Work Text:
It’s not until she goes quiet that Rohan snaps out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Rohan? Are you feeling okay?” the girl opposite him asks, her eyebrows knit together and her eyes full of concern. She sets down her almost empty drink cup to the side. “You’ve barely spoken this entire time we’ve been here… Don’t tell me you’ve overworked yourself again.”
“No, no,” he waves her off, chewing slightly on his bottom lip. Her worry makes him feel slightly guilty, but he squashes that feeling down before it causes him to do something stupid. “I’m perfectly healthy. Full night’s sleep and everything.”
They sit in silence for a few more moments, him staring off into space, a frown on his face and her quiet observation, until he heaves a long, heavy sigh and finally drags his gaze up to meet hers. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, and he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been a terrible conversation partner. I’ve just been… thinking.”
“Thinking?” the girl echoes, and he nods.
“I had a meeting, earlier today,” Rohan begins to clarify. “With the other Stand users in Morioh. This serial killer case is getting to be more and more dangerous to the general public. Every few days, there’s another instance of what is most likely the work of the same killer, and neither us nor the police have found any leads on who the murderer might be.”
She looks at him from across the café table solemnly. “That’s terrible,” she says quietly, her gaze turning sympathetic. “I’m sorry it’s so stressful.”
“That’s not all,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “There have been similarities with the victims that are too concerning for me to ignore. All women. All young. All beautiful. All found dead, hands missing from their corpses when they were left by themselves at home.”
The girl inhales sharply. “You don’t think-“
“I absolutely think,” he interrupts. “One girl was found dead in her home a few blocks from your apartment. With slightly different circumstances, that could have been you.”
She looks at him, gaze unreadable. “I really don’t think the serial killer is going to come after me, Rohan,” she finally says, frowning. “What’s he going to do with me? I’ve seen the pictures of the victims on the news, and the killer only goes after the really beautiful ones. I’m not nearly pretty enough to be a target.”
He stares at her for a second, processing the utter nonsense she just said. “Yes, yes, you are,” Rohan says impatiently. “Don’t be ridiculous. You fit all the criteria for all the women this person has killed. You’re a pretty young woman, you live at home alone, you have both of your hands. It all fits into exactly what the killer wants!” She continues to frown at him, and his frustration boils over to a point to where he can’t help but blurt out the next thing that comes to mind-
“I’m just worried for you!”
And as her eyes widen, and her mouth opens to reply, he decides nothing can be taken back; he grits his teeth and barrels on. “Please understand. This situation is at a point where your safety is of a real concern. I wouldn’t be telling you this otherwise.”
She scrutinizes him for a second, and then visibly deflates, her shoulders drooping and a defeated expression taking over her face. “Okay,” she says finally, her voice small. She sounds scared, and once again Rohan feels that foreign pang of guilt, but she keeps talking before he can think about it anymore. “But I just don’t know what to do, Rohan. I can’t just get a new lease like it’s nothing, and I don’t have any friends on my campus who have space for one more person. I really can’t afford anything in a nicer area of town, and-“
“Then why don’t you stay with me?” he questions, and she freezes mid-sentence and stares at him, slack-jawed. “That should solve what you’re worried about.”
“What?” she exclaims. Her face is a delicate shade of pink. “Stay at your place? I couldn’t- I don’t want to be a burden-“
“I’m offering. It wouldn’t be a burden,” he responds matter-of-factly. He notes the blush rising higher on her cheeks and mentally catalogues that image away to illustrate later. “I have a house that’s much larger than it needs to be for one person, with a guest room and extra bathroom. It should be comfortable for the two of us to live together. And,” he continues, “we would then have two Stand users living in the same place. I’d have your back, and you’d have mine. We’ll be much safer spending more time together than apart.”
She seems to contemplate the offer, fingers nervously drumming on the tabletop. “…that makes sense,” she says slowly. “If I say yes, can I at least pay you rent?”
“No,” Rohan smirks at her. “I would gladly refuse. You would be my guest. And I have more money than I really know what to do with.”
She smiles at him then, relief evident in her eyes. “Well, if you’re sure… okay, then,” she says, extending her hand towards him, and Rohan can’t help but give her a rare, genuine smile back before firmly clasping her hand in his. “I accept your offer, roomie. Thank you for your generosity, it’s very kind of you.”
