a/n: hi everyone! hoping you're having a good weekend. please enjoy a new chapter ️:)

[three]

Skipping school had never been so fun before. In the mornings, Jotaro was always at the staircase, often smoking a cigarette or flicking his lighter for distraction. Once I came along, we walked around without much of a place in mind.

If it rained, we went to the library where he leafed through books about the occult and I lost myself in the Cadot series. If sunshine soaked the town, we found shade beneath some trees in the park.

It was the happiest that I had ever been. I hoped it would never end.

But I should have known better.

Almost three weeks had passed and I returned home to hear the distant whistle of the kettle. Fear latched onto my calves to climb upward like ivy, burrowing under my skin and intertwining itself around my sinews.

So rare was a visit from my father that his presence poured over the house like a shadow. His luggage was in the hall beside me. I counted three suitcases. Based on the fact that none were unpacked, I doubted he was planning to remain in Japan for more than a couple of hours.

I recognised the routine.

"There you are, Juno." He emerged from the kitchen, stirring a steaming cup of tea with a spoon. "How was school?"

Both of us were aware that I had not attended school. But I was unwilling to admit it and offered a feeble answer: "Fine, Dad. How was your trip?"

"Great."

"Cool. That's - cool."

"So, listen, Juno," he continued, "there'll be a driver here in the morning. He'll take you to and from school. He'll also remain on the grounds to check that you're in class when you're supposed to be. It won't last long. About a month. Then you can transfer to that school in France. I left the pamphlets on your desk. Great facilities there. You'll make lots of new friends."

In the last seven schools, I had made none. And he knew it.

"Okay."

How strange it was to stand in front of my father and still feel as if there was more of an ocean between us than there had been when he was on another continent. If it had swelled up between us right then in that hall, churning with crashing waves, the impact might not have been as brutal as that of what he had decided.

"This is your fault, Juno," he said. "I warned you."

"I know."

There were no arguments with my father. There never had been.

"Driver is named Asuka," he added. "He'll be here early."

"Okay."

His head cocked as he considered me. "You know, Juno," he told me, "sometimes I think you're more trouble than you're worth."

The tall figure of my father disappeared into the kitchen; the kettle ceased, almost in that one singular second. All of its steam slipped into me and seared my eyes.

His words struck like thorns. I inhaled. And the thorns melted away.

x

Three hours later, my father left.

x

With a polite tip of his hat, Asuka greeted me the following morning. His youthful appearance surprised me. I had been anticipating an old man, hunchbacked, servile; it had been one of those daydreams that I had fallen into, like Jotaro hated, in which I had painted an entire portrait of Asuka only to find it didn't match.

While we drove by the staircase, I looked out through the window and wondered if Jotaro was there, waiting for me, assuming that I was late, assuming that I had abandoned him. Some small squeaking part of me worried that Jotaro would not care either way.

The morning was wonderfully sunny.

I couldn't feel it through tinted windows.

x

Before the first lesson began, I found a desk and doodled in my notebook. I traced the outline of the phantom that had attached itself to Jotaro. Each time I met him, the phantom seemed to become more and more visible to me; its face, most of all, looked like Jotaro with a fierce brow and a steeliness to its eyes, for it had eyes.

No more was it this semi-transparent, flimsy wisp floating behind Jotaro. It was adorned in armour. Sometimes its legs were visible.

But there had been no difference in me and what I could do. I still healed bruises and broken bones. There was no ghost trailing me. There was only Asuka, hounding me from class to class and his appearance had brought whispers from the students that made my cheeks flame.

Jotaro took the seat beside mine. I blinked twice at him, as if he were a mirage.

"Jotaro? What are you doing here?"

"Sight-seeing. What do you think?"

Whenever Jotaro was not steeped in one of his sullen moods, he had a surprising sense of humour. It was dry and witty and I always had to fight not to laugh too hard, because I worried it would inflate his ego.

Jotaro had a hot-air balloon's worth of ego.

"No, I -..." The redness of my cheeks only worsened. "I thought you'd skip. Listen, I need to tell you something."

"Got anything to do with the goon following you around?"

