Summary:

In which Kakyoin looks back upon the time that he met DIO, and fell in love for the very first time.

Notes:

The Logical Side of my Brain: Part of what made Noriaki Kakyoin's character so bittersweet is the fact that he died and we would forever question what could have been. And accepting that is, in a way, like paying respects to the show. So...one day, I'll have to confront that and let him die in this fic, as well. It's only proper.

The OTHER Side of my Brain: yeah but we ain't doin' that shit today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. We're gonna ride the Everything Chronicles until we crash and burn.

X

Therapist number fourteen was a tall black woman by the name of Ms. Angela Tanaka. Kakyoin liked her a lot. She was easy-going, and never pressed him for details that he wasn't ready to admit. In fact, they spent most of their sessions in complete silence with him standing by the window and her nodding her head gently to the music coming from the record player. He liked playing his music for her. The records that he chose worked as a sort of code: upbeat, cheery songs signified a good mood. Gloomy cello pieces signified sorrow.

They conducted their therapy sessions in the fourth-story sitting room of his mansion in Japan. That way, he could look out upon the world from an elevated space. It felt like he was in a completely different dimension that way, with her facilitating his mindfulness, a trayful of tea between them, classical music playing softly behind him. It was the only sort of therapy that seemed to work for him.

That day, Kakyoin stood with his back to her. He was staring past his reflection into the front courtyard where a group of children were tossing strands of grass over his son. The young boy giggled and screamed as he was mummified and this would have brought a smile to Kakyoin's lips. But it didn't then. The sight of the grassy stems being woven around the boy's tiny arms had brought back a memory, one that he had done his best to bury a long time ago.

As he watched, the man who had been hired for the children's entertainment bent down over his suitcase and withdrew a spindly set of wooden marionettes which he connected to a small silver box. Kakyoin closed his eyes, sighed, and ran his hand over the back of his neck. The soft pink petals from the cherry blossom trees were beginning to rain down this time of year. Kakyoin opened his eyes just in time to see the man straighten up and sling a violin beneath his chin. There was a simple white mask covering his face with a black smiley face painted across the front, an odd accent to his otherwise simple black suit. All at once, the man began to play. As he did, he maneuvered his shoe across the pedals of the silver box, making the marionettes jump and dance. The kids were enraptured. They crowded around him, squirming and prancing about as he played his violin with a passionate abandon.

Violins, marionettes, a simple white mask, Egypt…

Why was it always Egypt?

No matter what he did, or where he went, he always ended back up in Egypt. Somehow, someway. There was a part of him that was still tethered there. And now here it was, once again reaching back through time to lay its claim upon him. Or perhaps it was all a coincidence, a muffled and befuddled memory blurring out the edges of his reality. After all, it wasn't a far stretch to believe that there were many mask-wearing violinists who also controlled their marionettes with a simple silver box.

God, he hoped.

"Noriaki."

He slid his eyes over to the reflection of the woman sitting on the couch. Once again, he was struck by how beautiful she was. But, more than that, she was stately. Calm. Like a polished sea stone withstanding the buffeting of the sea. He never wanted to let her go.

"Are you alright?" She asked in her deep, euphonious voice. He looked away.

"That's the million-dollar question."

She was smiling, he could see it in her reflection in the window. "I like to keep things old-fashioned," she said, wiggling her pen between her fingertips. "How about I offer you a penny for your thoughts instead?"

"Not a fan of inflation, huh?" He said with a smile, rubbing his chin. The man in the courtyard was swaying back and forth as he played his violin, lost in a musical stupor. Kakyoin couldn't take it anymore. He turned away from the window. "I don't blame you. But tell me. What made you ask me that question?"

"That expression on your face. The one that you were wearing just now. I've never seen it before."

Kakyoin reached up and fingered the scars lining his eyes self-consciously. "Something's been on my mind," he finally admitted. "A ghost from my past, you could say."

"This is your space, Noriaki. Remember, it's safe. This...ghost, you say...doesn't have to come in. But if they do, I'm here with you to greet them." She leaned forward and crossed her wrists over her knee, fixing him with a lukewarm gaze. "What are you thinking? Shall we leave this ghost at the door and continue our silent meditation? Or this time do we want to open the door, let them come in, and sit them down for tea? Your choice."

"Hm," Kakyoin said with a grin, his finger running curious circles around his chin. He liked the way that she phrased things. She had been born and raised in Japan, he knew. Thus, she spoke formal Japanese with a clear fluidity that lent grace to her words. "You still got that penny?"

She smiled again, leaned back, and dug a penny out of her pocket. She flicked it to him and he caught it with a graceful swoop. "Remember," she said. "I'm right here. No matter how far back you tread into your past, I will be here to pull you back if things become too overwhelming."

"Right," he said, etching the grime off of the penny with his thumbnail. "Right." He closed his eyes, let his head fall back a little. The smile slid away from his face. "There was a man that I met, a long time ago when I was seventeen. I'd never met anyone like him before. He was supremely powerful and had this aura about him, I can't really explain it. Anyway...he had this way of making people fall in love with him. And I was one of those people. He took me in, enchanted me with illusions of trustworthiness and promises. Promises that he had no intention of keeping. But I was young and I didn't know better. He used me like a puppet to do terrible, vile things…"

He heard the scratching of her pen's tip upon her notepad. He opened his eyes slightly and read her upside-down handwriting in the reflection of the vase beside her. Grooming victim, she had written. This came as no surprise. Long ago, Kakyoin had come to realize that DIO had done just that: groomed the ever-loving hell out of him. She looked back up at him, the warmth of her expression helping to keep him grounded in reality.

"Where is he now? This man whom you met so long ago?"

"Burnt to pieces in the Sahara Desert," he said, sliding the penny between his fingers. Oh, she was good. She barely even flinched at the shadiness of the statement.

"Would you like to elaborate," she asked carefully, her eyes on her notepad. They both were aware of the processes that followed an elaboration of guilt from a therapy patient. She was offering him a way out. He took it and shook his head.

"Naw." He flipped the penny in the air and then stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

"Alright. And what brought him to your mind just now?"

"This man...he had a lot of victims...other people that he manipulated and used to do his dirty work. I got out of it alive, sort of. Ended up with a house in the hills. Married to a wonderful guy. Got to be the father to the coolest kid on earth. But the others, they weren't so lucky. Some of them couldn't even escape with their lives." This was the part that he couldn't tell: that he and the other crusaders had played a part in the destruction of many of DIO's warriors. Some of the enemy Stand Users had been hospitalized, he knew. The rest he preferred not to think about.

"Did you know any of them?" She was asking. "Personally?"

"Certain circumstances would have made it possible," he said, delicately enough. "But choices had to be made and I left them all behind. And, if you were thinking about asking how I feel about that, I'll spare you the expense. I don't feel bad. Not at all. Except...there was somebody…" he stopped and listened. There, ever so faintly, he could hear the sound of the violin playing in the courtyard. Vivaldi - Violin Concerto No. 4, he knew, in F Minor. The title of the piece was "Winter."

He could have almost believed that the timing and choice of song were intentional, daring him to wade further into the memory, taunting his past treachery with its presence. "I guess you could say he was collateral damage. We all were but...he was innocent. And I let that innocence be defiled by leaving him behind."

"Is this the ghost to which you were referring?"

Kakyoin shook his head again, closed his eyes, listened. "Do you hear that? The violin playing in my courtyard? There's not a ghost in heaven nor hell that could play so beautifully."

"I must admit, Noriaki, I'm rather lost."

"So was I when I met him." He suddenly opened his eyes and looked over at her. "Ms. Tanaka. Not to be rude in changing the subject, but I'm sure you'd be pleased to hear that I've recently picked up writing as a new hobby. Would you be so kind as to allow me to share my newest story with you?"

"...yes. Yes, of course! I'd be honored." She snapped her notebook shut and leaned forward in her chair. He abandoned his post by the window and took a seat in front of her, crossing his legs and folding his hands over his knee as he did so.

"It's completely fictional, of course," he said in prelude. "So don't give it too much thought. But maybe it'll help you catch a tiny glimpse of where my mind is. Sort of...metaphorically." He closed his eyes, thought real long and hard. And then began. "Thirteen years ago. I was seventeen, on vacation with my parents in Egypt…"

X

Aswan, Egypt.

The marketplace was positively buzzing by the time that Kakyoin and his parents arrived. The evening was soon approaching and they were tired from their trip along the river Nile. But Kakyoin's mother hadn't been able to resist making one more stop, this time to collect presents for their family back home. Kakyoin stood some ways back as she dug through a pile of neon touristy hats. His father stood beside her, dragging his finger along a ruffled visitor's map with his tongue in his cheek. He looked out of place amongst the pastel attire of the residents walking up and down the avenue. But, then again, so did Kakyoin. His father was a stickler for strict dress codes. The only compromise that Kakyoin had been allowed was the removal of his tailored coat in the sweltering heat.

