Work Text:
Rohan Kishibe doesn’t like distractions. He’s a bit of a workaholic, especially when he’s in a particularly good rhythm with his pen and inspiration has taken ahold of him. But lately he’s been falling behind on his usual productivity schedule. It took him awhile to figure out why, but once he finally made the connection, he felt irritation and an uncomfortable turning of his stomach. Ever since the Morioh High trio introduced you to the fussy mangaka, he had spent less time working on his illustrations and more time lazily doodling flowers, hands and birds he sees perched on his porch, sweet things. Instead of having his usual ten pages per day to add to his manga, lately he had been ending up with 5 pages and 10 pages of sketches.
When you had first met Rohan, he had no qualms about eyeing you up and down; knowing that he was an incredibly serious artist, you felt a bit like you were being aesthetically scrutinized, and that made you initially shy around him. But you would always try your hardest to be sweet to him, your friends assuring you that he was a good man, “just a little intense at times.” But you couldn’t help but feel that you annoyed Rohan the most out of everyone; every time you visited him with Koichi you could always see him tense up, especially when you wore one of your floral-print dresses. He must not like flowers. Maybe they were a pain to draw?
But you did love his drawings. Against your better judgement you peeked over his shoulder when he was finishing up a particularly detailed panel, and you could hear him hold his breath and hunch his shoulders up uncomfortably. It was useless. He definitely had some odd reactions around you. But Koichi kept encouraging you to return for visits. And Rohan didn’t seem to actually ever try and get rid of you. And you had to admit you were becoming a bit enamored with him, a talented, albeit a bit narcissistic and handsome young man.
One day, you, Koichi, Okuyasu, and Josuke were walking by Rohan’s lovely house, where the mangaka sat on the porch with a cup of tea and a small sketchbook in hand. You walk past him, waving and flashing him a cheerful smile as he sips on his drink. He immediately sputters on his tea, spilling it on his white pants and cursing. Your eyes widen and you tell the others to go on without you while you run up to Rohan to apologize for…startling him??
Rohan shoos away your apology, cheeks a bit red and lips pouting as he avoids looking at you directly.
“Let me draw you,” he suddenly blurts out. That was direct. You can’t say the man wasn’t blunt.
“I…” you begin, a bit nervously. Rohan drawing you? Focusing all his attention on you for an undetermined amount of time? You immediately feel insecure, “But why…?”
Rohan clears his throat, tearing the tea-stained page out of his sketchbook. “Because,” he says curtly, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s eating me up. And I’m losing productivity.”
“It’s…eating you up…?” you ask, almost in a squeak.
“Just sit down and relax. You look pretty. I…Please.” It’s more of a command than a request, but you quietly take a leaning seat on the white wooden railing of his porch, hands resting by your sides and ankles crossed in front of you, the sun hitting the side of your face.
Rohan bites the tip of his pen. “Good.” He tips his head, and you gulp at the attention. He sets his sketchbook down on the floor and gets up from his wicker chair and approaches you. Rohan is suddenly in front of you, a look of concentration on his face that you aren’t sure where comes from. You can feel your cheeks heat up.
“The pose is good, but your hair is covering your face. Let me.” Rohan plays with your hair, fingertips brushing across your neck, which makes you bite your lip in nervousness. Rohan is a bit too focused on his task to realize it, but he does notice the color change on your face. Rohan tips his head again, remarking, “That’s a good color,” and he reaches up slowly and runs his thumb across your warm cheek. He’s so close…what an idiot! Does he even know what he’s doing to you?
Apparently he does, as he suddenly presses his lips to yours. Your eyes are open in surprise, but you definitely don’t hate the feeling. After a moment, he slowly breaks the kiss, eyes darkened, hand still cradling your cheek.
He seems to breathe a sigh of relief. “Maybe now I can get some work done. If we keep doing things like this…”