Archive of Our Own

“We haven’t seen you in two years. You never bother to write. The least you can do is let us visit you.” 

The mangaka leaned against his kitchen counter, telephone in hand. He tightly wound the cord around his index finger, around and around, until his fingertip went numb. The only sound was his carefully controlled breathing.

“Rohan.” The woman’s voice was sharp through the telephone receiver.  “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening, mother.”

“You’ve brought shame upon the entire Kishibe family. If only you could hear the things people say. They’re disgraceful,” she hissed. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

“Why should I care? The Kishibe family means nothing to me.”

His mother was quiet for a moment. “You don’t mean that.”

“I assure you, I do.”

“Do you have no love at all for us? Not even your grandmother?”

His eye twitched, and his grip on the telephone receiver tightened significantly. The plastic groaned, and for a moment Rohan wondered if it would snap in half. He wished it would. Then he wouldn’t have to have to deal with this conversation any longer.

Instead of answering her question, he said, “I find it funny that you suddenly want to be involved in my life. You couldn’t have cared less when I was a child.”

“Your father and I were very busy with work, Rohan. You know that.” Her voice softened, the way it often did when she tried to get on his good side. He clenched his jaw and resisted her manipulation. “And you were such a well-behaved child. You didn’t need us to discipline or coddle you.”

“Give me a break,” he muttered. “You weren’t even around enough to know I was a well-behaved child.”

His mother, to her credit, didn’t deny the accusation. She just said, “Please, Rohan. Your grandmother misses you. We all do.”

The last part was definitely a lie, but he didn’t call her on it. He was too busy trying to ignore the guilt that bit into his chest. His grandmother was as unwaveringly traditional as his mother, and yet he couldn’t deny the affection he felt for her. She’d practically raised him. 

He could tolerate a single afternoon with them, couldn’t he? 

“It isn’t good for a young man to be alone,” his mother was saying, “and family is important. Let us make up for the past by being involved in your life now.”

“I won’t choose another career.” It was an argument they’d had far too many times. He knew to be wary. Being involved in your life was his mother’s way of saying controlling your life.

She sighed. “I know you won’t. That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

Rohan blinked. “What?”

“I’m concerned that you still haven’t found someone to settle down with,” she said. “I’m sure there are plenty of young women from good families in Morioh.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“If you wait too long, you won’t have as many options.”

Options. Like he was choosing a dish from a menu, or a product from a shelf. Rohan curled his lip in disgust as he tried to come up with a decent response. Or an indecent one.

“I have an idea,” his mother said. “We’ll come over for dinner this Saturday, and you’ll invite a nice young woman to join us. That way, we can meet her and see if the two of you are a good match.”

Rohan scoffed. “There’s no way in hell—”

“If you don’t,” she interrupted, her voice turning sharp again, “I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

He should have snapped the receiver in half when he had the chance. How dare she intrude on his life this way! He didn’t even want to see her—didn’t want to see any of them—and now he had to prepare a nice dinner and find a date? Or what? She’d arrange a marriage for him? He was pretty sure she couldn’t get away with that, but still, a tendril of fear worked its way into his heart.

“If I do as you say, will you leave me alone?”

“If you behave,” she said carefully, “then yes. We’ll keep our distance.”

Just like when I was a child. Only this time, he wanted it that way. His answer came through gritted teeth.

“Fine.”

—

“That’s terrible, Rohan-sensei… I’m really sorry to hear that.”

Koichi sat across from Rohan at the cafe, a half-empty cup of milk tea in front of him. His empathetic blue eyes softened Rohan’s frayed nerves, but not by much. He still had a dinner to plan, and only four days to do it. Not to mention the endless deadlines from his editor. It had been difficult to find time to meet with Koichi, but he made it work. He needed his friend right now.

Rohan stirred his coffee and sighed. “Thank you, Koichi-kun. The dinner itself I can manage, but I honestly don’t know what to do about the whole… date thing.”

Koichi was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Then he sighed. “I mean, you don’t really interact with many people, Rohan-sensei. Unless you want to invite a total stranger, I don’t really know what to tell you.”

He frowned. He wasn’t going to invite a total stranger. That was out of the question. But Koichi was right; he didn’t interact with many people. And there was a reason for that. He preferred to keep to himself. His mother knew that, but she clearly didn’t care.

Frustration bubbled up inside him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why bother? She’ll find something to criticize no matter what I do. This is why I never speak to her.”