He swished his hand back and forth across his face as a group of kids stood staring up at him. They had never quite seen something like him before. He told himself that they were just used to seeing American tourists. But deep down inside, he knew that wasn't it. He was different, a perpetual outsider as his teacher was fond of reminding his parents. It could have been anything: from the shock of unusually red hair to his violet-blue eyes to the way that he held his shoulders, straight as a soldier's.

"Are you an Asian?" One of the kids asked, casually rolling his tongue around a lollipop as he stared up at him. The little girl next to him gasped and pinched the boy's neck.

"No, dummy, he's a Chinese," she informed him.

"What's a shy-nees?"

"You're looking at one, idiot!" The girl exclaimed.

"Oh…" the kid with the lollipop considered this for a moment. Then he reached up and tugged at Kakyoin's sleeve. "Excuse me, mister? Are you a shy-nees?"

Kakyoin sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. He had seen a group of teenagers lingering about on the steps of an old building. They were much closer to his age and were eyeing him with interest. He was torn between finding their scrutiny malicious and thinking himself paranoid for thinking such thoughts in the first place. One of the teenagers - a woman with sly, cattish eyes and a fountain of jet black hair- grinned and crooked her pointer finger at him. Come hither.

The young boy was tugging at his sleeve again. He looked down in annoyance.

"Excuse me, mister? I wanna be shy-nees when I grow up. Then maybe I get to wear clothes like you, right? But...I don't know how to do that. Become shy-knees, I mean..."

"Can't help you there, kid," Kakyoin said. The female teenager with the black hair was laughing, a bit too loudly for it not to have been an attempt to get his attention. "You see, I'm not actually Chinese. I come from a little place called Japan-"

"That's in Russia," the little girl sang loudly, quite proud to show off her geographical expertise. The little boy frowned, still munching on his lollipop stick as he pondered this new information.

"Oh…" he said before grabbing Kakyoin's sleeve. "Um. Excuse me, mister? But how do I become japa...russian...nees?"

"Again," Kakyoin said slowly, feeling suddenly very tired. "Not really my area of expertise, kid."

"Found one!" Kakyoin's mother suddenly stood up, a bright green safari hat on her head. She tilted it side to side over her forehead before finally letting it settle into place. "What do you think? Auntie Sara will love it, right?"

"Right," Kakyoin's father said, still eyeing the map. "Because nothing says Egypt quite like a 'Made in China' tag. Isn't that right, Mister Japarussianees?"

Kakyoin grinned as his mother threw her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled her nose against his neck. Any other teenager would have been embarrassed by such a display of motherly affection but he loved it. He swore to himself if he ever had a kid that he wouldn't be afraid to show them unapologetic affection. "I say we ditch the old man and hitchhike our way home on the back of motorcycles. Ah," she hugged him tighter and breathed in the smell of his hair. "My big ol' boy. When are you going to stop growing, huh? You're towering over your poor old shriveled mother! I-"

She suddenly stopped and gazed over his shoulder at the teenage girl. She was grinning and twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes never leaving Kakyoin's face. Seeing this, his mother gasped softly and held him tighter. "She's pretty," she whispered, her breath ruffling the soft baby hairs at the back of his neck. "You know, if you were to slip away tonight and go hang out with her and her nice friends, I wouldn't question it. I could cover for you. Your father would never know."

"Thanks, mom, but-"

"Oh, sorry, baby," she said quickly, untwining her arms from around his waist. "I shouldn't smother you so. I'm sure she wouldn't mind anyway. Haven't you heard? Bad Boys are so yesterday. Mama's Boys are all the rage now, right?" She gave a stifled laugh that immediately set off the warning bells in his head. His grip momentarily tightened on his suitcase and then relaxed. They were both familiar with this song and dance: he would decline yet another offer to socialize with people his age and she would look at him with that same baffled expression, the one that she tried to hide when their eyes met but was slow in evaporating. Such an expression aged her and it hurt him to think that his reclusive nature caused her concern.

But not only that. The young Egyptian girl was gorgeous, undeniably so. But the gorgeousness of women inspired nothing in him but a passive appreciation. And his oh-so-sweet and naive mother hadn't yet realized the implication of that.

"Eh? What's that?" Kakyoin's father said, finally looking up from his traveler's brochure. "Planning something devious? No time for that! Noriaki. Are you behind on your studies?"

"No, dad. I was going to put the finishing touches on my essay when we got back to the hotel."

"I see. And for your report on the flourishing history of Aswan and its peoples, have you collected a sufficient amount of resources?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, sufficient isn't enough!" His father cried before swatting Kakyoin's lower back with the travel brochure. "I want surplus, Tenmei! Go, now, and conduct some more interviews. I want you to learn everything that there is to know about Aswan so that you may fetch the best grade! What did you think this was, son, a vacation?"

Kakyoin grinned back at his father, his cheeks still warm in embarrassment from having been smacked with the brochure. "Wouldn't dream of it!"

"Of course you wouldn't," Kakyoin's father said, pinching his chin. "Dreams are for people who haven't yet achieved their goals. And I didn't raise no thumb-twiddling dreamer. Go now, my good man. You have two hours."

"Hai!"

Kakyoin turned on his heel and began to walk down the street, but not before he heard his father loudly proclaim that his son was a 'fine, young global citizen.' The shop matron gave an uninterested grunt as she watched his mother try on yet another neon pink touristy hat, one of the many that had begun to pile within her tote bag.

His meanderings brought him to the end of the avenue. The owners of the makeshift shops surrounding him were beginning to pack away their wares and unhook the cotton tarps from above their tables. There was subdued energy about the place as people chatted in a low, indecipherable tongue. The lanterns in the doorways flickered, casting shadows back and forth across the dusty ground. A few dedicated beggars held their hands out to him as he passed by, but he waved them away with a gentle smile and many muttered apologies. But otherwise, he was mostly ignored. He felt a strange sense of peace as he strolled along in the foreign land, keeping his eye on the dusty pale moon as he breathed in the warm evening air. He could have almost believed that he was back home in Japan, walking alone through the streets late at night as he usually did, his path clear and mind blank.

By chance, he stopped and listened. There was a strange sound riding the wind. It rose and fell beneath the murmur of sleepy voices, playing out a soft tune. Having already decided that he was done conducting interviews for the day, he began to walk in the direction of the music. Louder and louder it grew until he found himself standing before yet another boarded-up doorway. At first, he couldn't make out anything from beneath the yawning shadows. Then his gaze fell upon a small silver contraption. It was a mechanical box of some sort with silver rods extending from within. Attached to these silver rods were long, nearly-translucent strings which had been tied tight around the limbs of several marionettes. As he watched, entranced, the marionettes moved in lazy circles around each other, guided by the gentle tugging of the strings. They were dancing, their elevated footsteps graceful and arms held aloft as they swayed to the music coming from the doorway. Kakyoin set his suitcase down and fell to a crouch, his eyes never leaving their bare wooden faces. There was something so...mystical about the way that they moved.

Suddenly the music stopped, just as he was about to reach out to touch them. There was a movement from within the shadows of the doorway and he looked up. For the first time, he noticed a lanky Egyptian youth sitting hunched over between the walls. Their eyes met - violet to stained glass brown - before the youth straightened up and pulled a mask over his face.

"Oh. Didn't see you there."

This had to have been a false statement, seeing as Kakyoin was crouched down right in front of him. The young man swung his legs out over the staircase and scooted forward. It was then that Kakyoin noticed that he had been operating the silver box with a pedal that he compressed with his shoe.

"Well," the youth said with a sigh. "What'll you be having?" His voice was muffled beneath his porcelain mask. His English was impeccable, with a slightly husky accent that caught Kakyoin off guard.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"I can make them reenact a scene from any movie," the youth said, tilting his covered chin towards the marionettes. "Ever seen the Titanic? You know, the part where they were standing on the boat?"

"Huh?"

"Oh. I see. You're one of those romantic types. I can make them kiss, like Peter Parker and Mary Jane from Spiderman." The young man detached the strings from the silver box and looped them around a small wooden cross. As Kakyoin watched in wonder, he shifted the cross between his fingers and made the marionettes sidle up to each other.

"I-"

"Ah. Okay. Got it. You want the late-night special. Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous. Here, have a sneak preview. You'll see that I have a lot to offer, for the right price." Again, the youth began to move his fingers. This time the marionettes began to dance in a very obscene manner. But despite the vulgar display, Kakyoin couldn't take his eyes off of them. They moved slowly, gently, with more grace than he had ever seen a human possess. One marionette ran its crudely shaped ovular hand along the other, tracing the roundness of its face before trailing its hand down to the chest and then the legs. So soft was the inanimate touch that Kakyoin was forced to look away, blushing at the feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

"You're a..a p-puppeteer," Kakyoin stuttered, keeping his gaze purposefully focused on a rat scurrying out from beneath a pile of trash.

