Work Text:
Few people could say how much Rohan regretted rejecting Josuke six years ago. It’s difficult to calculate the time, coming as slowly as an accident ready to knock him off the track. It took him a long time to recognize it at that moment and, surely, no one blamed him.
When Josuke was a teenager with a thirst for justice and adventure, he had just defeated a serial killer. Morioh became relatively peaceful again and the birds returned to sing in the same way they should, freed from the overwhelming weight that carried the lives of countless indiscriminate deaths — which, therefore, would never cease to be under the feet of those who would be able to remember.
Rohan always liked to remember things. However, he was never the type to cling to the past. He was a man hungry for experiences filled with countless stories to tell. In addition, he was also always good with memories, so he had to reconcile them almost recurrently. The detail that the biggest memory that has been filling his brain in the last few months since Josuke graduated from high school and left for university was something to be forgotten.
Frankly, when the teenager — no, the man — with his impenetrable pompadour and brand-new muscles returned from his PhD that summer, ready to work in whatever corridor he decided to visit in the city's hospitals, fate poured cold water into Rohan's plans.
Full of knowledge to be duplicated and a deep, warm voice, Josuke seemed unable to look him in the eye as he took care of his patients and the artist just marched towards the hospital at the expense of dealing with the intensive overload that his work demanded. Meanwhile, Rohan was unable to think.
Higashikata grew up by simply maturing and acquiring his responsibility, or because he no longer looked at Rohan as he once did?
His voice was sickeningly sweet when he confessed that time. His cheeks were so red and the older one remembered that in his deepest dreams. He shuddered each time he touched the smaller man's hands, stumbling over his own words and bubbling passion. It was naive in a way that Rohan could not desecrate but expel him in the most polite way possible.
On second thought, he never believed he had any other choice. Where in the world could Kishibe Rohan, the mangaka, accept the feelings of a hormonal and indecisive young boy? Eventually, he was not the only one to know that he was more than mistaken. Josuke had never been indecisive and much less irresponsible: he knew exactly what he wanted, and no one could take that away from him. But Josuke never came back, and he never noticed Rohan again.
The artist was treating a wrist sprain as soon as all those little memories came back to his brain that morning, as a standard morning procedure that accompanied each of his more daytime habits.
Higashikata had a rather accusatory countenance above him, surrounding him between the office in an almost carefree but hostile way. At this point, it would not be a surprise if Rohan revealed that his frequent visits to the medical wing were all about his stupid attempt to find Josuke again.
"You won't be so lucky if your ligaments are completely torn the next time, Rohan-sensei."
The smallest could hear in his tone how tired the other was. It was his day on call, and he was wasting it on medical imaging procedures and meaningless conversations.
"I have to make this bet."
Josuke looked at him as if he was already waiting for that answer, while the only thing he really wanted to know was why Rohan did not have someone else to consult him in the middle of his internship.
He sighed like a nasal laugh as he concentrated on bandaging his right hand, letting a serious grimace escape. “These bruises won't go away until you take a break and take it easy. All you will get is trauma and never draw manga again.”
No, Rohan could not say goodbye — not yet. He would feel terrible if he came home this time and spent two more weeks confined to his mansion, and he had not even asked Josuke out before he had an opportunity like this again.
“Is that what is written on my records? I’m not afraid of surgeries.”
The biggest let his breath fly from his lips in a sigh, looking seriously at his supposed patient around the stretcher. "I will not heal you."
They were repeating this conversation. Where Rohan was not friends with Josuke enough. Where he preferred to always act in his more passive-aggressive stance than to deal with the truth.
"I don't want you to cure me, even if I still don't understand why you chose to become a doctor if you are unable to use your stand to save people," the artist pointed out, moving away from him. Polished memories of his past reminded him of his burning house and the taller man saving him from danger.
“I need to teach them how to deal with the consequences. It would be useless if you went home without this thing now."
"And who are you? God?" he snorted. “Come on, I already gave up on subordinating you with my money. I just want to... ask you a favor.”
"And what is this?" Higashikata rested his big body on the hospital bed. They were only a few feet away there, separated only by a look of burning curiosity and demands that the doctor made sullenly.
A stream of heat drifted through the mangaka's blood, seeing the way Josuke's mature face managed to make his body show withdrawal.
Fuck. How would he be able to propose that?
“A dinner this weekend. You are always complaining that I haven't eaten properly since you found out through my exams, so it’s only fair that I require a demonstration of your cooking skills.”
His voice did not shake. His hands did not tremble. The only concern that Rohan could validate was the small pink stain on his cheeks and his heart racing like a car at high speed.
Despite that, Higashikata did not appear to be very convinced of what he meant.
“This is not a favor, Rohan. This is a date. Are you by any chance asking me out?”
"Well, you are the one who's going to cook, so that's not technically true..."
He scratched behind the neck, looking less surprised than the artist had previously imagined. "I don't know," Josuke blew in his own conflict. Here was his power to reject him. To return all the harm that Rohan did to him in his adolescence. The eldest thought of different ways to leave Josuke's space and never come back. "There's no time for joking."
