Notice the Unnoticeable (JotaroxReader)

A Thorn in My Side

'I'm on my way.' You sent, cursing yourself for being a pushover. You tried to keep yourself calm and composed as you briskly made your way down the familiar route. There hadn't been a response sent, which was both a relief and a bit worrisome. What if he passed out from blood loss? Your imagination began conjuring images of a "helpless" Jotaro slumped over, phone in hand as he tried to text someone who could help. You mildly felt like a jerk, considering that you nearly ignored him and almost even sent a snarky response to him. You approached the gates to his residence, wondering if his mom would wonder why the hell you're here as opposed to school, or if she was even here for that matter, which gave you even more anxiety should it be the latter. You were about to text him that you were there, but he beat you to it.

'Just come inside. I'm in my room.' Your heart rate quickened at the sight of that message; you'd definitely delete that one off your phone later, innocent intentions or not. Wait, did he know you were here? How would he know? He couldn't sense you, right? You hated this. You took a deep breath as you opened the front door, mentally wondering the penalties of breaking and entering as you removed your shoes. Your eyes wildly darted around, listening for Ms. Holly or Jotaro, but heard nothing aside from the songs of birds outside, wafting in from the beautiful inner courtyard. You followed the path you'd been down before, trying to keep yourself calm; you couldn't help Jotaro if you yourself were in a panicked state. Now that you thought about it, what the hell were you even supposed to do? You weren't a doctor, hell you didn't even know to prop your ankle up when the ball hit it a few weeks ago. The most medical thing you knew was to use some hydrogen peroxide, slap a bandage on it, and call it a day. Even though he said to come in, it still felt rude to just barge into his room, injury or no. You hesitantly knocked softly, listening for a response, but received none. You slowly slid the door open, poking your head in and looking around, eyes widening as they took note of blood on the floor.

You fully stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, eyes not wavering from the large smears of blood. How had this happened? A grunt broke your focus from the blood, eyes darting to the side of the room, the bathroom door ajar revealing a disheveled Jotaro leaning heavily over his bathroom countertop, arms shaking.
"W-What happened?" You took a hesitant step forwards, eyes wide as saucers, as you watched a bead of blood trickle down the side of his temple. He looked like he'd been beaten with a cactus on steroids, large spines were embedded into his body, one even jutting through his forearm clean to the other side. His arms were bare, his jacket at his feet, holes all through it. He looked up, wincing as he did so, "Got in a fight." He answered shakily, his breathing heavy. A fight? As much as you wanted to ask what on earth he'd fought, you had more pressing matters to attend to. His injuries. This was certainly beyond slapping a bandage on it. You crossed his room and stood at the bathroom doorway, placing your backpack down as you began assessing the horror show that was his bathroom. Blood pooled on the countertop where he was leaning already retrieved spikes lay haphazard across the top as well as gauze, tweezers, and even a pair of pliers. You drug your eyes up to meet his, unsure of how you could possibly help aside from helping him to the nearest hospital.

"Jotaro, I think we need to get you to a doct-"

"No." He cut you off, stumbling forwards a bit before drawing up to his full height in front of you. While you would never call Jotaro weak, in this moment, he didn't look like the strong delinquent you'd come to be familiar with. "I just need help getting these out, please, (Y/n)." He still managed to retain his air of stern-ness, even when asking for help. Your mouth went dry as you simply nodded up at him, unsureness clear in your eyes.

"Right," you said as you skirted around him, looking over the objects on the countertop, "so do I just choose my weapon, or..." You looked over your shoulder at him for guidance to see he'd moved behind you, sitting on the edge of the tub, long legs bowed out wide. His hands clenched at the sides, knuckles white as he endured the pain. "I've been using the pliers. Gives me a better grip." He said, looking down at the spikes embedded into his forearms.