"One of the best in Egypt," the youth said. He was wholly focused and engrossed in his work. He didn't seem embarrassed as he guided the marionettes together, their slim figures thrusting smoothly against one another. "And you're a tourist. Japanese, right?"

Kakyoin laughed, his eyes still lowered and away from the youth. He didn't know why, but something about the young man's presence made him feel loopy and slightly disjointed, like he was treading in a cloudy river. It must have been the accent. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Well then...go on…tell me what you want to see. I got one more show in me before I pack up for the night."

Kakyoin thought about this for a moment and then said, "What you were doing before, with the violin. Can you...?"

"Huh," the puppeteer paused and looked up at him. He had nice hands. Kakyoin didn't know why, but the sight of his slender, brown fingers moving deftly beneath the moonlight had fixated itself within his mind. They were the hands of an artist and a working man.

"Oh...you want me to do that?" The puppeteer asked, almost bashfully. Then, realizing that he had let something slip, his voice hardened and he said, "That'll cost you about fifty US dollars."

"I see," Kakyoin said slowly. He couldn't help it. He reached out and crooked his finger beneath the chin of the nearest marionette, making its head bounce with each word as if it, instead of him, was speaking. "You know, the English poet Thomas Tusser had a quote about a fool and his money. I'd be willing to share it, except I don't think that it would apply in my case. Yours, maybe. It was nice meeting you."

Kakyoin rose and picked up his briefcase. But the youth had risen at the same time, his arms held out as if he was alarmed at the thought of Kakyoin leaving him behind. " 'A fool and his money are soon parted,' ' he said quickly, just as Kakyoin was about to walk away. "But if a wise man eats where a fool makes a feast, would you be willing to stay? It's not like I have a feast to offer or anything but I-" he picked up his violin and nuzzled his chin against the chin rest. "I've been workin' on something. I guess you could listen in, free of charge. Consider it a trial run."

"Wouldn't hurt, right?" Kakyoin said. He turned back around, crossed his legs, and took a seat in front of the puppeteer, right on the sandy sidewalk.

"Naw, I guess it wouldn't." The puppeteer stood up proud and began to play, his foot working the lever of his marionette box. Kakyoin's eyes moved between him and the box. He couldn't decide what was more beautiful: the way that the marionettes danced, the eerie sound reverberating from the violin, or the swift, in-sync motions of the puppeteer's arm as he played his instrument. He decided in favor of the third option and spent the next few minutes simply watching him. He wished that he could have seen his face. To Kakyoin, there was nothing more vivifying than the pure euphoria that animated a musician's face as they played. Kakyoin wondered what he looked like but couldn't conjure up a clear image of his face. The most that he had seen was a sharp, tight jaw and one smokey-rimmed eye before he had pulled the mask low over his face.

The youth played and Kakyoin's eyes traveled along the lines of his lithe body: the cream-colored button-up pressed flat against his abdomen, the strong thighs shifting beneath the wrinkles of his brown trousers, his hands, those damned pretty hands - one guiding the bow along the strings, the fingers of the other tickling the neck of the violin. There was just something so sensual about his fingers.

Not for the last time, Kakyoin wondered what it would feel like to be a violin under such gentle expertise.

Finally, after what seemed like too short of a time, the puppeteer stopped and let his violin fall limp by his side. He let his head fall black and gave a deep exhale, his breath turning a frolicking, misty white in the air above him. Kakyoin clapped enthusiastically and called, 'bravo!' The puppeteer put a hand to his stomach and bowed low. The marionettes had fallen into a dead, tangled heap at his feet as if they too had been exhausted by the performance. Kakyoin stood up and, still clapping, took a step towards him.

"That was amazing," he said. The puppeteer said nothing to this and instead ran a hand through the dark brown ponytail lying upon his shoulder. Though he couldn't see it, Kakyoin imagined that he was smiling. "No, really! That was fantastic, that was-" he suddenly glanced at his watch and realized that an hour and thirty minutes had elapsed since he had left his parents. "Shoot. Gotta go. Familial duties call."

"Oh," the puppeteer said. Was it Kakyoin's imagination or had he sounded a bit disappointed? "I guess. I wouldn't know, I…" he stopped and looked away. "Suppose you couldn't stay a bit longer," he said, so quietly that Kakyoin almost didn't catch it.

"Nope, sorry." Kakyoin picked up his briefcase and situated it in the crook of his arms. "We're switching hotels early tomorrow morning. My parents want to explore every crook and crevice of Aswan before we leave. And they want me to document everything for the essay I'm writing."

"Gotta do what you gotta do when you're a student, I guess. Do...uh...hm…"

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, I just…" the puppeteer had been packing away his equipment. Now, he turned around and looked straight at Kakyoin. Their eyes met and again, Kakyoin felt that heated feeling rising in his stomach. It made him restless and a bit confused, like he was under some dark spell. "I guess I was just wondering if I made it into your little essay or not."

"You kidding me?" Kakyoin said with a friendly laugh. "If my camera wasn't so full already, I'd take a picture of you and make it my front page."

"Naw," the puppeteer said. Kakyoin could hear the blush in his voice. He liked it, and his next words were born of a devious need to hear the puppeteer blush again.

"Yep. I've already decided on my intro statement: Aswan, a little city located on the river Nile, boasts a rich and ancient history. Hidden beneath its crimson pillars of syenite, one may find a variety of fascinating bazaars and surreal violinists that will take one's breath away."

"Naw," the puppeteer said again. And then, "you really mean it?"

"Scout's honor," Kakyoin said, putting a hand to his chest. The puppeteer stared at him a moment before finally looking away.

"I don't think I caught your name," he said, speaking softly to the wriggling ridges of his toes beneath his shoes.

"Noriaki Kakyoin. But you can call me Tenmei. It's a name reserved for family and friends. What's yours?"

The puppeteer shook his head. "I'm nobody." He took a deep breath in, tensed his shoulders, and then exhaled again. "Well, Noriaki...Tenmei. If you ever head back this way, you know where to find me. I don't usually stay in one place too long. But if it means I get to see you again then I guess I can stay put for a while."

Kakyoin held out his hand. The puppeteer stared at it for a moment as if he wasn't sure what Kakyoin was doing. Then he placed his hand in his, squeezed it tight. Kakyoin felt as if their fingers were puzzle pieces interlinking perfectly. Finally, they let each other go, and Kakyoin stuffed his hand in his pocket.

"Well," he said after a moment. "I should go…"

"Right…"

"I'll keep an eye out for you…"

"Uh-huh…"

"...goodbye, then."

"Later, my friend."

X

That night, Kakyoin and his parents sat down for dinner in the hotel's restaurant. His mother was positively giddy at the fact that Kakyoin had chosen to stay out late. In her mind, he must've taken her advice and made off with the pretty Egyptian lady. She sipped her wine and winked at him every time their eyes met. His father wasn't nearly as impressed with his son's untimely behavior but had ultimately resolved himself to the fact that Kakyoin must have been out gathering extra resources.

"So, son," he said, as he unfolded a large white napkin onto his lap. "I assume you've had a productive evening?"

"Yes, sir," Kakyoin said in English. He was staring out the large glass window, wondering where in the city the puppeteer was. A waitress came by and filled his class with sparkling water. Her sharp, clean uniform was at odds with the street clothes that the puppeteer had been wearing. A random thought crossed his mind: perhaps he should have invited the young man to dinner. It would be an excuse to hear him play again.

"Sooooo," his mother sang, swiping his hair away from his face. "Who did you meet?"

"Nobody," he said distractedly. In his mind, he was still watching the puppeteer's fingers dance across the strings of the violin.

"Are you telling me that 'nobody' was able to provide you with information on the city?" Kakyoin's father asked, cutting into a slab of steak.

His mother laughed. "The boy speaks in riddles. That's what kids do nowadays."

"So long as he's making the grade, he can speak in Lalapalooza language if he wants. Son, how do you say 'pass me the salt' in Lalapalooza?"

But Kakyoin didn't hear him. He was rolling his tongue along his lips, thinking of the puppeteer.

X

"So," Angela said, startling him out of his reverie. He realized that he had gone quiet and had somehow ended up at the window again. This was supremely rude and he gave his head a reinvigorating shake. "Did 'you' ever go back to find the boy?"

