Work Text:
Kishibe Rohan, the mangaka, was attentive to the way the blizzard outlined drier snowflakes in the window panes behind the blinds. There was no circulation outside precisely because of the sudden phenomenon of snowstorms, even though it was late afternoon. He was just watching the scene set up in front of the mansion. The artist sighed: it would not be long before the doors were blocked in accumulated snow walls, so it would not make sense if he left now.
When he turned on the news and learned that the weather would change drastically and intensely, he concluded that he could try to finish his manuscript without any reference - at least for now. He meant, that is what he thought, really. The mangaka was more than a month updated with Pink Dark Boy, all thanks to the peak of inspiration that occurred to him a few weeks ago. Normally, when that happened, Rohan would go days without leaving home. It was arduous hours in which he did not even think about eating or taking care of himself in any way, totally focused on his work. Heaven’s Door’s skills were at full throttle when his emotions gained loads of energy like that, creating pages and pages in a matter of minutes. The feeling of satisfaction and contentment at having finished another chapter always brought him delight for a short period of time and Rohan already had enough experience to know this fact with his own hands, but something came out of the expected when it finally happened, concrete three days later.
The artist was sitting on one of the empty benches in Morioh-Cho's square on a cold - albeit sunny - morning while analyzing the landscape of some different species of plants that were being born in the spring season. He was willing to sketch the wisteria initially, since they were in their flowering season and he wanted to draw some of them in the composition of one of the chapters of his manga. It would be something like a garden full of exotic flowers, so he needed to have some basis to be able to modify their appearance on paper appropriately later. However, by touching the tip of his pencil in his sketchbook, Rohan acquired a ramble. His line of reasoning automatically moved to a different image, and he was unable to draw. There was a peculiar spark of insecurity when Kishibe thought of trying again, trapped in the unsettling feeling in his chest that an inexplicable void arose when he began to draw lifeless lines on the white page.
He gave himself time after that frustration, deciding to return home and be distracted for certain hours with some activity that could entertain him and empty his mind. Before his stand appeared in his life, Rohan was used to this trail of uncertainty when designing and finishing a work. That desire to be read, his greatest inspiration, showed signs of fear of not being realized and remembered. Perhaps this small failure was just a show of tiredness that came as an effect of all the time he spent without taking a single moment to breathe.
You see, that was the artist's answer to his questions. And when he was off guard, he discovered that it was a wrong and humiliating logic. After two long weeks, The Great Kishibe Rohan, the city's renowned twenty-year-old, had not yet designed even a single well-regarded shape. That is, two agonizing weeks, where he was unable to sleep properly.
The man snorted again, cracking his spine joints and struggling to get up and carefully blow out the candles that were deposited on his saucer, giving up trying to produce something that day. He locked the door to the studio, keeping his hands on the doorknob and closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against the hardwood plane.
What would he do?
Rohan shivered at the sound of the doorbell echoing through the walls of his mansion, reaching his ears.
"What?" he whispered to himself, hurrying to get to the stairs. He was not expecting visitors, and that did not make sense either at a time like this.
The man stopped in front of the main door, adjusting his sweater that was ill-fitting on his abdomen and taking a deep breath when he opened it. Rohan trembled at the low temperature, his green eyes wide like glowing jades at six in the afternoon. If he had to guess who would be in his snow-drenched backyard at that moment, he would never have said Higashikata Josuke.
"What are you doing here?" it was the only thing that left his lips as he looked at the younger man's equally surprised face. This made Rohan wonder if it was related to his deplorable appearance.
The student swallowed, crossing his arms in what the artist understood as an expression of cold. "I was caught in the blizzard as I passed the station." Rohan raised an eyebrow. "Your home was the only option on the road that was not yet blocked."
“You are not welcome here, I think you already know that," the mangaka said, devoting himself to watching his feet covered in black leather boots. He did not need to look at the youngest to know that Josuke had a slowly irritated expression.
His grudge against Higashikata remained intact, which was not new. Just hearing his deep voice ring in his ears did he feel all his sanity going - gradually - far away from his body.
"Believe me, I also didn't want to be here now," Josuke argued, biting his lower lip. Rohan could see how his uniform was covered with snow at that angle, and some of his pompadour as well. "I will die hypothermic if I stay out here!"
The artist pinched the bridge of his nose, starting to feel impatient. "I don't need to remind you that every time you step on my house, something terrible happens."
“Didn't you hear what I just said? I have no other choice. It would only be for a while until the storm passed and the snow melted enough!”
"This is none of my business, Higashikata."
He was about to close the door in Josuke's face, when the young man was quicker to put a hand in space and prevent Rohan from doing so.
"Please, Rohan."
The mangaka stared at him, feeling a fresh breeze pass coldly across his face. Josuke's lips were chapped now, and his nose was red.