He doesn’t so much shake her hand rather than just hold it there, and he holds on for a beat too long before quickly releasing his grasp. He can feel his face heat, and he laughs a little too loudly. “Roomie?” he questions, rolling the foreign word around in his mouth as a distraction from whatever the hell he just did.
“It’s a nickname,” she explains, grinning. “If you’re speaking English, sometimes you call your roommate that. It’s just for fun.”
“Nickname? The great Kishibe Rohan does not have nicknames,” he scoffs, but he feels his face betray him as he grins back at her, and she laughs.
“Not even from me?” she teases, her eyebrows raised and damn it. Damn it all. Damn it all to hell.
“Perhaps an exception can be made,” he amends, and his gaze shifts away from her eyes and more towards a spot on the table.
She smiles at him, her eyes softening in a way that makes his heart jump in his chest when he finally darts his gaze towards her. “So, roomie, when should I move in?” she asks him.
He stands up, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. “Tonight, if you can. The sooner you’re at my house, the sooner you’re safe. I can help you move your things.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, also rising from her seat. “You don’t have anything else going on?”
“Nothing important,” he replies, and waits for her to gather her things before walking towards the exit with her. “We can just gather the essentials tonight and come back later to get anything else.”
“Okay,” she says, and turns to him, her gaze soft. “Thank you, Rohan. I mean it. I really appreciate you doing this for me.”
He swallows, and despite his cropped ensemble and the slight breeze outside, it’s suddenly uncomfortably hot outside. “It’s really no trouble at all,” he mutters, and they set off towards her apartment.
Rohan decides that inviting her over to stay at his house was one of the best decisions he’s ever made.
Sure, it was a bit of an adjustment living with someone else at first. Hearing his front door being opened and closed by someone who wasn’t him was unnerving, sometimes. Running out of hot water was annoying when the two of them accidentally took showers at times too close together. There was more than one occasion where he was woken up bright and early to the sound of someone rummaging around his kitchen, pots and pans clanging together.
But there were also moments that, secretly, he’d admit only to himself that he cherished.
Sometimes, in the morning, he’d see her, in patterned pajama shorts and a shirt of his he’d loaned her when she realized she’d forgotten hers. Her hair would be messy, and she’d be nursing a cup of tea at the kitchen table, and he always stopped in his tracks for a moment to take in the scene before he wished her a good morning.
When he’d come home after an exhausting and excruciatingly painful meeting about the serial killer case that nobody had any new leads on, and she’d be sitting on his couch, watching old reruns of Sailor Moon with one of his blankets over her shoulders and wordlessly gesture for him to join her, he’d sink into the couch cushions and be overwhelmed with gratitude.
He'd be working in his studio, and be so consumed in his work that he wouldn’t notice her until she’d tap lightly on his shoulder and invite him downstairs for a homemade meal she’d cooked for the two of them, and he’d sit across from her at the table as they ate and silently thank her for accepting his offer to live with him.
The main goal of their living arrangement was, of course, her continued safety and well-being. But Rohan would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he enjoyed the unexpected benefits that came with her staying at his house. The additional time they spent together, the inside jokes that had developed between the two of them. The fact that there was someone he had connected to on the deepest level he’d ever connected with another human being with just a fifteen-second walk away from him.
Rohan had already admitted to himself a while ago that, embarrassingly enough, what he felt towards this girl was undeniably more than just friendship. He felt it in the way he struggled to meet her gaze, sometimes, when she smiled at him, or the sparks that shot up the side of his arm when their hands brushed together, or how, he noted with alarm, he found himself more and more willing to do anything for the sake of this girl. Anything she wanted.
But the fear of destroying the bond that they shared paralyzed him into a state of inaction. He told himself he was content with the way things were. Never mind the fact that this arrangement couldn’t stay like this forever, and she’d have to move back home someday when her time to study abroad ended. If Rohan told her how he felt, or even hinted at it, and she didn’t feel the same… there goes the most meaningful connection Rohan’s ever had in his life. He simply couldn’t risk it. Ans his pride wouldn’t allow it.
So there he is, in his studio late at night, working on the next chapter of Pink Dark Boy, when she knocks softly on the open doorframe. “Come in,” he hums, distracted by the page in front of him, and she walks over to where he’s sitting and sets down a mug of hot tea on a coaster beside him.
“I thought you could probably use the caffeine,” she says, bending over him slightly to peer at what he’s working on. “Wow… your manga looks beautiful as always, I see.”