His vindictive side rose to the surface, and he began trying to think of ways he could spite his mother for putting him in such a position. Should he hire a prostitute? Or better yet, invite a man to be his date? 

“You got a headache or somethin’, sensei?”

Rohan sighed heavily and released the bridge of his nose, turning to glare at the pompadoured brat who had joined them. “Now I do.”

Josuke put a hand over his heart and pretended to be wounded. Then he grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m just stopping by.” He accepted a small stack of papers that Koichi pulled from his bag. “Thanks, Koichi.”

“Sure, but…” he lowered his voice as if to keep Rohan from hearing. “You really need to stop sleeping in and missing first period. Get a new alarm clock or something.”

Josuke scratched the back of his head, sneaking a glance at Rohan. But it was too late; the mangaka had heard every word. His green eyes narrowed with disdain. “You’re having your friends collect your assignments for you? Pathetic. You must be such a disappointment—” Such a disappointment to your mother.

His face went blank for a moment as realization washed over him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Josuke sighed, pushing back his chair and turning to leave. “Save your breath, sensei. I’ve heard it all before.”

Rohan quickly got to his feet and grabbed Josuke by the wrist.

“Hey, what’s your deal—”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Josuke looked wary. Which was to be expected, given their… history.

“Hear me out. I’ll pay you.”

“I’m listening.”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Was he really about to do this? What if Josuke rejected his offer, or worse, took it the wrong way?

He didn’t have much of a choice. And he really, really wanted to see the look on his mother’s face when he brought a man to dinner on Saturday. And a delinquent, no less. There would be no better way to disappoint his family once and for all. The anticipation of such satisfaction is what finally spurred him on.

“The Kishibe family have very rudely invited themselves to my home this Saturday. My mother insists that I invite a nice young woman to be my date, but I’m having none of that.” He took a deep breath. No turning back now. “I want you to come and pretend to be my boyfriend. I’ll pay you for your time, of course.”

For a long moment, Josuke just stared at him with his mouth hanging open. Then he laughed a bit. “This is a joke, right?”

“Not at all.”

Josuke bit his lip as he considered the offer. “But… I don’t get it. I thought you hated me.”

Rohan rolled his eyes. Honestly, Josuke could be so stupid sometimes. “I do hate you, imbecile. This offer has nothing to do with our actual feelings. I want to disappoint my mother as much as possible. She wants a nice, mild-mannered woman. But instead, she’ll be getting a rude, obnoxious man-child.” He eyed Josuke with distaste. “Do you understand now? Or do I need to use smaller words?”

Josuke bared his teeth and grabbed a fistful of Rohan’s sweater. “Watch it. If you really want my help, you might want to try being a little nicer to me.”

Rohan snorted. But before he could reply, Josuke loosed his grip and slid his hand more gently down Rohan’s chest. “I mean, if I’m gonna pretend to be your boyfriend,” he whispered, “you gotta pretend you like me. Right, babe?”

Strangely, being touched so gently was what finally sent Rohan into fight-or-flight mode. He slapped Josuke’s hand away and tried to ignore the fierce burning in his cheeks. “I am not your babe. Don’t you dare call me that around my family.”

“No promises,” he said with a wink. Then he turned to leave. “See you on Saturday, sensei.”

—

Ginger, soy sauce, sake, jasmine rice… Damn it, where were the sesame seeds? Rohan huffed as he stood in the grocery aisle, a crease forming between his brows as he scanned the shelves. He’d already found about half of the ingredients on his list, but a few were proving difficult to find. Like the sesame seeds. And the mirin.

He could have sworn the sesame seeds were on this shelf. The staff at the grocery store must have rearranged things since he’d last shopped here. Of course. But he wouldn’t ask for help. No way.

He angrily pushed his cart to the next aisle and continued his search. When at last he found them—in the baking aisle, for some fucking reason—they were on the top shelf. With a groan, Rohan used his cart as leverage and reached up as high as he could. He got a grip on the container, but then his cart started rolling out from under him and he had to let go of the sesame seeds to keep from falling on his ass. He caught himself on the nearest shelf, but his relief lasted only half a second before the container of sesame seeds crashed to the ground and spilled all over the floor.

Rohan clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack, and he seriously considered walking out and leaving his cart full of food behind.

Just then, a strange purple light danced before his eyes, and the container of sesame seeds un-spilled itself and returned to the top shelf. Rohan watched, mystified, until a hand appeared in his vision and easily grabbed the container.

“Better than makin’ some high school student sweep up all those seeds, right? They don’t get paid enough for that,” said Josuke.