"I did," he said slowly. He peeked at the reflection of her notes in the vase. She hadn't written anything. This was a good sign. "I convinced my parents to let me go back the very next day. I told them that I had met a group of kids my age who wanted to show me around the city. It was a purely academic venture. At least, that's what my father believed."

"But, in reality, you were with the boy. You didn't tell me his name…"

Kakyoin smiled and cast her a mischievous glance. "It's a fictional story, remember? I haven't made up his name yet."

Her mouth traced an 'O' and she pretended to write on her notepad. "Subject Nemo from Aswan, Egypt. Name pending."

He laughed. "I'm glad we speak the same language. Can't afford to have anything lost in translation."

"Souda," she said, with a slight smile on her lips. She was an expert at catching every whimsical witticism that Kakyoin threw at her. She crossed her legs and laced her fingers at her side. "I'll admit that I'm anticipating a happy ending. But then I'd also have to admit that I'm blind-sighted by my own selfish desires."

"Coincidentally enough, so am I. I'm glad you stopped me here. Honestly, I could have gone on forever about the friendship that he and I discovered. But, more than a friendship, it was…" it was everything, he wanted to add, everything that one could have hoped for when falling in love for the first time. He didn't want to tell her about how close he and the puppeteer had gotten: how he had convinced his parents to let him stay another week in Egypt, how the puppeteer had introduced him to his friends and brought him around the frugal dinners that they shared in an abandoned warehouse, how, when the friends had left, the puppeteer would sidle up behind Kakyoin, wind his arms beneath his shoulders, and guide his hands as he taught him the secrets of puppeteering. Kakyoin could still do it. He could commandeer a set of marionettes like it was nobody's business. But, for the most part, he kept that talent to himself. The last time that he had pulled out a set of marionettes had been when he was seventeen, sitting lazily in a window as he prepared to orchestrate Jotaro's demise. On that note…

Now came the hard part.

He realized that he had gone quiet again. He looked up at the ceiling and let his breath out in a slow whistle. "That part of the story ends there. Or maybe I should say, it should have ended there. But it didn't," he said, still seeing the marionettes in his mind's eyes. "Now we're on to chapter two. Let's call it...Enter: The Dragon."

X

Kakyoin wolfed down his breakfast with an uncharacteristic voracity. His parents watched him with surreptitious smiles on their faces as he downed a glass of milk and picked up his briefcase.

"Gotta go," he said quickly, already heading for the door. But his mother stopped him.

"Aren't you forgetting something," she sang. He smiled and then placed a quick kiss on her cheek. She grinned beneath her smooshed cheek and then gave him a tight hug, attempting to pick him up in the process. His feet barely lifted from the floor before she placed him down and spun him around. "My big ol' boy. I miss you already, baby."

"Miss you, too," he said. It was their way of saying 'I love you.' His father ruffled his hair and he hurriedly pat it back into place before leaving the hotel in a rush. His parents watched his narrow shoulders disappear into the milling crowd beyond the glass window before moving to stand next to each other. His mother sighed and put her hands on his father's back.

"We did well, right?" She asked in a small voice. And then added, "he's a good kid." Her husband nodded and then looked to the side, suddenly silent. She looked at him curiously and then gave him a small squeeze. "What's wrong, honey?"

"It's just...that's part of being a parent, isn't it? Watching your kid walk away for the hundredth time, hoping that this won't be the day that the world tries to break 'em. Because it always will. When he was young, I had an excuse to keep him close to me...protect him 24/7. But now he's grown and I can only hope that the evils of the world will be warded off for a little longer."

Ah, she thought, so he felt it, too. There had been something unsettling about watching Kakyoin walk away. Usually, she watched his departures with a cheerful pride but this time something was wrong, she could feel it in her soul. It was as if she was watching Kakyoin walking into the jaws of some looming, invisible beast.

Unbeknownst to her then and for the rest of her life, she was correct in thinking that Kakyoin was headed straight for danger.

"Maybe we should call him back," she said in a low voice. Her husband shook his head.

"He's too far away now. Look, see. He's gone," he suddenly turned to her, a hint of desperation lingering around his tired eyes. "I don't know why but...I just wish I could've seen his smile one more time. I have this strange feeling that I'll never see it again."

"Why, honey, are you crying?"

X

"Kakyoin!"

Kakyoin's face erupted in a broad smile and he rushed towards the puppeteer. They stopped a few inches short of each other and simply stared. They had been on the verge of hugging, but the realization that they were on a crowded street full of nosy and judgmental onlookers had struck them both. Instead, Kakyoin held out his hand and the puppeteer grasped it heartily.

"Last day in Aswan and you couldn't look happier," the puppeteer said as they slid their hands into their customary handshake. "Or prettier."

Kakyoin laughed and smoothed his hair down self-consciously. "Don't be fooled. I only look this happy because I know you won't be that far behind me."

"Five hundred and fifteen days," the puppeteer said from beneath his mask, rolling up his sleeve. Kakyoin's eyes were immediately drawn to the odd coloring running along his forearms. He frowned, recognizing it as bruises that had been sustained over a long period of time. "I did the math," the puppeteer continued in his smooth voice, oblivious to Kakyoin's gaze. "That's how long it'll take for me to save up enough money to move to Japan with my puppeteering business. But I talked to my uncle and he said that he could maybe get me a job at his automobile repair business. That'll cut the time in half. I could probably be in Japan by next year if I play my cards right. Here, I've even been practicing my Japanese with the help of the book that you gave me. Konbanwa! Takushii noriba wa doko desu ka? O-tazune shite mo ii desu ka? Hey...hey...future roommate, hello? Are you listening?"

The puppeteer snapped his fingers and Kakyoin looked up and away from his bruised arms. He was no fool. He knew defensive wounds when he saw them. The thought of anybody hurting his friend was enough to spoil his mood. The puppeteer put his hands up and took a step back. "Hey, man. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend. I guess my Japanese could use a bit of work-"

"...no...no, I'm sorry. I was just a little distracted." Kakyoin shook his head and tried to clear his mind of the ugly image of the bruises. "You've got the language down pat. You'll be speaking like a native in no time. Here, I got you something. Consider it a temporary parting gift." Kakyoin leveraged his briefcase across both arms and popped the locks with his thumbs. The top sprang open and it was as if the puppeteer's mask was enveloped in the golden light coming from within.

"Oh man," the puppeteer croaked. "Is that a -"

"Aristo MV Castellucci," Kakyoin finished for him. "Trust me when I say that this baby was as hard to find as a cherry in an orange grove. I hope you don't mind, but I bought it used."

The puppeteer put a hand to his mask, took a heavy inhale, and then sighed. "It's for me?" He asked shyly. Kakyoin nodded.

"Well God knows I don't know how to play. And I'm sure it'll look better in your hands than sitting around in some dusty shop window." Kakyoin readjusted the briefcase in his arms. It was so heavy, but the puppeteer seemed to be struck by a sudden timidity and made no move to take it.

"Naw," he finally whispered.

"What?" Kakyoin said, feeling suddenly nervous. "You don't want it? I'm sorry, perhaps it was wrong of me to buy you one without asking your permission first-"

"It's not that," the puppeteer said quickly. He reached his finger out and ran it along the edge of the violin reverently. "I'm a street kid, you know? If someone with the wrong idea catches me walking around with an expensive violin they might give me trouble. And I don't want a gift as special as this one to fall into the wrong hands."

"That's why I was thinking that maybe you could hide this one away. Save it for when you get to Japan and start performing in concert halls or on the big screen. Consider it a promise-keeping gift. If you ever start to lose hope that you'll ever make it to Japan, take it out and remember that you have an obligation to join me in my country." Kakyoin suddenly laughed. "You're my future roommate. There's no way that I'm letting you out of that contract so easily."

The puppeteer was quiet for a long time. Then suddenly he grabbed Kakyoin's wrist and pulled him away. "I have to show you something," he said as he half-dragged, half-carried Kakyoin down the street. "There's this abandoned castle at the edge of the city. The residents moved out a long time ago and I was able to explore it for a bit. The acoustics in there are amazing! Trust me, you've never heard something like a Castellucci in a long hallway."

Kakyoin quickly clicked the locks on his briefcase and followed the puppeteer down the street. As they walked, the young Egyptian man called out to the beggars on the street. He was obviously in their good graces, and Kakyoin was touched by the kindness and respect that the puppeteer showed to every man and woman regardless of their social status. But something was bothering him, or more so nagging at his conscience. Nobody else in Aswan was wearing a mask of the type that the puppeteer had on his face. At first, Kakyoin had just assumed that it was a part of his entertainer's ensemble. But even as the day grew hot and they both slung their jackets over their shoulders, the youth still refused to take his heavy porcelain mask off. Kakyoin knew that it was impolite to inquire any further, but eventually, he could no longer hold back on his curiosity.