In the end, he was not so cruel: "On one condition," Josuke's eyes lit up. "you will stay... until the snow melts."
"Yeah, until the snow melts," Higashikata repeated, with a singing smile.
Rohan led the way for him to pass, watching him hurry and enter the mansion. "Don't forget to remove your shoes and the top of your uniform."
Josuke hissed as he cautiously removed his dirty shoes. The artist locked the door, watching the storm rise outside through the cracks. "It's a lot warmer here, now I understand why you are putting up with wearing only these short clothes."
Well, Rohan had tried to invest in some heater last month.
"You really don't understand anything about fashion."
Rohan went to the kitchen, avoiding as much eye contact with the student in the living room. He was still too lost in his troubled thoughts to pay any real attention to it. As long as Josuke was silent, everything would be at peace. He glanced sideways at the shelves, thinking that making a hot drink might hydrate him somehow.
"Where can I leave this?" Josuke's voice interrupted him again.
Rohan blinked, realizing that the teenager was referring to the large coat that made up his school attire. "There is a support on the side of the door”, he responded nonchalantly as he went back to fetch some chocolate from the compartments on the counter. Higashikata wore a yellow tank top with some zipper details on both sides, which showed his toned shoulders and... big, in a way. The mangaka was not so strong at 16. He thought it would be the right kind of anatomy for an admirable protagonist in famous manga.
Josuke pondered, going over to the object that was close enough that he did not need to take his eyes off Rohan's face. "Um, I'm sorry to ask you that way Rohan-sensei, but you've been pretty much gone for the past few days."
“I was working, as usual. I don't have as much free time as you teenagers to be constantly wandering around Morioh.”
The olderman saw a trail of the other rolling his eyes.
"Oh yeah, It couldn't be anything else.” He went back there, leaning against the counter while following Josuke's movements in the preparation. "I just brought it up because Koichi mentioned being concerned about you."
"I'm okay," Rohan decreed, more like a bluff than anything. “You don't have to try hard to start a casual conversation with me. I will talk to Koichi-kun as soon as I can.”
"I wasn't trying."
The kettle made a long, noisy sound.
“Could I use the phone for a minute? My mom must be worried. I wish I could let her know that I'm here.”
Rohan almost forgot that Josuke was a minor. This reminded him of the period when he still lived with his grandmother, before leaving home and definitely living alone. His parents lived in Tokyo and were always very busy, so even if the artist wanted to distance himself to do whatever he wanted, no one really noticed...
He picked up the electronic device from the furniture and held it out to the boy, saying nothing. Higashikata just whispered a boring thanks.
Rohan finished making his drink, pouring the boiling liquid into two cups - because, yes, he still had a little consideration for the unbearable boy -, adding the milk in addition to the other ingredients and then sitting on the couch. He did not know how long it would take him to talk to his mother, so he went to one of the bookshelves on the first floor and chose a copy of Michelangelo's books of artistic illustrations to read while waiting.
He settled down, drinking his hot cocoa drink while contemplating the collection displayed in the work. Rohan managed to catch some of Josuke's dialogue when the student returned to the cubicle, hanging up the phone.
“I had to say that I was stuck at Okuyasu's house... I hope you don’t mind."
"I don't."
He felt Josuke sit next to him on the couch. "This is for me...?"
Rohan raised his vision only to catch a curious and enlightened countenance of the expectant boy. "Do you see anyone else here?"
Higashikata did not seem to mind the hostile comment, excitedly taking the container and taking the liquid right away. He seemed to like it, once his eyebrows relaxed and he remained calm and everything else. It was a very realistic personification: Rohan did not want to admit it, but he liked it.
“I know I'm not at my house, but it’s great to be able to relax now. Dude, it was a very stressful day~"
Kishibe returned his attention to the pages of his book, resting a hand on his face in his false interest. “Really?”
“I don't know if you know that, but Morioh has been inhabited by many samurai in the past. They had many martial arts training camps, as well as old houses that were built according to the will of the feudal lords to expand their lands. Even today, there are some old houses from that time.” Rohan remembered doing some research on this in his search for references in the study of Morioh-Cho's architecture and history. He gestured for Josuke to continue. “This morning, when I was leaving school, Jotaro met me and he said that he needed my help to investigate a possible indication that there was another user of the booth that we didn’t know in the city. Jotaro had found on the map of Morioh a house that was from the period of feudal organization in Japan that was not registered there.”
“These maps have a number of problems. I've had to face a lot of impasses with that.”
“I also thought it was just something like that, but he contacted the real estate agency responsible for the land and all they said was that the renovation cost was not worth the way it was, in addition to the rumors about the housing being haunted. We both decided to face the place on our own, even though I admitted I was quite scared. I mean, these things are very scary!”
The older man straightened up on the seat, reaching for a sketchbook he had left next to the sofa. "And then? What happened?"