Rohan frowned and accepted the sesame seeds, muttering a thank you under his breath. Then he turned his back on the younger man and pushed his cart from the aisle.

“Whoa, hey! Wait a sec,” he said, appearing at Rohan’s side. “Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?”

Rohan looked at Josuke flatly, then continued searching for a bottle of mirin.

“I saw your car in the parking lot. I figured you were gonna have to buy a bunch of food for tomorrow, so I thought, maybe I’ll see if he needs help,” Josuke went on, unbothered by Rohan’s silence. “Good thing I’m here. Guess you can be pretty clumsy sometimes, huh?”

“I’m not clumsy,” he snapped. “It’s not my fault they put the sesame seeds on the top shelf.”

“Yeah, and in the baking aisle, too.”

Rohan raised a brow. “Josuke… I don’t suppose you know where the mirin is?”

“Oh, sure. It’s with the vinegar. Here,” he said, gently nudging Rohan out of the way and taking control of the shopping cart. Oddly intrigued, Rohan followed Josuke to the vinegar aisle and watched him easily find a bottle of mirin. 

“I thought it’d be with the sake,” Rohan said with a frown.

“Nah,” said Josuke. “I mean, yeah, it’s technically rice wine, but that doesn’t mean it belongs with the rest of the alcohol.”

“How do you know this?”

“Oh, I…” Josuke laughed a bit and scratched the back of his head. “I’ve been doing a lot of cooking lately. Okuyasu started working for Tonio, and he’s been teaching me a few things.”

“Hm.”

“What else do you need?” Josuke asked, seemingly in a hurry to change the subject.

“Cucumbers for the salad, and pork for the main dish.”

Josuke eyed the ingredients in the cart. “You makin’ some kind of ginger pork with jasmine rice?”

An appreciative smile appeared before Rohan could stop it. “Yes, exactly.”

“Sounds delicious. Want me to help you pick out a good cut of pork?”

“I don’t see why not.”

After Rohan had crossed every ingredient off his list, Josuke helped him carry the bags to his car—which was unnecessary, really, because there were only three bags. The sun was beginning to go down as they made it to the parking lot, but the air was still warm and heavy. Typical of a summer evening in Morioh.

Josuke set the groceries in the backseat, then smiled at Rohan. “Well, I guess I’ll, uh… see you tomorrow?”

“Dinner is at six. Don’t be late,” Rohan said as he climbed into his car. But then he hesitated. “Josuke?”

“Yeah?”

Maybe it was how helpful Josuke had been. Or maybe it was the fact that darkness was quickly falling. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want Josuke to walk home alone. It just didn’t feel right.

“Want me to drive you home?”

Josuke blinked, and for a moment Rohan thought he saw him blush. But it was probably a trick of the light. Josuke grinned. “Thanks, Rohan-sensei.”

He climbed in the passenger side and shut the door behind him. Rohan looked straight ahead as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Don’t you listen to music while you drive?”

“Sometimes.”

Josuke was quiet for a moment. “Do you mind if I—”

Rohan turned on the CD player before Josuke could finish his sentence. Immigrant Song began playing through the speakers.

He saw Josuke’s grin in his peripheral vision. “You’re a Led Zeppelin man, huh?”

Rohan shrugged. Truthfully, they were one of his favorite bands. But he was suddenly very conscious of the fact that it was Josuke Higashikata sitting in his car and learning about his personal music tastes. It made him feel strangely claustrophobic.

He was relieved when, a few minutes later, they reached Josuke’s house. The younger man climbed out of the car, waving at Rohan before jogging away. Rohan sighed and relaxed the tight grip he’d had on the wheel. Why did he feel so tense around the other man, even when things were perfectly amicable between them? Was it some lingering sense of self-preservation after he’d beaten him to a pulp upon their first meeting? He doubted it, but it was far easier to accept than any other explanation. 

Yes, that must be it. That must be the reason his heart beat faster and his muscles locked up whenever Josuke got too close. His body was just preparing itself for another beatdown. That must be it. That must be it.

That’s what Rohan told himself as he drove home that night and mentally prepared himself for the day to come.

—

For the fifth time in the last hour, Rohan lifted the cover and checked on the marinating pork. The recipe said to leave it in for an hour, but what if that was too long? What if the flavor was too strong, and it ended up being inedible? 

