Work Text:
Kishibe Rohan rolled his eyes, doing everything in his power to not crumble up the paper and throw it out the window of his study. With any luck, it might land in the hair of one of the assholes standing right outside, very clearly talking too loudly on purpose. He glanced out the window, his eyes landing upon a certain three obnoxious teens. Of course it’s them. It’s always them.
It was impossible to get work done. Honestly, Rohan was only cooped up in his study because if he went downstairs he might just go outside and put a certain someone in the hospital.
Rohan didn’t mind the idea, really. What he did mind, however, was the inevitably of being the other patient in the ER. That’s the problem with stand users; they’ll probably hit you back.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rohan grumbled as he watched the mailman drop off his mail. Now he had to go outside, lest he forgets the mail and neglects to pay the water bill or something along those lines. He sighed, hopping off of the window sill he was sat upon.
His journey down the stairs was a slow one, his hand on the railing the entire time. Though he’d never admit it to others, Rohan was… less than fond of staircases. He hated the way the steps creaked underneath his feet, and with his declining depth perception, it was difficult for him to know just how far down to step and he was prone to tripping.
Once he was down the stairs and at the door, Rohan put his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. Here we go.
“If your intention is to annoy me, I’ll have you know you’ve succeeded,” Rohan shouted from his doorstep, not looking up as he crouched down to pick up the mail.
The three boys laughed. “Sorry, Rohan-sensei!” Josuke shouted back with a laugh.
Rohan just sighed. “Whatever.” He stepped back into his house and slammed the door behind him. Fucking teenagers.
He sifted through to mail is he walked toward the kitchen, ready to throw most of it away. Junk mail, coupon, bills, junk mail, fan letter, bills, fan letter, junk mail, letter from my parents? That was odd. Rohan’s parents hadn’t spoken to him in at least two years, not since he’d moved out. Well, not since they’d kicked him out, to be more accurate. Rohan rolled his eyes at the memory and threw the mail onto the table, with the exception of the letter.
It was much easier walking up the stairs than down them. Rohan supposed it was because if he were to fall, it’d probably be forward, and it was much safer falling forward while going up the stairs. He passed the final step and turned to his left, returning to his study.
Rohan sat in his chair, kicking his feet up on his empty desk. He tore open the envelope, nervous to see what he’d find. He held his breath and felt his stomach churn, and if his hands shook a bit he’d never admit it.
“To our Rohan,
I know you probably don’t want to hear from us, but we miss you. It’s been two years since we saw you. If you could come visit, even for a day, we’d appreciate it more than you could imagine. We want to see our son aga-”
Rohan ripped the letter in half, then again, and again. Before he realized what he’d been doing, the paper was in tiny pieces on the floor. He readjusted his position, sitting normally, and hid his face in his arms, resting his head and arms on the desk. He exhaled with a huff.
Rohan wasn’t sure what he (they?) felt. His (her?) relationship with his(?) parents was complicated, to say the least. He’d never been much of a “good” kid, at least not since he was very young. He never really went out of his way to upset his parents, it just always seemed to happen.
Rohan, put that down.
Rohan, stop drawing on yourself.
Rohan, be nice to the neighbor’s kids. It doesn’t matter if they threw rocks at you last week.
Are you sure you want to hang out with him? Some of the other parents are saying they think that he’s gay.
Are you wearing lipstick? Take that off right now!
Where did you get that makeup? You know what, it doesn’t matter, just get rid of it.
Take that nail polish off! If I wanted a daughter I would’ve had one!
Rohan thought he’d escaped it when he moved to Morioh. He figured that he’d finally be free of his family’s tyranny, along with the chaotic nature of Tokyo. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to wear whatever lip gloss he wanted without fighting off a panic attack. He thought that he’d be able to wear whatever he damn well pleased, no matter how masculine or feminine, without constantly fearing for his safety. Of course, Rohan could now see that he was an idiot. This was Japan in 1999, of course he couldn’t just dress however he wanted.
Rohan really didn’t know why he couldn’t just be normal. It wasn’t that he hated being male, it just… didn’t feel right to sum himself up so easily. He wasn’t just a man or just a woman, he was just Rohan. And he didn’t see why that wasn’t okay.