his stack and produces a flashy flyer announcing Passione in concert in big, white letters on a background of purples and blacks. He spreads them out over the low table surface and tries to flatten them a little with his palms.

"Uh, someone at the library was selling their bras for a ticket. These guys've been number one nationwide for several weeks! Sold quite a lot of CD's too, apparently."
Jotaro frowns and stops his own handful of crackers halfway to his mouth. "What the fuck is a cee-dee?"

"It's, uh, a Compact Disk. Like a record, but smaller? There's songs on it too, but like, more."

"Inquiry," Polnareff mumbles around crumbs. "Will I be able to play these here cee-dees on my rickety record player?"

Kakyoin leans his cheek in his palm and taps it with his index finger. "Uh, no. No, I don't think you can. I think you have to buy a special... thing to play them."

"That…!" Polnareff smacks himself in the knees. "That definitely sounds like a lie. Record players play anything. It played the two halves of Avdol's Hall & Oats record."

At their questioning looks, Avdol sighs and sinks down deeper into his tacky sofa. "Iggy loves records."

"He's never destroyed any of my records," Polnareff adds smugly. "He just farts and pees on me, which is totally manageable."

"Right."

"They sold a lot of… cee-dees even though nobody owns any fucking thing that'll play them?" Jotaro sniffs. "Must be good or whatever.."

Kakyoin looks away from the crumpled flyers. "I hear they're really big in Europe and Asia too."

"Europe. Of course Europe would be into that weird glam gothic opera shit."

Polnareff bends closer and presses himself nearly nose to nose with the lead singer duo posing on the posters. "These guys are, like, really goth though. Or, some of them? I'm not sure what image they're trying to go for. Why'd they want us? Like, they specifically asked for us, right?"

Jotaro's mouth is definitely too full of saltines to answer. He nods.

Polnareff folds his arms over his chest. "Right. So I'm mystified, 'cause we're not— well, not all of us are—"

Jotaro swallows his very dry mouthful and grimaces. "Call me goth one more time." He points at Polnareff threateningly. "And no, you can't wear your tie-dye."

Polnareff sits up rod-straight and puts his hand to his right nipple. "Not that I was trying to get to that, but no, I will not wear my tie-dye. American's honour."

"You're French! You, like, eat frogs and bread and shit. Onion soup."

"Oh, please, I haven't had a frog in yea— wait, Jotaro, do you…" Polnareff looks at him in mock-sympathy, tilting his head and reaching out to put his hand on Jotaro's shoulder. "Do you not eat bread?"

Jotaro rolls his eyes and moves out of the way before he's forced into human contact. "Do not touch me. It was a hyperbole, or something."

"Jotes, Jojo, listen—" He leans forward, arm outstretched, nearly bending himself in half, until Jotaro is at the limit of how much he can physically move while still in his seat, and clasps his shoulder, looking him in the eye. "I will not wear a tie-dye."

"Swear it."

"On you failing English class, I will not wear my tie-dye."

Jotaro yanks his arm off his shoulder like he can tell Polnareff only sometimes washes it after going to the bathroom. "Not good enough."

"What? Dude, you are failing." Polnareff sits back and hums. "Alright, okay. I swear, on my dear, dead baby sister and maman, I will not wear tie-dye."

"I'll take it."

"This has been riveting," Avdol cuts in, setting his mug down on the only available coffee table space left, "but we keep ending up in this bunk situation where we have no songs and our only option is doing covers of songs we think of when we feel like it, and I think that's a situation that needs fixing."

"Yeah, we… this always seems to happen. Maybe we should think of some more original material?" Kakyoin settles back in his chair and looks at Jotaro. "That song you were playing earlier — that sounded nice!"

"It's—" Jotaro coughs. "It's a work in progress, but I have some lyrics to it, I guess."

"And we've still got half a book full of Polnareff's tragic death ballads-"

"Damn, Skippy!" Polnareff jabs his own thumb into his chest. "And I haven't even shown you my secret stash of notebooks yet. It's a never-ending stream of misery."

Iggy saunters in on his short, stumpy little legs and walks to the middle of the room. He yawns, stretches, looks Polnareff dead in the eye, and pees. Polnareff jumps up and exclaims in outrage. "Dude, this dog is buggin', c'est quoi, ce bordel—"

"Jean-Pierre!"

"Momo!" Iggy does something that might be a smirk on a human face and walks up to Polnareff's seat, taking his chance to hop up on the pillows before Polnareff can sit back down. Polnareff gestures at him wildly. Iggy is undisturbed. "You need to get your dog under control! There's not enough cool words for this shit I can use, and I'm going to kirk out if he chews up my pants, dude."

"Oh? So he's my dog now?" Avdol calmly folds his arms and crosses his legs. "I seem to remember you being very fond of him when he got to my cards."

"I only like him when he's not eating my shit, doy!"

Iggy growls at Polnareff until he takes a step away from the chair. Polnareff looks at him incredulously but sinks down in the cushion next to Avdol regardless, while Avdol gets up to get toilet roll and carpet cleaner. Iggy smacks his lips, drool dripping from his jowls, and looks at Jotaro, self-satisfied and comfortable. "I don't take that kind of shit from dogs," he grumbles, staring back unblinkingly.

"Well, a lot happened in the past five minutes." Kakyoin sips daintily from his can. "But luckily, none of it happened to me."

Avdol comes back with heavy cleaning supplies and starts work on the beige carpeting covering the floor from start of hallway to end of living room. "About practice," he starts, dumping Aquamist on the wet spot, "I took on a bunch of extra shifts next week and the week after. Jean too."

Polnareff nods solemnly. "The sharp, wretched claws of capitalism, firmly in my buttcheeks most bodacious."

"Right." Avdol dumps a heap of toilet paper on top of the wet spot in a very irresponsible form of stain cleaning. "Running out of savings and all. It's only for two weeks and we'll still come in the weekends, yeah?"

Polnareff nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! We'll be back before you know it."

Kakyoin begins to nod before Jotaro speaks up. "Fine, whatever, as long as you dudes promise to stop by for dinner or lunch or whatever more. Mom keeps asking me how you're doing. How am I supposed to know."

Avdol gets up, dusting off his knees. He sits back down next to Polnareff and gives Jotaro the most gentle smile Kakyoin's ever seen. "We will."

Two hours later, when Jotaro and Kakyoin leave together after Kakyoin's wrapped himself back up in his four layers, Kakyoin laughs and looks up and sideways. "That was awfully kind of you, Jojo."

"I've never been kind in my life."

Kakyoin pretends he doesn't see his lips twitch upwards, and in the later hours of January's last Saturday, thinks quietly to himself how Jotaro's smiles do look awfully nice. Rare as they are.