Well, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just another disappointment to add to the tally. He could hear his mother reprimanding him already. If only you’d listen to me and find a young woman to marry, you wouldn’t have to learn how to cook at all! Wouldn’t that be nice, to have a wife to make you dinner every night? She’d say something like that. He knew she would. Which is why he needed to make sure this dinner was cooked perfectly.

The knock on the door was like a slap across the face. His green eyes went wide as he looked at the clock. It was barely four thirty. His family couldn’t have arrived already, could they? He’d told them not to come until six.

His stomach churned with anxiety. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to see them yet. Should he pretend he wasn’t home? No, that wouldn’t make sense. They’d expect him to be here. Should he—

Another knock, louder and more insistent this time.

Rohan squared his shoulders. This was his house. He was a grown man, and a successful mangaka. He was worthy of their respect, and if they crossed a line, he could throw them all out. He smoothed his hands—which didn’t shake as much as before—down the muted green sweater vest he was wearing. Then he straightened the collar of his crisp white dress shirt, took at deep breath, and calmly walked toward the door.

But it wasn’t his family that awaited him on the other side.

“Hey, babe,” said Josuke, a cheeky glint in his eye. 

Rohan rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here, Josuke? The dinner doesn’t start for another hour and a half. You never listen, do you?”

“No, I’m early on purpose,” Josuke said with a chuckle. “You seemed a little unsure at the grocery store yesterday, so I thought I’d help you cook dinner. This is for you, by the way,” he added, holding out a covered glass baking pan.

Confused, Rohan lifted the pan, hoping he could see what it was by peering through the bottom.

“It’s tiramisu,” Josuke said. “I made it this morning.”

“You… what?”

Josuke had already slipped past him into the entryway and was stepping out of his shoes, lining them up on the genkan.

“Josuke, you don’t have to do that. I wear my shoes in the house all the time.”

“I know,” Josuke smiled bashfully. “But Koichi said your family is really traditional, so…”

Rohan sighed heavily. “I think you’re forgetting the point of—”

The kitchen timer rang, and Josuke hurried into the kitchen. Rohan sighed again and followed him. He set the pan of tiramisu on the counter as Josuke peeked under the cover at the pork. “How long has this been marinating?”

“An hour.”

“Good.” Josuke rolled up his sleeves and went to the sink to wash his hands. He was wearing a beautiful linen shirt, Rohan realized. Lavender, a lovely complement to the green sweater vest he wore. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a rather tempting glimpse of his pectorals. He looked… good. Really good.

“Josuke, we need to talk.”

“About what?” he asked as he began heating oil in a skillet.

“You do remember why we’re doing this, don’t you?”

Josuke glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

Rohan leaned against the counter and watched as Josuke began frying the pork, flipping it in the pan with impressive coordination. “Let me spell it out for you again. The plan is to spite my mother. I want her to think I’m dating a brutish, ill-mannered delinquent. That’s why I chose you,” he said, poking a finger into Josuke’s chest—and immediately regretting it. How could his chest be so soft and muscular at the same time?

“I don’t know what to tell you, sensei. I’m just being myself.”

That couldn’t be right. This had to be an act. He had to be faking all of this just to piss Rohan off. “Where’s the brat who beat me to a pulp, cheated at Cee-lo, and burned my house down?”

“That was two years ago, Rohan-sensei. And, technically,” he added, “you burned your house down.”

Rohan’s face turned red—with anger or embarrassment, he didn’t know. But he preferred to believe it was the former. “Is that really how you want to play this game?”

“Who said it was a game?”

Rohan’s face went blank. And turned a shade redder. “Fine,” he snapped, turning away and making himself busy peeling the cucumbers. “My mother will be disappointed regardless, seeing as you’re a man.”

Josuke chuckled and continued to cook. 

Rohan sliced the cucumber with more belligerence than necessary. He couldn’t believe Josuke had found yet another way to defy his expectations. It really, really pissed him off. Why couldn’t the brat do what was expected of him? Just once? Was it really that—

“Shit!”

The knife slid across the tip of Rohan’s thumb, and blood welled to the surface almost immediately. He stared in shock as it quickly began to trickle down the edge of his thumb and onto the floor.

There was a clatter behind him, and then Josuke appeared, moving in close and taking Rohan’s hand between his own. “You okay?”

“I’m f-fine,” Rohan said, trying to pull his hand away.

“Can I heal you?”

“What?”

  Josuke tugged his hand closer again, not caring that his own fingers were now wet with Rohan’s blood. His sapphire eyes were full of concern. “Can I heal you? Will you let me?”