He feels her arm brush up against his shoulder and he glances up at her then. When he sees her with her hair still wet from the shower, no makeup on her face and wearing another one of his pajama shirts for bed, he knows he’s made a mistake. He tears his gaze away and stares fixedly at his half-inked manga page. “It’s far from finished. Still a lot of work that needs to be done,” he mutters, face heating.
“Oh, you’re such a perfectionist,” she replies, her tone teasing. “I also wanted to come in and tell you goodnight.” She reaches out to touch him on the shoulder, and when he swivels his head to face her, expression surprised and unsure of what’s happening, she seems to hesitate. “I… well, um…” She meets his gaze for a fraction of a second and then releases his shoulder and steps back from his desk. “Goodnight, roomie,” she says finally, offering him a nervous smile, and turns on her heel to quickly walk out of the studio and down the hall to her room.
“Goodnight,” Rohan calls out behind her, his voice embarrassingly sticking in his throat. Once he hears the door close behind her, he buries his face in his ink-covered hands and groans, because what the hell was that? Was she trying to send him into a nervous breakdown? She can’t do that to him, because then he’ll end up doing something stupid like taking her face into his hands and kissing her senseless. That will ruin everything, and he just can’t. He can’t do that. He respects her too much to ruin their friendship and consequently turn one of the few places in Morioh that he knows she’s safe at into a house of awkward tension and uncomfortable silence.
He continues scribbling away at his manuscript for a few more hours until he can feel his eyelids start to droop, betraying him. He sighs and sets down his pen, eyeing the pages on his desk. He didn’t get as much done as he had wanted, because his mind was most decidedly elsewhere, and he huffs an annoyed sigh as he sips at the tea, now half-drunk but still slightly warm. This girl, and her irritating ability to indirectly impede his work.
Rohan looks at the couch in the corner of his studio and thinks to himself that he might as well get a few hours of sleep. And to be quite honest, he doesn’t want to take the extra steps down the hall to his bedroom. He rises from his chair and all but collapses onto the couch cushions, and once he’s situated himself into the position he deems most comfortable, he shuts his eyes and is asleep within minutes.
He’s in front of his house. He’s coming back from a day out spent people-watching and sketching, and when he nears his front door, he notices that it’s hanging open, ajar.
His pulse quickens. Surely, she just forgot to close the door completely behind her. But still, his hands start to shake as he pushes past the open door and into the entryway. He kicks his shoes off, and they land next to the ones she wears almost every day, and an incredibly sick feeling pools in the bottom of his stomach.
He calls her name, his voice echoing off the walls of his empty, empty house. “Are you home?”
Nobody answers him, and he runs up the stairs now, taking them two at a time. He slips in the middle of the staircase, and pushes himself up by his hands and knees to get to her room as fast as he can.
He knocks on her door, frantic, and almost immediately turns the handle. Her bed is made, and her backpack is still here, and there’s nobody in this room. He moves down the hall, checking each and every one. The bathroom. The reference room. His own bedroom. Each one comes up empty, and without the girl he shares his home with.
Finally, he comes to his studio at the end of the hall, and bursts through the door. When he looks around the room, he once again is met with nothing but his furniture. But as the door creaks closed behind him, he hears a low chuckle, and he whirls around to meet-
The killer. Rohan knows it’s him, though he can’t make out any definitions on his face. Everything is blurry, like a camera out of focus, but Rohan knows that this man is responsible for the deaths of all the young women in Morioh. And more importantly, restrained in his arms is-
Her.
Her eyes are wide as they meet his, and full of fear, and the killer has one of his hands covering her mouth and one around her stomach. Her arms are bent and disappear behind her back, most likely tied behind her. She makes a sound in the back of her throat, and struggles in his grasp, and the killer laughs softly before tightening his grip.
“Oh no, what did I say about resistance?” he asks, his voice low and smooth and poisonous as he murmurs right into her ear, his lips millimeters from her skin. “I thought we agreed you were just going to stand here and look pretty, yes?”
She turns her gaze from the killer to Rohan. When she meets the artist’s eyes, she shakes her head, her eyes frantic and she twists again in the killer’s grasp, causing him to tighten the hand around her mouth until she cries out in a muffled shout of pain.
“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Rohan croaks, stepping towards them. He reaches out towards the pair of them, hands outstretched and trembling and ready to summon Heaven’s Door.
The killer just tuts at him, drawing the girl closer to his chest. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he croons, and Rohan freezes. “Don’t take another step towards us, or I’ll blow her up into so many pieces you won’t even be able to recognize her.”