"You noticed him?"

Jotaro lifted an eyebrow at me.

"Of course you noticed him," I muttered. "Well, about that -..."

Before I could tell him about France, the teacher swept into the classroom, taking up some chalk and scratching out some keywords on the board. Jotaro watched me a moment longer from the corner of his eye.

Then his head snapped to the door of the classroom, his golden chain tinkling at the sudden movement; my gaze followed immediately, and I caught a brief glimpse of Asuka passing the glass panel in the door.

Biology was a bore that morning. It dragged, as if the hand on the clock had to be carved from stone every time it needed to tick forward.

In the blank white box beside the membrane enclosing the heart in our exercise book, I scribbled: pericardium.

With each label written in pencil, I wondered if Jotaro could hear my own heart thumping so violently, too.

Because I didn't want to leave. And it was not the town that I didn't want to leave, not its movie-theatres and bookstores and arcade. It was Jotaro. It was no different to me where we were.

Whether it was this town or another plucked from the map, and if there was nothing around but fields and lakes, we would still find something to do. It was easy with him. It had never been easy for me before.

I didn't want to leave Jotaro.

As soon as the bell rang out, I stood from the desk and faced him, chest puffed up, a meticulously pre-prepared speech about to tumble off my tongue.

Jotaro remained in his seat, his hat slumping forward, hiding his face.

He asked, "How long have you got?"

I should have known. Jotaro was bright. The speech melted in my mouth. It had a bitter aftertaste.

"A month," I said. "Maybe."

"Well…" - Jotaro stood up, stretching his arms - "...Send me a postcard."

And he walked out of the classroom.

x

School finished in the bleat of a bell. I trudged through the swarm of students, my satchel rubbing uncomfortably against my shoulder with each step.

It was full of new books that I had bought at the beginning of the semester and never brought with me until Asuka had pushed it into my hands that morning on top of a fresh croissant. He had won a couple of brownie points for that.

But I still loathed his presence and each giggle-filled whisper directed toward me because of it.

Asuka was obscured beneath the hood of his car, fiddling with the engine.

"Juno," he greeted. "Seems there's a problem with the car. Can't get it to start."

"It's a short walk to the house."

Asuka shot me a pointed glance.

"What? I was in school all day. You're telling me I can't walk home alone?"

"Wait here a second."

Asuka pulled out his phone. Shifting the strap of my satchel from one shoulder to the other, I huffed and leaned against the car, crossing my arms. He had resorted to a phone-call with my father.

It was a burble of low masculine voices blending together. All I wanted was to leave the school behind me.

Asuka was nodding even though my father could not see him.

"Yes, sir. Yes -..."

Between the bob and sway of the branches across from me, I spotted the looming phantom attached to Jotaro, who appeared a second later. He leaned against the tree behind him, crossed his arms and looked right at me, mimicking me.

Then he looked purposefully at the car, and tipped his hat forward to cover his face.

But he didn't hide the smirk on his lips.

Understanding lit up within me like a lightbulb. He had messed with the car.

"Juno," Asuka called to me. "Your father says you may walk home while I find a mechanic."

"Thank you."

Before my father could change his mind, I hurried off, clasping the satchel to one side so it would not bounce so painfully against my hip. I remained on the side of the street opposite to Jotaro for fear that Asuka might see him.

Glancing behind myself, I checked that Asuka was not watching as I turned a corner, relieved that he was again on his phone, speaking to a towing company.

Spinning back around, I ran smack into Jotaro. He looked down at me as I cursed, reaching to cup my throbbing nose.

Golden light fizzed brightly in my hand. The pain faded, faded, and was gone.

I grumbled, "Couldn't wait for that postcard, huh?"

"Think your old man will change his mind?"

"Never has before when it comes to switching schools."

"Hm." Jotaro's attention roamed between the trees. "What about your mother?"

"Please." I snorted, shaking my head. "She won't say anything. She's afraid of him."

Jotaro's eyes fell to mine. His hair fell into his face.

It made him appear older, somehow. He had never looked so severe, and that was saying something for Jotaro.

He asked, "Are you afraid of him?"