Rohan tried to make sense of what was happening. The last time Josuke had healed him—the last two times, actually—he’d never asked for permission. To be fair, if he’d waited for permission after the Highway Star incident, Rohan would probably be dead right now. Still—

Rohan nodded, and Josuke quickly called Crazy Diamond to heal his thumb. The blood and pain disappeared, and Rohan quickly retracted his hand.

“Try to be more careful,” Josuke said.

“You don’t have to tell me that. I’m not a child.”

A warm chuckle rumbled through Josuke’s chest. But he didn’t move away.

“Why are you still here?” Rohan growled. “Go check on the pork. It’s probably burning.”

Josuke rolled his eyes and did as Rohan said. Apparently, the pork was fine. Better than fine, Rohan realized, as Josuke approached him a few minutes later and offered him a bite-sized portion to try. It was tender and juicy, and perfectly seasoned—which was thanks to his excellent marinade, of course. 

Rohan closed his eyes for a moment as he chewed. He had to give credit where credit was due, he supposed. “Mmm,” he sighed. “That’s amazing, Josuke. You cooked it perfectly.”

When he opened his eyes again, Josuke was blushing.

Rohan blushed too, though he didn’t know why. “What?”

“Are you gonna moan like that every time you take a bite? Because—”

What a brat. Rohan whacked Josuke’s arm with the spoon he’d been using to stir the rice. “Shut up. That’s the last time I compliment you on your cooking.”

“Hey, take it easy!” Josuke laughed. “I appreciate it, Rohan, really. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Maybe I should cook for you more often.” He playfully poked Rohan’s flat stomach. “Maybe then you’d eat a little more.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” said Josuke, but he was grinning.

They finished preparing dinner with about ten minutes to spare, and then Josuke offered to set the table. Rohan let him, not caring if he met the standards of traditional Japanese table setting. He wanted the food to taste good so that his mother wouldn’t pity him, but he couldn’t care less about following tradition.

He knew all of the traditions, of course. Could follow them to the letter if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Not today.

Standing in the kitchen watching the clock inch closer to six started to make Rohan anxious, so he stepped out onto the side porch to get some fresh air. He ran his fingers mindlessly along the table where he and Josuke had once played Cee-Lo. Had it really been two years already? His fingers faltered, and he looked down to see the notch in the wood where he’d nearly cut off his own pinky. He winced.

He’d changed a lot since then. Maybe Josuke had too.

Or maybe he was being all nice and helpful just to ruin his plan. Maybe Rohan should have a talk with him before his family arrived, orchestrate a few stunts that would be sure to offend them—

There were footsteps on his front porch.

“Rohan,” Josuke called, his head appearing in the doorway. 

“I know.”

He stiffly walked back inside and headed toward the front door as the first knock sounded. Then an arm slipped around his waist, stopping him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“You gotta take a deep breath first. You’re white as a sheet.”

Rohan tried to scoff, but it was hardly convincing. “I’m fine.”

“Rohan.” The arm around his waist tightened. “You’re not alone, alright? From now until they leave, I’m your boyfriend. I’m here to help you through this.”

Something fluttered in his chest at the thought, but he had no time to analyze that right now. He simply nodded, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. Josuke released him, then reached for his hand. 

“Ready?”

His smile was like a ray of sunshine—warm and reassuring. Rohan felt his own lips twitching in response. With another deep breath, he laced their fingers together. “Let’s get this over with.”

—

His mother looked the same as she had two years ago. Blunt shoulder-length hair, dark eyes, and a stern expression. His father hadn’t changed much either. There were a few more strands of silver woven into the dark green of his hair, but he still looked as handsome and refined as ever. Rohan had clearly inherited his looks from his father’s side of the family. His paternal grandmother stood behind them, looking older and more fragile than she had when he’d seen her last—which had actually been four years ago. 

He stood with his head high as he looked at the three of them. He’d let go of Josuke’s hand moments before and told him to wait in the dining room, but he felt more confident than he thought he would as he stood here alone. Just knowing he had someone to help him through this did wonders for his anxiety. And not just someone, but a temporary boyfriend. The thought made his smile more genuine as he said, “I’m glad you could make it.” A lie. “Please, come in.”

He stepped aside and allowed them all to remove their shoes on the genkan before he greeted them each individually. First his grandmother, then his father, and finally his mother. Rohan tried not to wince as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “Where is your date, Rohan?”

“In the dining room,” he said, taking a step back to reinforce his personal space. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

As he turned his back to them, a wicked smirk spread across his face. The satisfaction he’d been craving was so close he could taste it. 