"Something on your mind, pretty boy?" The puppeteer asked, glancing at him as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowded street.

"Sort of," Kakyoin said slowly. "The mask that you're wearing. Pardon me if it's improper to ask but...why don't you ever take it off?"

The youth hunched his shoulders and Kakyoin recognized this as a defensive gesture. For whatever reason, he had hit a soft point. "Best not to draw attention to yourself when you live like I do," he finally said.

"I see," Kakyoin said, although he didn't fully understand. He assumed that the puppeteer had some facial deformity or birthmark and that was why he hid his face. However, this couldn't have been farther from the truth. The puppeteer glanced over at him again, his body language now relaxed and slightly curious.

"The female beggars here cut their hair short so as not to attract the attention of predatory males," the puppeteer added, his fists balled deep in his pockets. "I wear this mask for a similar reason. Doesn't always work though." Kakyoin noticed the muscles in the puppeteer's forearm tense, making the bruises bulge in an ugly manner. The puppeteer hmphed and then looked away. "Oh, naivete - that prodigy of privilege," he continued casually. "Tenmei. I pray that you never get thrown into my world. If you did, the first thing that I would do is find you a mask to wear like mine. You wouldn't make it a day in this life with a face like yours. Well. Here we are."

Kakyoin hadn't even noticed that they had come to a stop. He looked up at the large building before them, suddenly feeling small and quite dizzy. There was something about the way that the dusty curtains fluttered against the broken window panes that made him uneasy. There was a black, festering mood about the place that he didn't like.

"You sure this place is abandoned?" He asked, wrapping his white scarf tighter around his chin. The puppeteer was busy trying to leverage the front door against its rusted hinges.

"Yeah," he said with a grunt. The bottom of the door made an awful scraping sound as it was pushed against the broken glass lining the steps.

"How long ago did you explore it?"

The puppeteer paused. "Hard to tell. A year or two, maybe. Or three…" he threw his arm out and beckoned for Kakyoin to come inside. "What? Are you nervous? Come on, this'll be great fodder for your report on Egypt."

"Appealing to my academic sensibilities," Kakyoin said quietly as he began to walk up the steps. He stopped at the doorway and peered into the blackness beyond. "Yet I can't seem to say no to you."

"Why's that?" The puppeteer asked. He had already waded deeper into the castle, his voice trailing behind him in an echo.

"Must be the accent," Kakyoin said to himself. And then he walked inside, thus making his very first mistake.

X

Angela was watching him, carefully. But he could feel the weight of her evaluation. She was a therapist, after all, not a friend listening to a made-up story by another. She was looking for spots of weakness, readying herself in case she had to intervene. But Kakyoin had steadied himself. He still had one foot braced firmly in reality, the other teetering precariously in memory.

"The story should have really ended there," he said. "I should have said no, turned away, given in to my misgivings. But I didn't. I followed him into the castle that we thought was unoccupied. And it all fell apart from there."

X

Kakyoin stepped into the abandoned castle. A cold draft swirled through the air, chilling him to the very bone. Everywhere that he looked, cobwebs and dust motes were ruffling lazily through the air. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, and he peered nervously into the shadow-tinted corners that seemed to occupy every inch of the house. His foot crunched upon something and he looked down to see a shattered glass encasing of an old photograph. Pictured there was a smiling Egyptian family standing before the pyramids.

"Can you imagine living in a place this big?" The puppeteer called from above him. He had climbed onto the second-story landing and was straddling the railing. "I don't know how you rich people do it."

"Can you stop referring to me as some silly rich kid," Kakyoin called back, feeling suddenly very clammy and irritable. He didn't like the castle, not one bit.

"Oh…sorry, my friend. Didn't mean any harm. Come on, get on up here."

Kakyoin climbed slowly up the stairs, all of which had been lined with vases full of still-living roses. This should have tipped him off to the fact that somebody had to have been living there, but he was too distracted by the ominousness of the building. The higher up he went, the colder it got until his teeth began to chatter in his head. He reached the second-story landing and simply stood there, peering around. They were in a long hallway of some sort, with a few open doors lining the opposite side. Above them, a stained glass window had been so dulled by dust and grime that barely any light came in. Below it was a large, decorative desk piece that resembled a small stage. In the center stood yet another vase of roses, this one bigger and brighter than all of the others. It was here that the puppeteer stood, staring down at Kakyoin from beneath a faded red tapestry depicting the image of an anguished holy figure.

The door downstairs suddenly closed with a loud 'snap,' making both men jump.

"Spooky," the puppeteer said after a moment of silence that lasted a bit too long. "You believe in ghosts?"

"Never met one that gave me reason to," Kakyoin said. He was still staring at the tapestry. At first, he couldn't understand what was so odd about it. Then he realized. Someone had painted over the face of the holy figure. Long, gold brushstrokes had been painted over the hair, the fabric-woven skin glossed over with a pale white. A dot of gold acrylic made up the single eye that peeked back down at him. But stranger than that. Someone with an expert hand had drawn a green band around the figure's head, with a heart situated right in the middle. Two fangs had been painted in ivory between the figure's parted lips.

Kakyoin tilted his head. "Is it just me or has vampire Jesus seen better days?"

The puppeteer glanced back at the tapestry and then laughed. "Someone got liberal with their interpretation. Oh well. They can believe in their gods, I'll believe in mine." He knelt into a crouch and began to remove a few thick white candles from his backpack. He placed them in a circle surrounding his feet and then dug a matchbox out of his pocket. He slid a match along the gritty band and then held it up to Kakyoin. "Care to do the honors, my lady?"

"Get bent," Kakyoin said. He leaned down with the intention of holding the match to a wick when suddenly a gust of wind blew through the room. At the same time, flames sprung to life atop every single candle. The two men stared at the candles and then looked up at each other in surprise.

"Did you-" the puppeteer started. Kakyoin shook his head.

"Must be the vapors in the air or something."

"Ain't no vapors. Fucking jinns," the puppeteer muttered. "Bismillah."

Kakyoin noticed the puppeteer's fingers shaking as he unlatched his briefcase and pulled the violin out. He gave it an appraising once over before placing it beneath his chin and playing a few notes. The following sound was melodic and haunting as it stretched through the narrow passageways of the abandoned castle. It soothed Kakyoin's soul immediately. He dug around in the puppeteer's backpack until he found his marionettes and quickly untangled them from each other. He balanced the wooden beam between his fingers and, tongue in his cheek, began to guide them around each other in the way that he had been taught. The puppeteer continued to play, rocking slightly back and forth, as he watched Kakyoin from beneath his mask.

"You're one hell of a fast learner," he called over the sound of the violin. "Well. What'll you be having? Vivaldi? Violin Concerto No. 4 in, let's see, F Minor? L'inverno?"

"What's that?"

"It means Winter in Italian. Everybody likes the other three seasons but there's just somethin' 'bout Winter, y'know?"

"What works for you, works for me!" Kakyoin said back. He had a feeling that the puppeteer really wanted to show off with the Vivaldi piece, and there was absolutely no reason for Kakyoin to object.

The puppeteer nodded and transitioned into the opening notes of the song. They were gentle, aimless, wandering to begin with. Until the puppeteer found his rhythm and began to play with passionate fervor, his arm jerking back and forth as he guided the bow, his fingertips quivering gently along the strings. Kakyoin was familiar enough with classical music to know that the puppeteer was faithful to the sheet music, never once attempting to improvise or deviate. It was wholly possible to believe that Vivaldi himself had been reincarnated within the young Egyptian's body. The fact that he was playing solo in an empty castle was a curse upon the modern musical era.

At some point during the performance, Kakyoin looked up from his marionettes and was surprised to see that the mask had become unhinged from the puppeteer's face. As he watched in amazement, it glided off of the puppeteer's sweaty forehead, dangled uselessly by his ear, and then fell to the floor. But he was too engrossed in his violin to notice the loss of the mask or the fact that Kakyoin's marionettes had suddenly cluttered to the floor.

Finally, Kakyoin understood why he hid his face.

He was handsome, so dangerously and distractingly handsome that despite Kakyoin's rigidly polite upbringing, all he could do was stare. The puppeteer's skin was a flawless milk-coffee brown. A gold piercing sat beneath both of his eyes, eyes drawn closed beneath a thick, knitted set of eyebrows. A single strand of wispy hair swept back and forth across his forehead, every once in a while swiping across his slightly hooked nose. And below that, his full, dark lips were clamped tightly in a one-sided frown. It was the kind of handsome that took a minute to recognize but once it took hold of someone's mind, it stuck there forever.

But above all this, it was the expression that he wore that set Kakyoin's heart a-flutter. No master of high renaissance art could have captured such a somber expression on such a lovely human being.