Birdsong trickled from the treetops. I was flushed and uncomfortable and unable to tell if it was the uniform that caused it or Jotaro's question.

The strap of the satchel chafed and rubbed; the knee-high socks I wore were scratchy. I fixed the strap, rubbing at my pained shoulder.

"We have a month," I mumbled. "Let's just enjoy it."

Because I had no hat beneath which I could hide, I turned around to hide from him.

"Juniper."

My shoes stuck against the sidewalk. "What?"

Jotaro approached me but I refused to face him. He startled me by reaching out to take the satchel from my shoulder. He slung it over his own with ease, and carried on toward the town with his usual languid gait.

I followed, feeling somewhat lighter.

Looking up at Jotaro, I knew it was not just because he had taken my satchel for me.

x

Instead of meeting at the staircase each morning, we met in school. During lunch we sat on the rooftop, and it was almost like there was no threat of boarding school, no looming presence of Asuka at each corner. It was simply us, like it always had been.

But the days on the calendar were dwindling.

x

The swings were empty. I took one. He took the other.

Jotaro pressed his heels into the gravel, only lightly rocking his own swing back and forth. I pushed myself more wildly, delighting in the delicious roll of warm wind along my legs with each rise and fall. Then I slowed myself to a halt, the chains on either side of me making an awful clatter.

"You can visit me in France," I suggested.

"No, thanks."

"Why not?"

"Someone told me it's sticky and crowded and full of pigeons in the summer."

I snickered. "That's Paris, jackass. If you're gonna use my words against me, at least get it right."

Pushing off the swing, I headed for the merry-go-round.

It was a bright yellow colour, round as the sun and burning hot too, its steel heating in the sunshine. I kicked off the gravel to spin myself around, though it was a weak spin.

"Jotaro," I called. "Push me!"

He ignored me.

"Jotaro!"

With a grumble, he stood from his swing and crossed the playground. He grabbed the yellow bar, giving the wheel one hard spin. The trees bled together; the clouds unspooled like a ball of yarn, a single thread spinning and spinning.

Dizziness swelled. Giddiness overflowed.

Once the wheel slowed, I tried to stand and tripped forward.

Jotaro reached out to catch hold of me; the purple arm of that phantom was faster, and encircled my waist to hoist me up. The arm was strangely firm - corporeal, I thought, for those few seconds that I needed for my brain to quit sloshing around my skull.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're gonna puke."

"I'm not gonna -..."

The surge was sudden. I gripped my stomach, spun away from him and spewed into the shrubbery behind us.

x

Rain slopped over the awning of the arcade. The slot machines had fuzzed my eyes and left me tired. Jotaro was finishing a cigarette, resting against the wall.

Clouds brewed overhead, swallowing up the sunshine of the past few days; rain dripped, a light shower, spilling over the awning in front of the arcade to soak the ground. I stepped through puddles.

At the mouth of the alleyway, I could see Jotaro at the other end.

He was smoking. He had his shoulder pressed into the wall. Smoke rose around him, a blue-grey shade to match the colour of the clouds. Droplets rounded the rim of his hat and fell.

His gaze slid to meet mine.

And I knew that I would miss him a lot.

x

We walked through the town, in the direction of our neighbourhood. I had learned that Jotaro lived close to me. While we walked, I chewed candy from the arcade. I suffered a sweet-tooth that Jotaro did not share.

For once, I was quiet. I found that silence was not a painful thing around Jotaro.

I had never had that before.

Some drunks emerged from a bar on our left. One knocked into Jotaro. He was carrying my satchel for me, and it swung limply to bump against the drunk, who saw its heart-shaped buckle and let out a harsh laugh.

"Nice satchel, sweetheart," he slurred at Jotaro. "Real cute."

Jotaro half-turned. But the dip of his hat showed that he glared in their direction, focused on the man who had hit him in the first place.

Astoundingly, he was as tall as Jotaro, just as broad and muscled, too. He was bent double, laughing at Jotaro, snorting in this odd, stuttered way that made me strangely uncomfortable.

"If you like it so much," Jotaro said calmly, "why don't you take a closer look?"