Josuke was making final adjustments to the table setting when they walked in. When he saw them, he gave them his most charming smile. Rohan came to stand by his side, pressing his lips together to hide a smile as he saw the dumbfounded look on his mother’s face.

“This,” Rohan said, savoring each word, “is my boyfriend, Josuke Higashikata.”

His grandmother was silent, confusion written across her face. His father was also silent, but he didn’t look surprised at all. He looked like he’d expected as much. His mother, on the other hand—

“Rohan,” she said slowly. “This is not what we agreed upon.”

“I know,” he said. “And I don’t care.” He proceeded with introducing each member of his family to Josuke, delighting in the way his mother’s anger seemed to rise with each passing moment. 

Then Josuke took them all by surprise as he lowered into a bow. When he stood up straight again, Rohan realized he had pulled a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back. He stepped forward, his smile a bit more bashful than before, and offered them to Rohan’s grandmother.

At first, she didn’t respond. She looked between the two young men, her eyes sharp and critical. Everyone was silent for an eternal moment. But then she seemed to make up her mind about something, and the frown on her face lessened slightly. “Thank you, Josuke,” she said as she accepted the flowers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Rohan’s mother looked at his grandmother like she’d suddenly sprouted wings. His father smiled a bit. Josuke returned to Rohan’s side and wrapped an arm around his waist. The way he did it was so familiar, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Rohan looked up at the younger man, brows lifted.

“Impressive,” he whispered, softly enough that only Josuke could hear.

Josuke rubbed a thumb over the curve of his waist in response.

They sat down to dinner, Josuke and Rohan seated together on one side of the table while his family sat on the other side. His mother still looked angry, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t complain about the table setting—it was nearly perfect, after all. The only mistake Josuke had made was putting the chopsticks perpendicular to the table.

Once the food had been served and they’d begun to eat, Rohan’s father spoke up. “The pork is excellent, Rohan.”

“Thank you, but I can’t take credit for it,” he said. He put his hand on Josuke’s arm, giving him a cheesy, loving smile. “Josuke is far better at cooking than I am.”

Josuke looked stunned for a moment, the love in Rohan’s eyes rendering him speechless. Then he seemed to remember it was all an act, and he narrowed his eyes. He smiled, but it looked a bit tight around the edges. 

“Well, that’s a bit rude, don’t you think? Making your guest cook dinner?” 

Ah, there it was. Rohan knew his mother couldn’t go more than a few minutes without criticizing something.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Josuke beat him to it. “Oh, it was my pleasure. I love to cook for him.” He caught the hand that was still on his arm and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to Rohan’s knuckles.

Rohan stared into those sapphire eyes as color flooded his cheeks. Then he noticed the smirk Josuke was hiding behind his fingers. Your turn, he mouthed.

Just like that, they were back in familiar territory. This was all a game. And if it was a game, Rohan was going to win. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Rohan said, sighing softly.

Josuke grinned. “Eat a lot of instant ramen, probably.”

Rohan bristled as his family laughed. 

“How did the two of you meet?” his mother asked suddenly.

They couldn’t tell her the truth, so they told an alternate version of it. “Through a mutual friend of ours,” said Josuke. “He’s a fan of Rohan’s manga.”

“And are you a fan?”

“No, he’s—”

“Yeah, I am,” Josuke replied.

Rohan looked at him in surprise, momentarily forgetting about their little game. “What are you saying? You’ve never even read it.”

“Yeah, I have,” Josuke chuckled. “Well, the first ten volumes or so.”

The first ten volumes? So he hadn’t just picked up an issue out of boredom or skimmed one of them while hanging out with Koichi. He’d deliberately chosen to read Pink Dark Boy. Rohan was more touched than he cared to admit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Josuke blushed. “I was afraid you’d start quizzing me or something. I might not be smart enough to understand the intricacies of your work or whatever, but—”

“Oh, you most certainly aren’t,” said Rohan, but he smiled.

His mother sighed impatiently. “Tell us more,” she said. “How long have you two been together?”

The two of them answered at the same time, their words overlapping. Rohan said two months while Josuke said six months. “Six months total,” Rohan corrected himself. “We dated for four months, then Josuke spent some time in America with his father. We got back together when he returned, but we still disagree over how long we’ve technically been dating.”

Josuke chuckled, clearly relieved. “I’d rather say six months. The time we spent apart is a meaningless blur to me. All I could think about was how much I missed you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Rohan muttered, leaning away when Josuke tried to kiss his cheek. He gave him a quick glare—too far.