"I see the way that you're looking at me," the puppeteer said, opening one eye and trapping Kakyoin with his honey light irises. He continued to play, allowing the music to drop ever so slightly in pace. "I've seen that look before. It's the very reason why I cover my face, why I have all these bruises on my arms. But with you it's different. It's gentle. I know you won't hurt me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Was he blushing? It certainly felt like it. Kakyoin was forced to look away, cursing himself for stuttering like some kind of lunatic. He begged his heart to slow down, for the air to find its way back into his lungs. But he couldn't reign in control over himself. Falling in love truly was like diving headfirst into a lake of ice-cold water. He took a deep breath in, looked up at the ceiling. He'd never forget such a face. The puppeteer was simply spectacular, forever etched in Kakyoin's mind above the likes of DIO, Jotaro, his own mother, and even Holly.

The puppeteer played a few more wayward notes on his violin before dropping his arms and letting it hang by his side. The silence that followed was so loud, so heavy, as he folded his legs and collapsed into a sitting position in front of Kakyoin. The candlelight danced across his face as he leaned forward and laced his fingers beneath his chin, illuminating the brightness in his eye beneath the smokey blackness spread in ash across his eyelids.

"So. Mr. Noriaki Kakyoin. Tenmei. You wanna kiss?"

"Huh?" Kakyoin said stupidly. Although, what he had meant to say was oh god, yes.

"You know, a kiss. Like...one person's mouth against another's. For research purposes, of course," he added a bit too quickly. "For your...little essay. I'm sure your teachers would be interested to learn about the differences between kissing an Egyptian youth versus a Japanese one."

"Research purposes, huh?," Kakyoin repeated, dazed as he stared into his eyes. He leaned closer, shifting on his hands and knees as if drawn forward by a hook through his heart. He stopped when he was right in front of him, chest-to-chest, their breaths colliding in the frigid air. The puppeteer closed his eyes, smiled. "You know," Kakyoin breathed before he closed his own. "I don't think I-"

"Go on," a new voice suddenly rang out. "Kiss him."

The two men startled as the fire from their candles gave a violent tremor. Kakyoin fell back and looked around, but there was nobody that he could discern in the shadows. There was laughter now, floating about them like a sinister orchestra.

"Noriaki...Kakyoin..." the voice said again. It sounded as if the speaker was tasting every syllable of his name. "So blind, so foolish! If I were you, I'd take advantage of what the world has to offer before it's whisked away. So very much can happen in the span of three seconds."

There was a crash as the rose vase exploded, showering him in crimson petals. At the same time, the puppeteer's body was suddenly thrown backward by an invisible force. Kakyoin whipped his head up and watched in horror as he collided with the stained glass bearing the tapestry and then fell crumpled onto the desk.

"Damn," Kakyoin hissed as he jumped up and onto the desk. He slid his arm beneath the puppeteer's shoulder and lifted him up, just enough to see his face. Blood rolled from his nose and onto his lips and he struggled to focus on Kakyoin's eyes. "Hey, stay with me. You're gonna be alright. Who are you?" Kakyoin demanded, yanking his head around to look over his shoulder. "Show yourself!"

"Such a young thing," the disembodied voice purred. "You haven't yet learned to prioritize your requests. Very well. I'll show myself."

Again, that invisible force struck and Kakyoin was thrown back from the desk. Heart tumbling and gasping for breath, he pushed himself up and scuttled backward. A man was standing in the shadows behind the puppeteer. A single gold eye glinted from beneath a fountain of golden hair, eerily reminiscent of the painted-over figure on the tapestry. There was a Japanese word for eyes like that: sanpaku. It did not bode well for one's fate.

"Perhaps if you had asked me to refrain from injuring your friend, I would have at least considered," the strange man purred. As Kakyoin watched in horror, the man slid his fingers along the puppeteer's neck. "But then again...I can't exactly resist a taste of what you so woefully deprived yourself of." The man's fingers suddenly punctured the puppeteer's neck as easily as they would have a stick of soft butter. The puppeteer's eyes rolled up in his head and he began to convulse. Such a horrific sight would forever stay in Kakyoin's mind. He leaned over and vomited his lunch all over the marble floor.

"I can't say that I remember the taste of chocolate," the strange man continued as if Kakyoin's sickness was of no concern to him. He lifted his blood-soaked fingers to his mouth and ran a pointed serpentine tongue around them with relish. "But, I'd imagine it tasted something like this-"

Kakyoin felt a strange sensation enveloping his body. And then suddenly he was bathed in a green glow. He looked up and was shocked to find that the green apparition of his nightmares had appeared, floating only a few inches above him. Before he could utter a cry of surprise, several silvery tentacles unwound themselves from the apparition's body and wriggled, glistening, in the air. He didn't know what the apparition was or why now, of all times, it had chosen to reappear. But guided by intuition that would later define the mastery of his Stand, he closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and cried, "save him!"

The apparition didn't hesitate. The tentacles multiplied in a burst of buzzing light and shot out in all directions. The strange man reared back in surprise as both the puppeteer and Kakyoin were lifted away and into the air. More and more tentacles appeared until they spun like a raging vortex around the two men's bodies, creating a barrier between them and the outside world.

It was then that time stopped.

X

DIO

There was a rush of clicking as if a clock was ticking its way towards a distorted stop. Colors warped and then snapped back to sharp focus, at the same time falling to a standstill. The rose petals in the air froze, the tentacles from the apparition ceased to spin, and the water leaking from the cavernous roof hung suspended in the air like many icy crystals.

One.

DIO rose and hovered gracefully before the barrier created by the ghostly creature. He peered at it curiously, not exactly surprised but intrigued. He pressed the curved point of his nail against one of its tentacles, testing it. Faint energy emanated from it, sending a thrumming shock along his finger even though the apparition had fallen still.

He tilted his head to the side, drew his still-bloodied finger back.

So the young Japanese boy had a Stand.

He could see the eyes of the man in question staring back at him from between a gap in the wall of tentacles. Such hatred was written there, even if he was unseeing for the moment. DIO found such an expression quite enticing. Hatred was a sort of bloodlust.

And DIO knew all about bloodlust.

Two.

Noriaki Kakyoin.

That was what the little Egyptian peasant-trash had called the boy. It was obvious that Kakyoin was unfamiliar with his own Stand. And yet already he wielded it with such precision. To think what he would be capable of once he learned! Never before had DIO encountered such subconscious control in such a young body…it was quite invigorating. And he had such a pretty face!

DIO grinned. Kakyoin had one arm braced beneath the puppeteer, the other held aloft as if fending off an attack. Not even he could have painted a prettier picture of young love.

What a shame, then, that he'd have to destroy it.

He reached his hand out-

Three.

The colors warped again. The ticking resumed, growing faster until suddenly the world found its motion again. The tentacles began to swirl, generating an impressive amount of wind. Kakyoin's violet eye found DIO's and then widened. Suddenly, DIO's skin was singed by a hundred fiery pinpricks. He reared back and crossed his forearms across his face, sneering against the onslaught of emerald green shrapnel. Was it his imagination or was Kakyoin smiling from beneath the wriggling waves of silvery-green? Perhaps he had finally realized that it was he who controlled his Stand, not the other way around.

Impressive, DIO thought as his arms moved at lightning speed, deflecting every shard of emerald that shot his way. It was not to be the last time that he was forced to confront such a high-intensity move from Kakyoin. Such an exertion almost made him break a sweat.

Almost.

"Cute," DIO hissed from between grit teeth. "But this ends here!"

X

Kakyoin

Kakyoin couldn't believe it, he really couldn't. He realized with a euphoric sense of relief that the ghostly green figure was responding to his thoughts. The man with golden hair was being pushed backward through the air, his bangled arms held aloft against the greenish shards shooting from the apparition's body. Kakyoin couldn't help it. He smiled, thinking that perhaps he had won. The puppeteer sighed and then suddenly went limp in Kakyoin's arms. He couldn't see the apparition, and thus his mind had been overloaded with the improbability of being suspended in the air, causing him to fall faint in Kakyoin's arms. Perhaps it's for the better, Kakyoin thought as he pushed the hair away from his face.

"Cute," he suddenly heard the strange man hiss. And then, "but this ends here!"

A hand appeared between a part in the tentacles. Kakyoin choked and sputtered as a crushing pressure was applied to his throat before he was yanked from behind the glowing barrier. He landed on the cold floor with a clumsy thud that sent a shock throughout his entire body. He lost hold of the puppeteer and the young boy's body went tumbling away from him. Still gasping, Kakyoin twisted around on his stomach and began to pull himself forward, his nails bending painfully against the floor. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he had to get away from the strange man, fast.

But he had no such luck.