Joking? "This is not a joke," Rohan thought, but he was too stunned to respond immediately. He tightened his jaw: "With what could I be joking, Higashikata?"
“With my feelings. You know, I still have them, even though I’m not so transparent all the time. In order for me to accept stepping into your house again, you need to accept what's in you first.”
There was no more response coming out of the artist's mouth. His willpower had just been broken into several unrecoverable pieces, in addition to a great doubt being framed around his thoughts.
Who did he think he was?
Kishibe smiled slowly, looking anywhere — except for Higashikata's blue eyes examining him inside the room.
“Oh, no, Josuke. You don't mean nothing at all to me.”
At that moment, the intern's lips parted in a startled way.
It was as if a knife had been stuck in his chest all this time, and all Rohan had done was to push it into a deeper place, losing it in his throat. Igniting his expectations that he struggled to forget.
Nevertheless, Josuke looked away. “I think your consultation is over. I hope you get better soon, Rohan.”
And he went out the door, leaving him miserable and lonely abandoned in that room full of darkness.
—
The curtains swayed evenly as the wind started behind the windows. The weekly manuscript rested above the desk in the office, surrounded by an endless series of painting materials and contracts that Rohan would have to revise sporadically.
His phone hovered over the squeak, echoing in an endless buzz: he had just finished contacting his publisher. A very important meeting was scheduled for the next semester about the artist's future in everything that related to his manga. Presumably, there would be an animation proposal scheduled for next year. Given the moment that the final season of the series had been announced, countless studios were looking at his neck in search of a prestigious vision.
What the opportunity had given Rohan since then came down to just a soulless extension of his migraines, causing him to doze off much more than possible in the confines of his office after an overdose of some painkillers for headache and insomnia.
Nonetheless, the messages left in his mailbox seemed very difficult to ignore as he tried to postpone his destination, fleeing more than anything from visiting the hospital again.
Koichi was busy with his teaching task, so the only solution that Rohan complied was to lock himself inside his mansion and hope that he found an efficient way to communicate with him after lunch. Even though it was late afternoon, Rohan has not heard from the gray-haired boy yet.
He took a deep breath, jumping off the duvet and into the suite's porcelain tile; his cold feet making goosebumps in his tired and insatiable body. Koichi was an adult man now and he should not be wasting time with someone like him. If he was not able to take care of himself and get out of bed when he was told to, that should not be anyone's problem but himself, right?
But the bath with salts that Rohan built looked very lonely.
Apparently, he will have to cook dinner alone.
“Come tonight. I'll cook for you,” he wrote to Josuke, but he soon deleted it.
It sounded too authoritative for someone who had just broken his heart during a second attempt.
The mangaka rolled in the bathtub, avoiding the foam. He never wanted to see Josuke's sad face again.
"Forgive me,” Rohan typed. "I'm an idiot."
But of course he deleted it again.
Kishibe gasped, deciding to wash his face and forget about the intern with a strong physique and gold desire for a moment. His digits had not yet left the keyboard while he continued to reflect, breathing quickly.
"You could mean everything to me."
Sent.
—
Tonio was distant on the other side of the restaurant. Two specially filled glasses had just manifested themselves in both portions of his new guests, whose atmosphere emanated somewhat differently than he had expected.
Tonight, he will have a chance to find out.
"It looks nice,” Josuke commented, about to attack his risotto.
Higashikata deserved much more than a half-hearted dinner inside his dusty, silent house. In a place where he was aware of the moonlight and the constant noise of the cook's other customers, Rohan could disguise his embarrassment. Just like celebrating his luck, and the reason why Josuke accepted him.
Or rather, the condition that Rohan had to accept.
"I’m looking forward to knowing how and when you will do it."
The mangaka looked at him over his lashes, holding the cutlery before starting his meal. Luckily, this slice had no bizarre effect derived from Tonio's powers.
“Patience, Higashikata. I didn't give you any dates.”
“But that was a promise, wasn't it? Besides, I’m not your puppy that will wait for you all day,” Josuke seemed almost irritated when declaring this.
Rohan should not have asked him, two weeks after crying in the bath, to have dinner with him as if nothing had happened.
He rolled his eyes at his companion's poor comparison. “I'm not the type to destroy promises. I said that you will have what you have been waiting for, and you will have it.”
The younger one snapped his joints, not listening to what the artist was saying about him. It was almost a little too much for the mangaka, but he would still need to contain his anger if he genuinely wanted to apologize to Josuke.
"Believe me, I've been dreaming about this thing since the day I confessed to you, Rohan." Finally, they were putting their cards on the table. "By the way, how much do you remember about that?"
"As much as necessary."
Higashikata raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I remember everything. It's really hard to forget your stupid face begging me to act like you are a damn prince in a movie.” An exotic coloring was starting to take over Rohan's face again. His defensive form was the best he found to escape the eyes of Josuke so eagerly imposed on him, however, thinking that he was conclusively confessing what he harbored for so long in his heart left his whole body on alert.
