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His hands circled the silk fabric of the pillow. The same object on which its dark green strands tended to spread out, somewhat damp and free of hair gels or the usual headband that covered his forehead. It was a sudden act of distraction, and the closest way he could find to drowning in a thought other than the one that was bothering him all night.
His eyes did not even strive to stay open, for sleep was not yet upon them. He was awake and, to his surprise, his energy time was not being spent on his own work as expected. Wrapped in a soft and even thick cover in the weather, he shivered a little every time his eyes hovered on the empty side of the double bed.
If Rohan could count the cold that was overflowing from his chest now, they would call him crazy.
Concern rushed over him and slowly eroded his pride at staring at the phone on the dresser. He wanted to call, but couldn't. It would be giving a piece of himself that he would never be willing to give. The reflection that all was well and that he was just exaggerating insisted on trying to make him close his eyes a second and fall asleep there. But the faint smell of cheap perfume and a hair spray insisted on the desire to shed his tears.
It permeated his room everywhere: sheets, clothes, pillows. Everything had a unique feature of Higashikata Josuke that Rohan could never ignore.
He wished he could bang his head against the wall as he realized how needy the young man had made him. Just because he was late, the artist already felt that everything sounded wrong. Not that he couldn't spend a relatively large amount of time away from him. The maximum amount of time spent away from his boyfriend was five long days. It would be a lie if he said he had never been in uncomfortable enough during this time, and just as now, he craved Josuke's warmth like no one else. Only there was a stark difference: the boy warned him that he would come early this time, but didn't show up. He just kept him waiting, submerged in the very assumptions that there must have been an unforeseen event where Jojo could not warn him.
He closed his eyes, rolling a little more until he found some other comfortable position. It was fitting that he was worried, wasn't it? Something bad could have happened. At the same time, Kishibe was nervous about the idea that Josuke might have just forgotten about him.
What if he had?
Rohan understood that he had been exhausted in recent months with college. Especially because it was the last semester and that required an even greater dedication than the last years he was attending. Whenever the man of peculiar pompadour came home and immediately flung himself into their room to rest, Rohan could understand and do what he could to, besides supporting him, compensate too with whatever help he could. Okay, he was never the best person in the world with words because of expressing his feelings. In fact, he never had that need until Josuke came into his life and messed it up. The way he went about showing how much he loved him was by sketching these acts. Who else could ever think of having the privilege of living next to the Great Kishibe Rohan?
But at times like this, he wondered if it wasn't enough for the young man. They met when Higashikata was still very immature. Maybe he no longer loved him that much as before. Jojo matured a lot, too.
Rohan felt his face get a little wet with his own conclusions and shrank deeper into the shaggy sheets. He didn't even notice when he had actually started to cry. When had he become that, really? He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice when someone entered his room and a new weight seemed to occupy the bed.
Kishibe opened his eyes almost instantly to see Josuke lying beside him, staring at the ceiling. The older man felt an indescribable urge to hit him and, ignoring whatever excuse he would make, pretending he didn't care.
But it stopped as soon as he realized how tense his posture was. The serious atmosphere brought on the slightest sensation of his throat closing and that little by little he would no longer be able to move a muscle.
The other gave hints that he would say something, though.
"I was coming here and found my mother on the way." It began, filling Rohan with comfort only to have finally heard his voice on the day. "She called me to the home a second, it felt like something was wrong with her."
He watched Higashikata take a deep breath and allowed himself to observe how red and tired his eyes seemed to be. His heart clenched a little at thinking about the reason for this.
"I just couldn't come here and spend the time we have together crying in front of you, so..."
"Josuke." He called in the softest tone possible, possibly the quietest he'd ever used on him all this time. "While you're with me, I don't mind being by your side in whatever situation."
Rohan put a hand to his boyfriend's face, feeling him shudder at the touch. His hand was hot and his face ridiculously gelid. He did not think twice about caressing the place just for the pleasure of hearing a sigh in response to the affective stimulus. The blue eyes watered so that Kishibe could say with certainty that watching Josuke cry was the worst thing in the world.
"What happened?"
Silence.
He held his hand, kissing it back and holding it between his lips for a moment.
"My father" Rohan widened his eyes a little as he heard the word, remembering the state that the Joestar had been in the hospital in New York in recent days due to an illness that had suddenly struck him. "... He died in the morning."
Kishibe swallowed hard at the news. He didn't expect that at all. He had an admiration for Joseph that anyone would be surprised at. Knowing this now was nothing more than a terribly bitter taste left in his mouth.
Joseph always proved to be a fan of Rohan's work and the artist appreciated it. At first, even one of the main reasons for the mangaka to tolerate Josuke at a time when their relationship was torn with rancor was due to his father's regard. And even after everything was resolved and he still refused to believe that he was romantically linked to Higashikata, Kishibe had full support from the Joestar. If he inhaled a feeling like this when he remembered him, what would his own son look like now?
Rohan sighed, facing him as best as he could in comfort of the figure in front of him.
"I'm so sorry, dear..."
The movement on the other's cheek became more tender and Rohan felt the grip on his hand intensify a little.
“I know we weren't that close, especially with the whole story of him abandoning us… But we were getting a chance to fix that. You know I planned to tell my mother that I finally met him.” He kept his voice, beginning to fail from the stumbling words that spat in too much anguish. “And today, Jotaro has come to say this in person. He thought I was home. I could barely look at her face when she asked me why I didn't tell her about him talking to me before he got sick...”
“You wanted to protect her, Josuke. You couldn't predict it and you shouldn't blame yourself for doing what you know was best for her during that time.”
"B-But now everything seems to tell me that I was wrong-"
Rohan placed an index finger on his lover's lips and followed a low interjection in a gentle backwater request, preventing him from continuing to speak. He could not bear to see him blame himself and continually torture himself with it.
"Hey..." Josuke sobbed suddenly, making every corner of the mangaka's interior vibrate. "I'm here."
"It's all right." He continued. His fingers rolling on the bluish-black strands as sweetly as he could. He kissed the top of the other's head, sniffing the scent that made him secure.
Warm. It was the perfect word to define as it was when Josuke then wrapped him in a hug strong enough to make him lose his breath slightly. His arms bringing his slender body closer and closer, wetting his blouse of melancholy. He felt every tear spill a little of the boy into the expensive fabrics.
If he had not been firm, he would not have been able to refrain from displaying the greatest pain in the planet now. But he was, and needed to be. He could never heat up the one he loved the most if it was cold either.
And Rohan, as cold as he was, seemed to be nothing more than a fake mask that fell pretty well near his beloved.
For Higashikata Josuke, he would be always warm.