Eloquence

Kakyoin Is an Artist, With The Eyes of an Artist.

Now really. This is getting ridiculous. Because everyone on this trip really ought to be comfortable with one another, and, well, they're all adults. They can handle seeing a little skin. Right? Kakyoin, for his part, has no issue with the sight of an unclothed body. He is an artist, after all. He has drawn every aspect of human anatomy that the earth could possibly have to offer. So the fact that Jojo is currently naked spare a towel means nothing to him. Nothing whatsoever. And it is artistic instinct alone that pulls Kakyoin's eyes along those beautiful, sculpted muscles (purely genetic, Joestar insists, but Kakyoin has his doubts), makes his gaze linger for perhaps a moment longer than is strictly necessary on the way Jojo's skin glistens in the morning light.

Kakyoin doesn't... mind, exactly, that Jojo likes to dry off a bit before he puts his clothes on. And it doesn't... doesn't bother him, not really, that Jojo times his showers so that he steps out from the bathroom just as Kakyoin is waking up, so that the first sight of every morning is always Jojo's gleaming (and unfairly developed) pectorals. But that's just because Kakyoin is an artist.

Not for any other reason at all.

"Morning," Jojo grunts.

And this is the part that Kakyoin hates. Because he is not some lovestruck schoolgirl. He isn't. But Jojo's still-sleepy voice, and the way his bare skin practically glows, and the dangerously low dip of his towel around his hips, make Kakyoin blush like a fourteen year old at an idol concert. Which doesn't matter because Jojo has always turned away at this point, leaving Kakyoin to struggle not to admire those gloriously broad shoulders. What does matter is the way his voice always pitches higher than he intends, leaving a squeaked-out "Morning!" before he flees to the bathroom to get dressed for the day.