A gold leather boot with a sharp, upturned tip set itself delicately in front of him. A strangled noise escaped Kakyoin's parted lips as he threw himself backward and tried to scoot away on his bottom. A faint, green energy still crackled around him, but the apparition made no appearance. He was correct in assuming that he was too weak and drained of any hope to summon it once again.

For the first time, he looked up upon the sheer magnificence that was Lord DIO. He would never forget his first impression of the vampire: the gold strands of hair swaying against the pale forehead, the rippling muscles, the scar along his neck, the predatory smile. Kakyoin had studied Christian lore religiously. He knew, then, that he was looking upon the final form of Lucifer before he descended from Heaven.

But more than anything - more than the seductive look and wild eyes - there was an animal magnetism, a soft golden aura that filled the space around him. DIO was the sort of man who could enchant a room without a word and leave behind an impression for years to come.

DIO crossed his arms and snickered, ever so faintly disappointed by the change that had come over Kakyoin. Surely, this couldn't have been the same boy that he had seen display such strength only a few seconds ago. The poor thing looked as if he was on the verge of pissing himself.

"Have you no manners?" DIO asked him, his voice echoing sonorously throughout the empty halls. "Whilst in the presence of a Lord, a boy must either stand tall or kneel. Since it seems as if your knees may be too weak at the moment, I order you to stand before me."

Kakyoin said nothing to this, too overcome by sudden gut-wrenching anxiety. His lips quivered as sweat rolled down his chin. Seeing this, DIO's eyes narrowed.

"I said stand!"

Kakyoin reared up and stumbled back on unsteady feet. DIO's fingers uncurled from his collar and he realized that he had been lifted. What do you want from me, he wanted to ask. But, in his fearful state, he had been rendered mute. Tears rolled along his red lashes and then spilled over onto his cheek.

"Oh," DIO said slowly, his voice taking on a paternal tone. He reached out and Kakyoin flinched back. "I've frightened you. There, there, child. The world has no use for tears. Come now, look at me. Open your mouth."

Wordlessly, Kakyoin did as he was told. He didn't understand why he felt compelled to obey the man's orders. Something in DIO's tone had become just gentle enough to break past Kakyoin's last remaining barriers. DIO swiveled his palm, caught a rose petal upon the tip of his middle finger, and slid it gently against Kakyoin's tongue. There was blood on his finger. Kakyoin could taste it.

"Why cry when The World can be so sweet?"

The rose petal was not sweet. It was bitter enough to make Kakyoin gag. He clamped his lips shut and swallowed it with a loud gulp. DIO chuckled.

"My big ol' boy," DIO cooed, his voice alarmingly reminiscent of Kakyoin's mother's. The words could have either been a sardonic taunt or an endearing beckoning. The man ran his thumb along Kakyoin's bottom lip and then let it rest upon his chin. "So much to learn, so much power to reign in. Tell me. Did you know that you have a Stand?"

"A St...a Stand?"

"Yes!" DIO suddenly disappeared. But his voice was everywhere, filling the space of the abandoned castle. "The being that you summoned in your battle against me: a purely energetic manifestation guided by your intuition. An extension of your mind, if you will. A weapon of a warrior. And you are a warrior, Kakyoin."

The sound of his own name washed over Kakyoin like a sudden gust of warm, moist wind. He closed one eye and lifted his hand to shield his face, but there was nothing there when he dropped it. His hackles rose and suddenly he felt a presence behind him. He could feel DIO in the mere inches that separated them, his body solid and oddly cold.

"Wh...what do you want from me?"

"Only the best," DIO whispered. He was toying with his earring. The feel of it caused tingles to erupt around Kakyoin's skull. And this, oddly enough, brought a tickled grin to Kakyoin's lips. "So beautiful…so strong…" DIO continued, his lips right next to Kakyoin's ear. "I could lay the world at your feet, Tenmei. You and your Stand. The opportunities are endless. All you have to do is reach those pretty hands of yours out and take it."

DIO snaked his arms beneath Kakyoin's shoulders and laced their fingers together. With gentle pressure, he lifted Kakyoin's hands into the moonlight streaming in from the stained glass window and turned his palms upwards. There was a subtle electricity firing off through Kakyoin's veins. He felt warm and disconnected, like he was hovering upon a softy-scented cloud of gold. DIO's presence had the same effect as the last dredges of wine in a broken bottle: tempting, dangerous, and hard to ignore.

Kakyoin wanted to drink him in forever.

He closed his fingers around DIO's and let his head fall back onto the man's chest, his eyes falling closed as he did so. He wasn't sure if he was falling asleep or just waking up.

"The thrill that you felt just now...the pulsations of pleasure consuming your body...the momentary grasp that you had upon the reigns of liberation…pledge yourself to me," DIO said, picking up upon Kakyoin's unspoken need to please him. "And I - Lord DIO - promise that I will make you feel that way forever."

"What's the catch?" Kakyoin asked, opening his eyes. Though he had fallen under DIO's spell, he hadn't lost all of his sensibilities. DIO chuckled.

"A small matter of business that must be addressed." DIO suddenly moved away from him, taking away the comfort of his aura. Kakyoin turned in time to see him strolling leisurely towards a chair. He settled himself in it comfortably and then rested his cheek upon his hand. "It pertains to a rather pesky bloodline by the name of Joestar. But. We will come to that eventually. Now, we need to work on harnessing your strength."

"And how do I do that?"

DIO raised his finger and pointed at the body of the puppeteer still lying crumpled in a corner. "Use your Stand. And make him dance."

Kakyoin smiled as Hierophant Green buzzed to life beside him. "Yes, my Lord," he said before the silvery tentacles shot out and twirled around the young Egyptian''s limbs.

X

Two Days Later…

Asami padded down towards Kakyoin's room. It was two in the afternoon and she was still in her slippers and bathrobe, a cup of Earl Grey tea in her hands. As always, she had spent the week following their vacation in a state of recuperation and relaxation. She was surprised to hear Kakyoin moving around in his room. He was usually so quiet when he knew that she was taking her rest.

She yawned as she pushed open the door to his bedroom. His normally oh-so-clean room was strewn with open suitcases, the contents of which had been spilled out everywhere. His back was turned to her as he slid a sheaf of papers into a black bag. His shoulders were stiff and pencil straight as he focused on his task. Once again, she was torn between thinking of him as her baby boy and the dashing young man that he had become. She moved towards him and massaged her fingers along his shoulder. But, without a word, he shrugged her hand off and moved away.

"What in the world are you doing," she asked after another yawn. He said nothing to this and she continued in an oblivious voice. "Usually you're supposed to unpack your bags after a vacation. Dear me, is it time for our next one already? I must have overslept."

It was strange, the way that he kept his back towards her. Usually, he was such an accommodating and graceful conversationalist, especially when it came to her. But now he kept his eyes lowered as his hands moved swiftly from one thing to another.

"Tenmei," she said again, worried now. Something was off, terribly, terribly off.

"I'm transferring schools," he finally said as he snapped his leather suitcase shut. This caught her off guard.

"Huh? Oh. I wasn't aware. When did we make this decision?"

"We didn't make any decision. I did, when we were in Egypt.."

"Oh…" she said in a soft voice, twirling her spoon around her teacup as she pondered his rather abrupt statement. "Well, baby, don't you need your parents' permission to do that?"

"I'm seventeen now," he said gruffly. "You don't have to chaperone everything that I do, you know. And you can stop calling me 'baby.' It's annoying."

"S-sorry." The spoon had fallen still in her hands. She wondered if she should call his father into the room. "Well...what school are you transferring to? Do you want me to drive you there today? I'd love to meet your new teachers!"

Again, nothing. His violet eyes slid away from her as he lifted a small briefcase onto his desk. "That would be a waste of time," he said. "I'll be boarding there from here on out. There's no reason for you to meet my teachers."

"Noriaki...look at me."

He stopped, finally, and met her gaze with some difficulty. She didn't like the look in his eyes just then. They seemed so blank, so empty. This was not her boy. This was someone else, an angrier and much more hateful version of him. What had she done to incur his wrath?

It was then, while sweeping her eyes across his face, did she notice something odd. There was an odd discoloration on his forehead, a small pink bump visible beneath his red bangs. She glided forward and lifted her hand with the intention of sweeping his hair away to get a better look. But he yanked his hand up at the same time and grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. She hissed in pain and tried to pull away but he simply held on tighter.

"The human eye contains its own endogenous immune cells, with antigens that are hidden away from the rest of the body. However, exposure of these antigens to the body itself will cause an autoimmune reaction that will cause the body to attack and destroy the eyes," he said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving hers. His grip tightened and she whimpered, but he only leaned in closer with the same dark look on his face. "It has been argued that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body, due to its elasticity and forcefulness," he continued. "But it is possible to bite through it. Some people have even attempted to commit suicide by doing so. Also, did you know that I can lock the joints in your wrist by rotating it ever so slightly? In Aikido such a move is unlawful as it is considered too dangerous. But MMA fighters do it all the time. It's quite interesting, what the human body is capable of once it comes to terms with its own strength. Isn't that right, mother?"

