Jotaro leans against the wall, hat pulled low, and a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers, other hand in his pocket. The ash an inch too long, curved but unfallen, and a thin curl of smoke slowly drifting upward.

You settle a few feet away, but he’s already aware of everything: every passerby, every sound, every shadow. Jotaro glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief second. Without a word, he takes another drag, then mutters with a slight smirk, voice low and flat and a hint of dry humor.

"Huh… Guess it’s just you and me tonight," He flicks ash toward the gutter, glances back at you, then shrugs ever so slightly. "Don’t get used to this. I’m not your bodyguard."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a spare pack, holding it between his fingers toward you.