“There’s no way you have a bomb with you right now,” Rohan says, swallowing hard as he tries to call his bluff. “You’d get caught in the crossfire.”
The killer laughs. “Try me, Stand user Kishibe Rohan.” Rohan’s retort dies in his throat, and he can feel ice cold dread flood into his veins. “Oh, yes, I know all about you and your little gang of Stand users. The heroes of Morioh, trying valiantly to catch the evil, awful serial killer. I know exactly who you all are. That’s why I’m here, actually.”
“What do you want from me?” Rohan asks quietly, his eyes never leaving the girl. “Your business is with me, not her. Leave her alone. If you really knew what we were up to, you’d know that she has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, but she does,” the killer laughs. “She’s important to you. Incredibly so. And Rohan-sensei, you don’t have many people who are important to you, so it’s really your fault that she’s here with me right now. I have to hit you where it hurts; you must understand.”
“Stop it,” Rohan whispers. The girl whimpers, wrenching herself forward again, and the killer laughs, cold, high, and cruel.
“Watch, Rohan-sensei, as she’s transformed into something even more beautiful than before… This is what happens when you disturb the quiet life of --------- ----!” the killer exclaims, his name twisting itself into something unrecognizable.
The killer’s hands glow, the girl screams, and Rohan won’t ever get the image out of his mind of the girl he loves igniting into an orange, then yellow, then white hot light before his whole world explodes. The blast knocks him off his feet and slams him backwards, and stars erupt in front of his eyes as his back hits the wall and he crumples to the floor. Heaven’s Door comes out involuntarily, a panicked expression on his normally serene face, and from what Rohan can see through the smoke and the fire and the haze, there’s just one figure standing where the two of them once were.
He yells her name and coughs as the acrid smoke enters his lungs. His breaths come short and shallow; he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t- “No!” There’s something hot and sticky on his face, and his hands, and all over his clothes, and he can’t think about what it is or he’s going to fall apart.
The killer’s laugh is borderline maniacal as he steps towards Rohan’s limp figure on the ground. “How’s that, Kishibe Rohan? How does it feel, to have your life ripped out from under you? Does it hurt? Is the pain excruciating?” He crouches down towards where Rohan’s lying down on the blood-splattered floor, and it’s all Rohan can do to muster every ounce of contempt he feels towards this man and direct it in the most murderous glare towards him.
“I’ll kill you,” he rasps, tears forming in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks from the smoke and the fire and the metallic stench of blood and gore. “You bastard, I’ll fucking kill you!”
The killer smiles at him. “I don’t doubt that you’ll try,” he says sincerely, and he sets something down directly in Rohan’s field of vision. “I killed Reimi. I killed your girlfriend, too. And I feel a little bad about that, so… here’s a little parting gift, from me to you.” He backs up, letting Rohan cough and sob and retch and sit up. He reaches to pick up what the killer left in front of him, and when he touches the soft skin and delicately manicured nails and the gold ring she always wears on her right middle finger, he instantly loses consciousness when he realizes that he’s holding her severed hands.
Rohan wakes with a gasp on the couch in his studio.
He stares at the ceiling, his breath coming in short gasps as his senses come back to him. He can still smell the burned flesh in the air, hear the killer’s words in his ear, see her ignite and blow up into a billion pieces right in front of him-
He gasps for breath again, tears leaking out of his eyes as he struggles to sit up. He’s covered in a cold sweat, his bangs sticking to his forehead and his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
It was just a dream. He knows it was just a dream, but it seemed so real, and he lost her, right there in his own home, and how could he just lose her like that? He retches suddenly, and in his haste to reach the trash can on the floor, he falls off the couch into a crumpled heap on the floor. The breath that he takes in to steady himself turns into a sob as tears continue to stream down his cheeks.
He’s never had a dream like that; one that takes his usual unshakable confidence and reduces it to nothing but tears and blood and ghosts. He furiously scrubs at his face with his shirt sleeve, breathing in deep through his nose.
Rohan just can’t stop thinking about her. Is she safe, sleeping comfortably in her bed? Or is she in danger, in the hands of a serial killer who has the power to reduce her to nothing but blood and gristle and gore-
He shoots to his feet, unsteady. He has to see her. He has to see her, alive and breathing and warm and safe. Rohan knows it was just a nightmare, but he has to see her right now. He won’t be able to calm down until he does.