“When we got there, Jotaro said that after researching more deeply about the reports of people who had some contact with the house, he managed to find out who the former owner was in the century of feudalism. He was a prestigious Japanese warrior, who served a great feudal lord who owned many lands in Morioh. Takeo, a samurai general, was the one who lived in the abandoned house we were investigating.” Josuke detailed that, as the house had few rooms, Kujo concluded that the part he had heard from other inhabitants about Takeo living with his wife and son was true. “He took the code of conduct very seriously, being loyal and disciplined to his overlord. He started his training from childhood through more experienced masters, and as an adult he married and assumed the position of samurai in charge of collecting taxes and obeying his military duties.”
"Was he also eliminated at the end of the fief system?" Rohan questioned, arching an eyebrow.
Higashikata took another sip of what the mangaka gave him. “That's what we bet on, like a macabre story or something, but it was much worse than that. As soon as we entered the house something terribly strange happened. We found Takeo's spirit inside it. If we think about how Reimi managed to continue in our world, this is possible. We just didn't know if he was the evil type, so we tried to keep him at a disadvantage with our stands, until he demonstrated that he didn't want to do us any harm.”
Josuke perfectly narrated what his face looked like: his figure wore traditional samurai armor with side shields, metal pieces on his head with a helmet in paintings of demonic expressions that served to intimidate the enemy, and layered metal plates that covered everything. Takeo also manipulated two swords tied to his waist, but which were never actually touched by the warrior.
“Takeo told us what really happened to him, and why he was still in the world of the living. His wife took care of their son and encouraged the child to follow in his father's footsteps. Takeo revealed that he had become a general just because of the high pressure his wife placed on him, extolling the samurai code of honor above anything and anyone. His wife admired this on a clearly insane level, to the point that she tried in every way to join the clan of warriors of the time, however, as she was unsuccessful, she reflected her failed goals on her husband and son. Whenever Takeo returned home after days of battles and serious injuries, she punished their son for every mistake he made.”
The student continued, letting out a tired yawn on the way: “Takeo told us that if he returned one day without his arms and legs, his wife would not hesitate to do the same with her son. The situation continued until the beginning of the modernization of Japan, which marked the end of feudal dictatorships and, consequently, the end of samurai. Takeo became an unemployed samurai, which was considered a warrior's deepest form of penance. His wife abhorred him from the moment he left the Japanese elite, so she considered him as someone who was stuck in a dishonorable life, with no meaning for his existence. She waited for the moment when Takeo would return home and, after that, set everything on fire, which resulted in the death of him and his own son. She fled somewhere in Japan and, since then, Takeo's spirit has stayed in Morioh. Not exactly for revenge, but to make sure he would be able to see all her descendants being wiped out to the end.”
"W-What was her name?" the artist's voice failed with his distress. He felt like he was browsing Josuke's descriptions, his dry throat showing his adrenaline, as if he were there.
“Kira Hideaki. She was an ancestor of Yoshikage. We were surprised, we had no idea of that," Josuke replied, closing his eyes.
"I suppose! I'm also surprised, what an incredible story!” His hands couldn’t stop at any time as he drew every detail that Josuke had accurate, and how he put them into words.
Higashikata's experiences brought a wave of inspiration maddened by Rohan's fibers: in a few minutes that the youngest was telling his story, the artist had already filled almost the entire page with various representations that were based on Josuke's descriptions. He was happy, completely energized. The voices in his intellect that said he was not able to easily get rid of his mental lock disappeared and gave rise to a familiar commotion. Rohan felt refreshed with all those other people's experiences that he had just collected.
He was ready to question Josuke again in order to get more details about his fights outside, when he felt an unusual weight encircle his right shoulder. Turning around to deal with whatever had landed there, Rohan came across a sleepy and calm Josuke dozing on top of him. His arms were crossed and his half-open mouth let out little sighs in a gentle contrast to his relaxed, thick eyebrows.
Rohan did not know what to do. He took a deep breath, leaving his notebook on the table in an attempt to avoid moving too much and waking Josuke. In that position, he could smell his scent of cheap perfume and the other cosmetics he used, in addition to his abnormal heat for the cold that still lingered outside. It made Rohan feel a little dizzy. This excessive closeness made everything seem like they had some level of intimacy, and the mangaka felt his nerves come up just at the thought. He tried not to wake him when he got up and left Higashikata lying on the bigger sofa; after all, all he wanted less was to get the youngest out of his quiet and less noisy state - in general. The student looked somewhat better that way, with his mouth closed.
The artist would leave him there to go to his office again and draw for the rest of the night through all the inspiration that Josuke gave him, when he realized that the boy's body was shivering. Kishibe stopped halfway, massaging his temples as he realized what he was about to do. Rohan went up to the second floor, took a thick blanket, and covered Higashikata as best he could.
That would be his payment for Josuke to have given him a flake of creativity after two weeks.
Until the snow melts.