Consequently, the intern was far from watching him now. "It wasn't that beautiful, I suppose."
Rohan saw Josuke's long fingers go around the edges of the wine glass before drinking it. He almost prepared to warn him about his alcohol consumption when he came across the fact that the other was already an adult.
"When did you grow up so much?"
"I was always big."
Kishibe laughed to himself, like a chain reaction sailing through the memories that Higashikata made him surf.
Kishibe Rohan was never the type to cling to the past, he repeated mentally.
"Oh yeah, how could I forget the way you constantly intimidate me with your scary height."
Josuke's eyes misted a little differently in response.
"It's not the only big thing about me, but you would have found out sooner if you had given me a chance."
What a situation. Rohan's face could match the tomatoes left on his plate now. Whether it was anger or a cold, raw modesty, no one could say.
"I-I couldn't have sex with a teenager, Josuke!" A spiteful tone was poured out of his frequency simultaneously. The artist looked at his own hands, sculpting an atypical feature — gathering the courage to express himself. "Even though you've always been very attractive, that's still not an excuse."
Higashikata paused a little in the meantime and Rohan felt a little proud to realize that he had finally managed to embarrass him. But the look that Josuke gave him... it said that the mangaka was never a man who was concerned with ethics.
“I turned an abuser into a rock and compressed a teenager into a book to protect the people I love. They say he still has his human conscience and occasionally asks for help, but that's not even half of everything I did at that time.” The eldest flinched instantly when he identified the direction the conversation was taking, emptying the liquid on the table. His throat burned as he looked for the other look, like shiny opals clamoring for his attention. "My age was never a problem, was it?"
Rohan was silent. Josuke decided to continue: "Maybe you cried like me, that night, when you said that I was too impossible for you."
The shorter one felt his muscle tension wear out in the form of heavy breathing. "You are right. You were always responsible, Josuke, even more than I was.” He narrowed his eyes as he finished saying, clearing his throat. "In the end, I wasn't thinking about anyone else when I tried to kill your friends."
The doctor sighed. “They are also your friends now, Rohan. And they have already forgiven you for that.”
"I'm not very sure that you forgave me for that, or for insulting your hair."
"I prefer not to remember the second part." Josuke's lips curved gently, and his hands brushed the artist's fingers.
Rohan stepped back, feeling his blood stream pump faster, asking for more of his touch.
"You are still smiling,” he commented, without moving. Looking into Josuke's eyes.
Higashikata no longer hid his intentions. He grabbed the other's hands, intertwining his fingers like a parallel willing to generate sparks in the body of the one who personified stubbornness in the flesh.
"I never stopped loving you."
The artist's heartbeat hummed arrogance.
"Even when you hate me,” Rohan added.
Josuke showed his tongue, starting a playful affection in the creases of his sweaty palms. "Even when I hate you."
"There's no problem. We are even.”
A pout grew on the cheerful face that the youngest was sketching. It was almost midnight at the instant that Josuke and Rohan reached the artist's mansion, turning the knob. The youngest laughed right behind him, kicking off his shoes and holding his waist firmly.
The mangaka was about to explode, but it was nothing about the drink: his pupils were dilated as he tried to balance himself, holding Higashikata's hands as his own guide. He brought him back to the staircase on the first floor where, six years ago, Josuke was.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The older man watched each of his steps expectantly, immobilely.
"I have something I need to tell you, Josuke-kun,” Rohan whispered in an odd tone — or the closest he found to Josuke.
Higashikata forced his best sharp expression, feigning indifference. “I don't have all day, sensei. You should hurry.”
The taller man's hands traveled over the mangaka's chest as soon as he held them, forcing him to feel his heartbeat.
“I like you, Josuke. I like you very much,” he exclaimed, blushing like a schoolgirl.
The intern shook his head in disapproval, keeping him as far away as possible. Trying to remember the exact phrase Rohan used to refuse him the minute he cornered him on his dark walls.
"Tell me, when did you start to like me?"
"When you saved me, in that tunnel." And the artist was shivering. A lot. “I can't take my eyes off you. We should be lovers.”
A far-fetched, singing smile was etched on Higashikata's full lips. He pushed him further against the cemented plane, trapping him between his two strong arms; seconds before approaching and anchoring a brief peck on his left cheek. “I'm so sorry, Rohan, but I don't feel the same way. You should enjoy your manga instead of wasting time with me.”
The mangaka whined, giving more space for the bigger one to work, leaving his neck exposed.
"Please, Josuke,” Kishibe pleaded, on fire everywhere his eyes went.
Josuke had just licked an extraordinary band of his jugular when he buried himself, hugging him with all his strength before laughing softly: “Did I look so desperate? God, I'm starting to feel bad...”
"No,” Rohan slyly denied it. "It was perfect. A little exaggerated, but perfect.”
He never felt that way about anything before, except for his manga.
However, the moment Josuke's eyes swallowed him, weaving their tongues together in an imaginary waltz and filled with repressed desire for years, he thought he could forget about his work and all the other little things for today.