Chapter Text
It was a gold-hued Tuesday morning when Tonio extended the offer: “Rohan, there’s a wine tasting in S-City that I’m attending on Friday. Would you be interested in going?”
The two were in Trattoria Trussardi’s kitchen, Tonio preparing loaves of sourdough for the lunch rush, and Rohan sitting on the counter beside his cutting board, watching him work. In the mangaka’s hands was a mechanical pencil and the remaining scraps of an old kneadable eraser. He was studying Tonio’s handiwork and lazily making a couple sketches of it.
Rohan nearly declined. Typically, he was averse to social events. He’d much prefer to spend a Friday night on his own. But, a wine tasting was much different than some tasteless, overwhelming party. Plus, it helped quite a bit that Tonio would be there…
Since that rainy day in September, the two had grown closer. Rohan’s meetings became regular again, bringing him to Trattoria Trussardi again and again. Now, his visits were not made out of desperation for shelter, but a conscious choice to spend his time there. Life marched on. Whether he wanted it to or not, the summer of ‘99 receded further and further into the past. Undoubtedly it had been a rough chunk of his life; he rode into that summer on a wave of ego and mania, an already eccentric man suddenly overwhelmed by the power of his stand and the passion it brought; when the summer concluded he had been forcibly humbled by the hands of fate, and at the hands of the merciless Kira Yoshikage. He stumbled into the autumn lucky to be alive, but that was it. He was just alive. The detective game he’d played had ended, and he’d sent Reimi off to heaven, or wherever the hell she went-- and after that he was back where he started, an artist with too much crazy in his head and no higher purpose in his heart.
By no means did Tonio swoop down like some guardian angel and fill the aimless Rohan with hope, but he was kind, and patient, and it was something the mangaka desperately needed. He had few true friends. He liked his editor, Kyoka Izumi, but he was quite a ways off from calling her anything more than a coworker. Koichi was busy with school, and sorting out his own troubles that summer had given him. Often Rohan knew that he needed to get out of the house, to get over himself, to get his shit together , but he found he had nowhere to go.
Trattoria Trussardi was that somewhere. It never moved, or changed, or died. It was safe. It had Tonio! Another stand user, but one unburdened by Morioh’s little curse. And, after only a few visits, a friend.
Though it was humiliating for Rohan to even admit to himself, Tonio made new places feel safer to him. He often found himself with a sense of dread when driving, or when the sky smelled like rain. When he was with Tonio, he still felt that way, but he didn’t have time to feel any guilt over it. He was able to collect himself and get out of his head.
After a moment’s deliberation, Rohan changed his mind regarding the invite. Tonio had stopped kneading his dough for a moment, looking at Rohan expectantly. He had a habit of sometimes looking much more intense than he realized, but Rohan found it didn't unsettle him. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like to go. I’ll put it in my calendar.”
Tonio’s expression softened into his characteristic smile, and he clapped his hands together. A little puff of flour flew from them. He chuckled, “Bene!”, and Rohan decided to commit that expression to memory. Maybe, he’d want to draw it later.
They spent their time mostly in comfortable silence, two artists working at once separate and unified on their crafts. Rohan drifted away into his work. Quick little studies of knives and spatulas and bowls became full sketches of Tonio; his wide hands holding a razor with infinite delicacy, cutting patterns and leaves into firm dough; his broad shoulders steady as he sliced strawberries and shaved orange peels; his many faces of concentration and satisfaction over his work.
As Rohan studied Tonio, he studied the mangaka back just as hard. Rohan’s bicolor eyes-- one yellow-brown and one blue-- tended to squint as he worked. He often hunched over and scrunched up his shoulders, curling up tight around his sketchpad. He constantly wetted his lips with his tongue, poking a tiny sliver of it out and tasting the corner of his mouth. Tonio wondered if anyone else was allowed to see these habits; Rohan was obsessed with his privacy, and remaining elusive. Had anyone in his life ever watched Rohan wriggle his fingers as he stretched? Had they ever noticed him flex his arm and pop his elbow, or run his tongue over his teeth, or brush his knuckles against his sketchbook paper to clear off broken bits of pencil lead-
“What are you thinking about, Tonio?” Rohan teased. Tonio blinked his thoughts away, and realized he’d been standing motionless in front of the oven for a good few moments.
“I was just worrying about a pricey ingredient I should be getting in today,” he lied. For some reason he found himself flustered. Rohan took up too much of his thoughts sometimes. If the kitchen weren’t so hot, and his cheeks weren't always rosy, he feared he’d be blushing.
Rohan simply chuckled, “Sure,” and turned back to his paper. Despite his shame, Tonio decided to commit Rohan’s smile to memory. He felt special seeing it. Maybe he’d want to think of it later.