His mother latched onto their moment of uncertainty and began drilling them with more questions a real couple would be able to answer. Who made the first move? They both tried to take credit for that, which led to another hurried explanation. What did you do for your first date? Josuke answered before Rohan could come up with anything, telling an easy lie about how they’d gone to Trattoria Trussardi and later went for a walk around Morioh.

“We ended up talking for hours,” he said, laughing fondly at the memory—the false memory. “What time was it when we finally said goodnight?”

Rohan played along. “I think it was nearly midnight.”

Josuke nodded. For once, Rohan was glad that Josuke was such a smooth liar.

Determined to catch them in the lie, his mother asked one more question “Did the two of you do anything fun for your birthday, Rohan?”

Rohan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Damn her. It was a clever question to ask. She knew Rohan preferred not to make a fuss over his birthday. But Josuke, being the ridiculously romantic man that he was, would probably make up a lie about some amazing date or surprise birthday party.

But the younger man said nothing. When Rohan turned to look at him, he saw Josuke doing the same. He had nothing. Well, at least he hadn’t said something totally unbelievable, like the surprise party thing. Rohan opened his mouth again, this time completely prepared to tell his mother they’d stayed in and had a quiet dinner, but—

“Josuke,” she said. There was a gleam in her eye like a cat ready to pounce.

“Y-Yeah?”

“When is Rohan’s birthday?”

Fuck.

Rohan clenched his jaw as he openly glared at his mother. Honestly, what the hell was her problem? Was she really that upset that he had invited someone like Josuke to this dinner? Did she really have to ruin their entire game so she could come out on top? 

What a vindictive woman. Perhaps he’d inherited something from her after all.

Josuke laughed—an attempt to unravel the tension that hung between them. “Oh, that’s easy!” he said. “It’s, uh—”

He was saved from having to respond when Rohan accidentally knocked over his drink while reaching for his own. Green tea spilled across the table and onto Josuke’s beautiful lavender shirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Rohan exclaimed. “I wasn’t paying attention. Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” He used a napkin to mop up most of the tea before getting to his feet and dragging Josuke from the room. 

They said nothing to one another until they were in the upstairs bathroom and Josuke was unbuttoning his shirt.

“Nice save,” he said, handing the ruined shirt over to Rohan. “Though I’m a little pissed that you decided to ruin my outfit instead of yours.”

“Please,” Rohan scoffed. “Mine is worth a lot more than yours. And I’ll buy you a new shirt, so stop whining.”

Josuke huffed, but stayed quiet for a moment as Rohan soaked his shirt in the bathroom sink. When he spoke again, his voice was strangely quiet.

“When is your birthday, Rohan?”

Rohan’s heart beat a little faster. “Why do you care?”

“Rohan.” The mangaka felt a hand on his shoulder. He slowly turned around, suddenly very aware of the fact that Josuke was now shirtless. He kept his eyes fixed on his face, which took a great deal of effort—he was an artist, after all. Seeing such a perfect example of male anatomy had him itching for his sketchbook.

“What?” he snapped.

Josuke blinked. “Why are you so irritated with me? This was all your idea.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Rohan said. “Not like this. It’s like I told you before: I wanted a delinquent. Instead, you’re being all nice and sweet and—”

“I’m just being myself,” Josuke said.

“Bullshit,” Rohan hissed. “This isn’t you. You’re never like this.”

“I am,” Josuke insisted. His voice began to rise, mirroring his frustration. “Did you ever stop to think maybe you and I got off on the wrong foot? That maybe I really am like this, and you just never bothered to get to know the real me?”

Rohan was quiet for a moment. Then he frowned and looked away, his eyes tracing the pattern on his shower curtain. “I wish I could believe that,” he whispered, “but I refuse.”

“Why?”

Rohan didn’t respond. Josuke took a step closer—close enough that Rohan could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“Why?”

“Because I like the man standing in front of me!” he confessed, finally meeting Josuke’s eyes again. “I… I really like him. And that’s why I refuse to believe that any of this is real. Because if this is the real you, that would mean…”

Josuke’s brows lifted, and an almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “That would mean…?”

Rohan stubbornly pressed his lips together, glaring at the younger man. But Josuke didn’t back down—in fact, he took another step closer, forcing Rohan to press his back against the sink. 

“Say it, Rohan,” Josuke whispered. His breath fluttered against Rohan’s skin. “Don’t be a coward.”