The satchel, its leather swollen against the heaviness of the books inside, swung in an arch; it clapped against the drunk's cheek and sent him tumbling into the brick wall.

He recoiled and swung for Jotaro again.

Jotaro punched him hard, a single hit. Despite the drunk's state, he caught himself, shaking out his head and snorting - a thick stream of blood shot from his nose, staining his chest.

His hand sank slyly into his pocket. He pulled a knife. Behind him, two of his friends slid nunchakus from their waistbands.

Anxiety fell over me like foam over a fire, putting out the happiness that I had felt all day. Instantly, the piece of fudge that I had absently plopped in my mouth soured and dropped fast like a dime all the way to the soles of my shoes.

The building beside us was a club, the dingy kind; the thumping beat of music melted into the sidewalk, made it tremble in its tremendous volume and shivered up my calves.

"You're gonna regret that, kid," he said to Jotaro, wiping blood from his chin. "You know who you're messing with? I'm a boxer. I could wipe the floor with you."

Jotaro rolled his eyes. "Some boxer. Couldn't dodge a satchel."

The man lunged forward. He could not see the looming phantom that immediately burst from Jotaro's chest, its large fist catching hold of the man's own clenched hand.

Bone crunched. Blood spurted.

As Jotaro kicked at the second drunk who swung for him, so too did the phantom, and its impact was much stronger. The third drunk hit the edge of a dumpster. His eyes rolled, shocking white. His nunchaku clattered uselessly against the damp ground of the alleyway.

Jotaro hit him again, and again.

Weird stones glittered on the ground. I leaned closer.

Those were teeth, lathered in a slick pinkish sheen.

Almost absently, I said his name: "Jotaro -..."

Jotaro clenched his jaw. His gaze was pinned on that large purple figure. Could he no longer control it? It dashed and punched and rose again, its armour flashing, its eyes focused, perfectly focused, on those men writhing on the ground.

Violence always had a funny effect on me. It made me fizz and pop and bubble like a shaken-up bottle of soda. I never quite saw it that often other than in films, in which the blood was fake and a tangy bright shade that did not match the oozing mess that drooled out in rivers from the man on the sidewalk in front of me.

Now I said his name louder, coated in a thick layer of fear: "Jotaro!"

The phantom melted into his chest. He was breathing heavily. Sweat trickled from his brow. For the first time, I saw him without his hat.

In the fight it had fallen, and Jotaro had not been able to retrieve it because all of his strength had been directed at wrangling that spirit. He grabbed it and placed it on his head.

When he turned around, his eyes locked with mine.

And this time I was not thinking of France, or how much I would miss him.

I was thinking of how much he scared me.

He saw it.

It was mirrored in his own eyes.

The night seemed strangely mute, now. Even if the music was still thumping from the arcade, and cars honked from another street, it was all muffled and heavy and my mouth felt fuzzy and gross like it had after I had puked in the park.

Smoke rose, rippling out from beneath his hat to flee into the night.

He said, "Cops'll be here soon. Go home, June."

June.

Of all the nicknames that I had ever been given, none had been June; none had warmed me like it either, none had set off the tap-tap-tap of my heart against my ribs like a knock at the door, a summoning of some kind. It was a nickname that seemed so obvious, so immediate for a name like Juniper.

Funny. No-one had called me June, until Jotaro did.

I found I liked the sound of it, the ease of its single syllable, how it pursed his lips, how it came out soft and low from his throat.

Jotaro walked out of the alleyway and sat on the kerb.

But I was rooted to the ground. Eventually, my left foot shifted. It allowed my right to move, too, sluggish and awkward. I approached him, stooping at his side. His hand was curled in his lap. His knuckles were split and bumpy.

All the fizz and pop and bubble had not quite left me.

My foot bounced against the ground. I felt overly hot. I enclosed my hands around his hand, which was so much larger, and that might have been some cute little remark had I not watched this same hand pummelling those men.

Golden light bloomed. It knitted together the broken skin on his knuckles. It softened the swelling.

Jotaro watched raindrops plop against a puddle.

Again, he said, "Go home."

So I did.

x