He exits his studio, his hands shaking as he fumbles with the doorknob. He quickly passes by the door to his bedroom, the bathroom, the reference room, and the hall closet until he’s face to face with the door to his guest room- her room, now.
He immediately knocks on her door, loud and sharp. There’s not an immediate answer, which he was expecting, and he’s reaching up to knock a second time when he hears her.
“Rohan?” she calls, her voice muffled through the doorway. “Is that you?”
He exhales, shakily. She’s okay. She’s speaking to him and she’s okay, but he still needs to see her all in one piece and know for sure she’s alright. “Yeah,” he confirms, and he cringes at how pathetic and wet his voice sounds before he clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Is everything alright?” she questions, and he pauses, because yes, things are alright now, but they also aren’t. He must have been quiet a little too long, because she speaks again. “Rohan, what is it? You can come in if you want,” she says, her voice full of concern, and Rohan grits his teeth as he grips the handle and pushes the door open.
The light from the hallway illuminates a strip of her room as he steps into the open doorway. She’s sitting up in her bed, her hair a mess and his shirt slipping off one of her shoulders as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes, squinting. She stops when she sees him, her brow knit in concern. “Oh, Rohan… what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and he feels a lump start to form in his throat as he stares at the floor. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
She swings her legs out of bed and walks over to the doorway where he’s standing. “No, Rohan… tell me. What’s wrong?” she asks softly and reaches up to brush away the tears that are now silently dripping from his eyelashes. “Something must have happened.”
He inhales shakily, trying to force himself to calm down through sheer willpower. “I had a really fucking terrible dream,” he begins, each word ripping itself through his throat, and he can’t help but lean into her hand on his cheek. “It seemed so real, and in it… you…”
She gives him a small smile. “The killer got me, huh?” she whispers, and he nods, hating how pathetic he must look right now.
“I just had to see you,” he confesses, bringing his gaze to meet hers. “I had to make sure you were okay.”
“Aw,” she says quietly, smiling sadly at him. “I’m okay, Rohan. Thanks for checking on me.”
He just nods again, silently, and inhales deeply. “Anyway,” he clears his throat, and reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. I think I’ll head to bed now.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You won’t be able to sleep like this,” she says. He stares at her, quizzical, and she reaches around him to tug the door shut, engulfing the two of them in darkness. She takes his hand in one of hers and tugs him towards the bed.
“What are you doing?” he whispers hoarsely, as she climbs into bed and opens the covers towards him, inviting him in.
“Come here,” she says, her smile illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the cracks in the curtains, and Rohan feels his entire body heat at her words. “Trust me.” And perhaps it’s the time of night, or the nightmare he’s had, or the fact that he’s silently wanted this for so long; he goes against his better judgement and wordlessly climbs into bed next to her. And before he can situate himself at an appropriate distance from her in the queen-sized bed, she tugs him into her with a surprising strength and guides his head to rest on her chest, the rest of his body flush against hers.
“What-“ he begins.
“Shhh,” she cuts him off, and he’s opening his mouth to protest again when she brings her hand up to run her fingers through his damp hair and oh. That feels really nice. “Just listen to me.” And when Rohan can manage to pull his senses away from the feeling of her nails dragging across his scalp to listen, he can hear the steady thumping of her heart through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. It’s a reminder, he thinks, that she’s here, alive in this bed with him. He breathes a sign of relief as he throws caution to the wind and moves his arm to wrap around her. She hums, content, and presses a kiss to the crown of his head that steals all the breath from his body.
“Go to sleep, Rohan,” she whispers, and she rubs comforting circles into his back as he tightens his hold on her. “It’s all okay, I’m okay. Get some sleep. I’ll be here if you have another nightmare.”
A few moments pass in comfortable silence before Rohan speaks again. “...what are we?” he questions, and her hand momentarily stills before she answers.
“Something to figure out in the morning,” she murmurs. “You’re incredibly special to me, Rohan. I hope I’m not misreading this situation.”
“No,” he replies immediately. “No, no. You’re…” he breathes, and he takes the plunge. “You’re important to me, too. More than anyone I’ve ever known.”
She kisses his crown again, and he can feel her smile against his head. “We can talk more in the morning. For now, I just want to sleep here… with you.”
“Me, too,” he admits to her quietly, and he closes his eyes, feeling sleep begin to overtake him. “Stay with me?”
“Of course,” she promises, and he smiles against her skin, listening to her heart as he drifts off into sleep.