the relation of art and pain | jotakak

xviii

Kakyoin's stomach has been in unrest all day. He could not go to class, afraid he would not be able to make it through. Jean had reassured him that telling Jotaro he loved him before telling him about his schizophrenia was fine, if that was what Kakyoin wanted to do. He owes him no explanation, Jean had said. Kakyoin was not entirely sure what he wanted, until Jotaro had smiled back at him and returned his I love you.

And Kakyoin thought he would be happy about that.

He has been nothing but terrified since.

He had decided a while ago that, although they make him feel sluggish and empty, his medication is worth taking. It was a major decision to make. The fact that Jotaro had been a part of that thought process meant something to Kakyoin, something far more important than anything else the man could have done. Kakyoin has struggled to believe that there is something wrong with him, that he does not deserve the things he goes through, that not every thing he sees and hears is truly there; who would not struggle with that, after all? Who would accept the fact that part of their life is nothing more than a lie, even if that part is not something they enjoy? Taking his meds felt like submitting to that, like admitting he is crazy.

Kakyoin does not know that he believes that they help now, even, but the clarity his meds give him is undeniable. These ones work better for him than the others did. The longer he takes them, the more he begins to recall that he has thought this same thought every time he has restarted his pills.

But even after he spent the better part of seventy-two hours overthinking and over analyzing everything, he is not sure if he is ready to tell Jotaro. Life had been going so well, but now it all depends on how he reacts to one simple word. The one that tends to drive others away from him.

Kakyoin has spent his hours out of class feeling so upset it is unbearable, pacing between the couch and his bed and the breakfast table. He wishes he did not feel so sober. It would be so easy to ignore the severity of the situation he has put himself into, if only he weren't so sober.

If only he felt normal, like everyone else.

If only he were normal, like everyone else.

He does not care how many times doctors and therapists have assured him it will get better. It hardly feels that way. When he was seventeen, he did not have to worry about love. But now, he knows that if he is not already in love with him then he is falling in love with Jotaro; and tomorrow, all of it may be gone. And because of what? Just one meaningless word, one fucking word that has managed to rule his life for years. Kakyoin takes a deep breath, feeling his eyes prickle with tears.

He should have thought this out further. He should have forced himself to think of what would happen afterwards, but he did not. He could not bear to think of the four months he may have wasted growing close to someone who would judge him in the end. Jean was crucial to tell, for it was unfair to keep him in the dark. Kakyoin owed that much to him. He will never fully understand why Jean was so kind to him.

Jotaro, however, is a different case.

Jotaro does not have to live with Kakyoin. Jotaro has no obligation to help Kakyoin with his project, and he can simply tell him he never wants to see him again. Kakyoin feels sadness swell in his throat, imagining that. He can think of nothing more humiliating than admitting his feelings to him only to be thrown aside the next day. He knows Jotaro does not throw words around. I love you means a lot for both of them. But if the way his parents reacted when they found out, the way his father began to distance himself and his mother began to grow tired of him, the ways he heard them talk about him, if any of that means anything — love does not mean very much to schizophrenia.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Kakyoin knows that heartbreak can kill a man. And now, he wishes that it would. Then he would not have to live knowing his parents think he is a problem; he would not have to live knowing there is a possibility that Jotaro will walk out of his life forever. Maybe it would be different, if Kakyoin had ever loved someone before, but this type of fear... it is brand new.

At some point, he knows he cannot avoid it.

If he does, he will be a wreck for the foreseeable future.

The wait after he calls Jotaro is the longest half hour of his life. Jotaro picks up on his mood immediately when he opens the door, his usual indifference melting into concern.

"What's wrong?" He asks, before he even says hello.

Kakyoin motions him inside and sits him down on the couch. "I said I love you last night," he states, as if Jotaro will understand everything that means.

"You did," he says slowly.

"And I said it was a big deal, for me."

"You did."

"You deserve to know why," Kakyoin says. He knows he does not owe Jotaro an explanation, that all of this is unnecessary, but he does not feel right leaving him in the dark. "It's fine if you don't... if you don't want to see me anymore. I'd understand."

"Tell me," Jotaro says. His voice is not impatient or demanding; he wants the point.

Kakyoin cannot meet his eyes. It is as if hours pass in the span of minutes it takes him to gather the courage to say, "I have schizophrenia. And I think you should know that if we're going to be together."

Jotaro is quiet. Part of Kakyoin wants to excuse himself, wants to take back the past week and pretend it never happened. The other part desperately wants Jotaro to understand.

"Okay," Jotaro says finally.

Kakyoin looks up. "Okay?"

"I don't say things I don't mean. I wouldn't have meant that 'I love you' if I took it back now," Jotaro says, so matter-of-factly, as if Kakyoin should have known that without his assurance.

He feels ready to cry. And he does. An apology is lost between where Jotaro offers him a hug and Kakyoin buries his face into his shoulder, unable to stop himself. He has never felt so relieved. Jotaro does not understand how much his words mean to Kakyoin, he cannot understand it, but he strokes his hair regardless.

Kakyoin has never felt so safe in someone else's arms.