“I’m not a coward.”

“Prove it.”

Rohan acted on impulse. His hand caught the back of Josuke’s neck and pulled him down, bringing their lips together in a sloppy, mismatched kiss. The action knocked Josuke off balance in more ways than one, and he was forced to brace his hands against the sink, his body pressed firmly against Rohan’s.

They pulled away a second later. Their eyes, emerald and sapphire, were wide with shock and exhilaration.

And then they were kissing again. The spark had caught flame. Now every kiss, every touch, every desperate breath was like kindling. Rohan gave in to his desires and let his hands wander Josuke’s body, marveling at how it felt. Soft, yet unyielding. 

He didn’t know how much time they spent devouring each other, but at some point Josuke grabbed him by the waist and lifted him onto the edge of the bathroom sink. It was terribly uncomfortable, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wrapped his legs around Josuke’s hips and pulled him closer.

They finally pulled away when their lungs began to burn, but even then they held onto each other. Rohan tucked his face into Josuke’s neck as he waited for the blush to fade from his skin.

Then Josuke stiffened. “Uh, Rohan?”

Rohan let out a long sigh. Of course Josuke had to ruin the moment.

“What is it?”

“I think we may have gotten caught.”

Rohan’s head snapped up so fast it made him dizzy—and the lack of oxygen certainly didn’t help. He looked to where Josuke was pointing and just barely caught a glimpse of his mother retreating down the stairs.

He should have been mortified, but instead he burst out laughing. Josuke joined in a second later. After they’d composed themselves, Rohan muttered, “It serves her right after the shit she’s pulled.”

Josuke hummed his agreement, pressing a kiss to Rohan’s cheekbone. Rohan swatted him away. “Get off of me. We need to find a clean shirt for you to wear.”

Once Josuke was dressed, the two young men returned to dinner, pretending that nothing had happened. Rohan’s mother was silent for the rest of the meal. The only conversation exchanged was awkward small talk between Rohan and his father and grandmother. Meanwhile, Josuke held his hand underneath the table and traced soothing circles with his thumb.

After dinner, Rohan led his family to the door and said goodbye to them one by one. His mother gave him a stiff embrace, but said nothing. His grandmother did the same. Then the two of them left. His father inclined his head and said, “Thank you for having us, Rohan. The food was delicious.”

Rohan nodded.

His father turned to leave, then hesitated. He turned back. “I’m… glad to see you’ve done so well for yourself. You turned out to be a respectable young man.”

Rohan clicked his tongue. “No thanks to you.”

To his surprise, his father smiled. “I know. You’ve never needed us, and I suppose that’s a good thing. I’ll do what I can to convince your mother not to interfere.”

“Hm.” Good luck with that, Rohan thought to himself.

His father opened his mouth to say something else, then awkwardly cleared his throat. “Goodbye, Rohan.”

“Goodbye.”

Then his father left as well. Rohan lingered in the entryway for a moment, thinking. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had said more than a few words to him. Growing up, he hadn’t shown any interest in Rohan. And he’d certainly never stepped in when his mother or grandmother punished him too harshly. He’d been a silent, uncaring figure in Rohan’s life until now. His grandmother, at least, had attempted to influence him in some sort of way. Though it seemed now, near the end of her life, she’d decided to stop caring so much about tradition. Or maybe she saw Rohan as a lost cause. Either way, she seemed about as indifferent as his father now.

The only one he would need to worry about was his mother. But maybe she could be convinced to leave him alone. Maybe the Kishibe family would choose to cut ties with him entirely. He couldn’t care less. This was the path he’d chosen. No, it was more than that. This was who he was. And he had friends who cared for him—or at the very least, tolerated him—for who he was. 

He didn’t need his family. He never had.

With that thought in mind, Rohan lifted his chin and strode confidently back into the dining room. There, he found Josuke cleaning the table and stacking the dishes. 

“Don’t bother,” Rohan said. “We can take care of that later.” He grabbed Josuke by the wrist and dragged him to the couch in the living room, where he pushed him down and climbed into his lap to kiss him some more.

It didn’t take long for Josuke to catch up. They moved with less urgency this time, deciding to savor one another instead. Between slow, lazy kisses, Rohan whispered, “Are you still my boyfriend, then?”

“Do you want me to be?” Josuke asked.

Rohan rolled his eyes, and Josuke took that as a yes. He kissed him again. “Guess that means I’m not getting paid, huh?”

“I hate you,” Rohan said, grinning into their next kiss.

“I know.”