"Are you going to break my wrist, Noriaki?" She squeaked. He closed his eyes and shook his head, thankfully letting her wrist go.

"I said lock it, not break it. But you've obviously missed my point. I meant to say that I could, if I really put my mind to it. I can do a lot of things, now that I've come to terms with my own strength. I learned quite a lot in Aswan. Dad would be proud." He turned away and picked up a set of marionettes which he held aloft above his desk. He surveyed them in the light pouring from his window and then, finding them satisfactory, lowered them into a bag. "You should be, too. You raised a beautiful and strong boy."

"Have you changed the topic of your essay to the hidden strengths of the human body, baby?"

He glared at her and she realized that she had made a mistake in calling him 'baby' again. The teacup dropped from her hands and she backed away, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"Screw the essay," he said in an uncharacteristic display of vulgarity. "I have more important things to do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm scheduled to meet up with someone by the name of Jotaro Kujo."

X

Kakyoin opened his eyes.

He was sitting on the floor, his hand outstretched and holding onto the edge of his coffee table. It took him a moment, but he eventually realized that he was in the sitting room of his mansion. The woman kneeling above him was not his mother, but his therapist. She held her hand out and he took it, leveraging himself up into a stiff standing position that made his knee cry out in pain. He wasn't sure when he had fallen, or if perhaps he had fallen faint.

"It's alright, Noriaki," she said, holding a saucer with a teacup on it in front of him. "I'm here. You're here. We're both safe."

He accepted it from her and took a sip. He was terribly embarrassed to have been caught so indisposed, even if she was his therapist.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You were in the middle of telling me about a story that you had written. A fictional one. But as riveting as it was, I think we should close the book, for now."

"Right," he said, leaning unsteadily against the table and putting a hand to his throbbing head. He peered up at the clock and realized that their session had bled over by an hour. "As always, you've been too kind in indulging my whims. What say we start again next week?"

"Of course. Anything you need, Noriaki. I'll have my assistant call you."

"Right," he said again. "I'll have Erin escort you home." He opened the door, held his hand to his chest, and gave a slight bow which she returned before stepping gracefully out into the hall. Suddenly she stopped and turned towards him. He could tell that there was a question on her mind that she was having difficulty broaching.

"Noriaki. I feel it indelicate to ask but at the same time, I feel like it would be disingenuous for me not to voice my curiosity. The puppeteer, in your story. What happened to him?"

Kakyoin smiled, cocked his head, and listened. "Do you hear the violin playing in my courtyard," he asked again. "Remember what I said? There's not a ghost in heaven nor hell that could play so beautifully."

"Nor a fictional one," she added with a weak smile. "Good afternoon, Noriaki."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Tanaka."

X

Kakyoin slipped a dark green dinner coat over his white button-up and wandered out into the courtyard, cane in hand. The masked violinist was still there, playing rapturously as he guided his foot along the pedal of the marionette box. The petals from the cherry blossom were still floating lazily through the air. Strange, he thought as he waved them away from his face. It was almost like he was back in DIO's mansion, watching the rose petals cut through the air.

He stopped a respectful distance away from the violinist and simply watched as he played his instrument. The children were splayed in a clumsy semi-circle around his feet, snoring happily as he played. Jace was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, the violinist stopped and let his arms fall gracefully by his side. His porcelain white mask glinted in the afternoon sun, its polished black markings etching out a simple smiley face with Xs for eyes. There was a rose sitting lush and blood-red in the violinist's lapel.

"Good afternoon," Kakyoin said in English. "Pardon my ignorance, but were you just playing Vivaldi's Concerto Number Four? L'inverno, I think it's called."

"No need to apologize where ignorance is lacking," came the muffled response. The sound of the violinist's husky accent made Kakyoin pause and take a deep breath in. Yes, he knew that voice, he would have bet everything on it.

"I don't think I caught your name. My butler organized my son's party but he didn't bother giving me the details."

"Naw," the violinist said and Kakyoin gave another shaky inhale. "I'm nobody."

"Nobody…" Kakyoin said. The petals were still floating between them, enveloping their bodies in a flitting pink cloud. "Do we know each other?"

"Can't say I have the pleasure."

Such a confusing response from the violinist! It could have meant anything: that he was being sardonic in saying that he was not pleased to have known Kakyoin or that he really didn't know him at all! Kakyoin took another breath in, feeling severely underwhelmed in his attempts to suck oxygen in. The last time that he had seen the Egyptian youth, he had been caught in a web of Hierophant's tentacles as his limp body was made to dance obscenely for DIO. But was this the same man? Kakyoin couldn't tell anymore.

"But anyway, what's it matter? I'm a simple entertainer, that's all," the violinist said.

"It's just that...you remind me of someone. Someone that I used to know."

"I get the sense that you have a lot that you've wanted to say to this person that you used to know. Was your therapy session cut short?" Kakyoin snapped his head up and glared at the man. The masked violinist laughed in response and set his instrument down. "Don't worry. I wasn't listening in. Just happened to see her walk out. I know a shrink when I see one, that's all. But...I'll humor you. Let's just say that I am who you think I am. What would you say to me, then?"

"I'd say that I'm sorry. And that I loved you. And that I served you an injustice. I shouldn't have abandoned you and left you alone with...him. I shouldn't have used your body as a practice target for what I was ordered to do. I'd invite you into my home and ask you to never leave again. Because I miss you and I've thought about you ever since I left Egypt." Kakyoin was toying with the strings of one of the marionettes as he spoke, completely unaware of his own actions. "But, then again, I feel stupid for even asking for your forgiveness. You deserve more from me."

"I see…" the violinist said. He was quiet for a long time, simply staring at Kakyoin from behind his mask. Seemingly subconsciously, he rolled up the sleeves of his suit, and Kakyoin's eyes were immediately drawn to the blurry clouds of scarred discoloration along his skin. The sight of it made his heartbeat tenfold. "Well, maybe if I was the man that you were looking for, I'd call you stupid for even thinking that your apology was stupid in the first place. Because maybe I don't remember anything from that day. Maybe the last thing that I felt was your arm around me as you protected me before I fainted. And maybe I don't care what happened after that because you were my friend, and accepting your friendship meant accepting the good and the bad. Even if the bad was really fucking bad, pardon my French." The violinist chuckled and this filled Kakyoin with a warm sense of relief. The violinist put his hand on his mask and began to lift it slowly, centimeter by centimeter. "If I show you my face, you have to promise me one thing: that you'll come back to Egypt with me and start all over again. And maybe we can be roommates like we always planned. You can stop being a silly rich kid and we can - oh…is this your husband?"

"Huh?"

Kakyoin hadn't even realized that he had become entranced by the violinist's words until he was suddenly snapped from his reverie. He looked over his shoulder and saw Jotaro standing there with a sleeping Jace cradled in his arms. As per usual, Jotaro looked stormy and unamused by the world around him. He must have just woken up, judging by the messy set of curls framing his forehead. Jotaro looked between the violinist and Kakyoin with a questioning blue gaze.

The violinist snapped his mask back over his chin. He wedged two fingers between his lapel and pulled out the rose which he pressed into Kakyoin's hand. "Such a beautiful family," he said, his voice laced with something that Kakyoin couldn't understand. "Naw, how could I have ever…you take care, pretty boy."

"You too," Kakyoin said because he was lost and didn't know what else to say. The violinist turned. He was going, going, gone - the figure of his retreating body encased by the floating petals. Kakyoin turned and suddenly wrapped his arms around Jotaro and Jace, breathing in the smell of his son's hair as he did so.

"Good grief," Jotaro said, his voice rumbling along Kakyoin's chest. "Does everybody in the whole damn world call you 'pretty boy?'"

"Jealous," Kakyoin asked, his eyes shut tight as he rubbed his cheek along Jace's hair.

"Of a mask-wearing violin-playing pansy?" Jotaro spat back.

Such was Jotaro: a flaming hot and rude boy mess in a pair of pajama bottoms that stopped short of his ankles and breath that reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee. No, Kakyoin thought. Even if the violinist was who Kakyoin thought he was, he would have never been able to accept his offer to elope.

"My big ol' boy," Kakyoin breathed against his son's scalp. Jotaro looked down at him and then cut his gaze to the rose in his hand.

"You hate roses," he said and Kakyoin closed his hand around the flower.

"Not this one," he said, letting the warmth of his son's body wash over him. "Not this one."

X

The puppeteer's name is Ahmed. :)