Chapter Text
It was 2004, in the middle of fall, at the end of the week at 3:47 in the afternoon when the unthinkable happened. Rohan Kishibe was staring at a blank piece of paper and he had no idea how to fill it.
It was a fear that had haunted him since he was 16. When he would, one day, have no more art to make. No more stories to write. He’d sometimes have nightmares where he was out of inspiration and everything he made was laughably mediocre. Like the rest of the dreck he was forced to share space with in Shonen Jump. He’d been able to hold this off for so long though. Nearly an entire decade! So many other artists became dull and uninspired after just a couple years. He had begun to think his genius would flow endlessly. So much so that he had decided to end Pink Dark Boy and start a new, grand story.
I knew making the change to seinen was a mistake, Rohan thought, tapping the end of the pen to the crisp, white paper. Too much pressure to change my own artistic vision to something to suit the pornographic and gore-happy freaks who read it. And what was I thinking, starting an entirely new story the way I did? Rohan would have chewed on his pen if this particular calligraphy set hadn't cost 300,000 yen. People won’t read me if I don’t live up to their expectations with this change. And I can’t just reference what I’ve already done. Callbacks don’t exist in media, it’s just laziness.
Rohan did the inconceivable and set his pen down. Where had he gone wrong? What mistakes had lead to him becoming dried up and worthless at age 25? He would’ve blamed Josuke if he hadn't taken off with that loudmouthed punk years ago to huddle up in what was presumably a disgusting love nest in S City. Unfortunately, Rohan had somehow failed his favorite person. Himself.
How pathetic. Rohan thought, getting up. His back and hips popped in a sickening variety of pitches. He had been hunched over at his desk for the last three days. Empty water bottles littered the floor but he hadn't bothered to eat. Food wasn’t going to bring him any inspiration. Food wouldn’t tell him how to move forward in an arc he didn’t even have an outline for! I’m no better than those sweaty, oily, dirty fingered men who write about school girls squealing. Rohan opened the curtain up for the first time in a week and squinted in the harsh sunlight. It was bright out, the sky a perfect balance of bright blue and fluffy white clouds. The Rohan of the past could draw a sky a thousand times more beautiful.
He rubbed at his face and knew he’d have to take drastic measures. He had two more weeks to produce a manuscript for this premiere. Normally, he would be done with this month’s and the next’s and already beginning the rest. His fingers twitched as he looked around the room and his eyes landed on his camera. Going for a walk and taking reference photos seemed to be the only thing he could do, at this point. It was one of the few things he hadn't tried yet. Pathetic, he thought again, slinging the camera around his neck and loading up his canvas bag with more empty paper. At this point, is there anymore “inspiration” I can squeeze from this town? There is no more excitement. Everyone’s experiences are more or less the same and it’s all…so dull.
The sun hurt his eyes as he left his house, so he lowered his sunglasses and sighed, very much resigned to the fact that this was a pointless endeavor. Nevertheless, he decided to go to the park first. Occasionally, he’d see something out and about in the real world that he felt a duty to sketch. Something that asked for a talented hand to be made into art and then art could become stories, as Rohan was a genius and could pull plotlines out of the random news clippings from the ground or people’s faces.
But that’s right, I said I wouldn’t do that anymore, Rohan grumbled to himself, glaring at a group of schoolchildren for existing just a bit too close to him. Koichi made me promise. Rohan sighed hard. It wasn’t like anyone had much to offer anyway. Nothing epic enough for seinen, nothing wonderful enough to be worthy of Rohan wasting his time to draw it. So he took pictures. Of the one disgusting couple by the fountain. Of the group of sticky children kicking around a ball. Of the old woman arguing with a squirrel. He took out his sketch book and drew nothing sensible. Just pages and pages and screaming faces.
Rohan didn’t know how to do anything but art. He was positive he could learn any other profession, but how could he even bear to do something other than write and create and be known and read. But the way this month was going, it looked like Rohan was going to have to bite the bullet. Literally.
“Hello there, Mr. Rohan.”
Rohan, as a testament to his levelheadedness, did not jump or squeal, god forbid. He just very slowly followed the voice up to the branches of the large tree that shaded the bench he was rotting on. Mikitaka Hazekura was hanging upside-down by his knees, perfectly comfortable looking and still in his uniform.
“It’s Rohan-sensei; I thought we had gone over this.” Rohan said stiffly. He was vaguely aware of Mikitaka’s existence. They were both Stand Users so they had bumped into each other occasionally throughout the years but Rohan had never bothered saying more than a few words to him.
“Rohan-sensei, I apologize.” Mikitaka said, fluidly swinging himself back up to the branch. Rohan was almost taken aback by his grace. “Did I startle you?”
“Of course not.” Rohan glanced back up at him and felt the devilish pull of curiosity. “What are you even doing up there?”
“I was putting a baby bird back in its nest.” Mikitaka said. “I was allowed to leave the office early today as a…reward I believe for my good work.” Rohan vaguely remembered that Mikitaka worked as a veterinarian’s assistant at the local animal shelter. He was the only one of Koichi’s gang that still lived fulltime in Morioh. “I love coming to the park to play with the dogs. You see, my landlady does not allow animals and it makes me very sad. You were so engrossed with your work you did not notice the bird fall and you did not notice me come by and pick it up and climb the tree.” Mikitaka smiled. “You must be quite invested in whatever you are drawing.”
Rohan had been writing “shit” in about 50 different calligraphy styles. He appraised Mikitaka with his nose in the air for a moment. What did he know about this man? Very little, as he had never bothered to study him. Koichi had mentioned that Mikitaka claimed he was an alien and while there was no evidence against it, there was just as little that supported it. Rohan had never cared about whether it was true or not. It didn’t affect him in the slightest, though he supposed it would make a good story.
Rohan was suddenly sitting straight up for the first time in weeks and his heart pounded a little. Mikitaka was humming pleasantly, looking up at the sky as the sun started getting low and orange. This was Rohan's favorite time of day. Photographers called it the magic hour. All the colors were bright and saturated under the suns low gaze. There was no one around either. It seemed most people were heading home to start dinner and be with their families and all that normalcy. It was just Rohan and Mikitaka and Rohan was feeling desperate for material.
“Hazekura,” Rohan said quietly and as soon as the other man met his gaze he summoned Heaven’s Door. Mikitaka’s eyes widened slightly and gasped as his face and skin began to open. Rohan caught him as he fell forward and gingerly laid him on the grass. Thankfully, he had completely passed out. Rohan huffed as he sat down, pulling his pen out. As long as I don’t rip out any pages he won't be affected. And it’s not like I’m going to write anything stupid in him. I just need some new inspiration. I just have to keep writing.
Rohan took a breath and peeled back the outer layer of Mikitaka’s face. He felt his stomach twist oddly. Rohan was Japanese and lived in Japan, so he had almost strictly used Heaven’s Door on those who spoke and read Japanese. Their memories were written in Kanji; that just made good sense. The few foreigners Rohan had used his Stand on had been a challenge for him to read. Rohan was intelligent, of course, and knew some English, French and Italian and he at the very least recognized the other languages in the books that Heave’s Door revealed.
“What on earth is this?!” Rohan hissed, tracing what should have been letters with his fingers. He had never seen such a language before. He doubted it even existed. They were shapes and strange lines and symbols, at times both orderly arranged and completely jumbled together. Rohan kept flipping through and found some photos of Morioh, a smattering of Japanese but any other pictures were covered in huge black [redacted] bars. “How interesting.” Rohan said, meaning that for the first time in years and he was happy Mikitaka was too unconscious to hear it. “Could there be some credence to the alien story after all? I assume stranger things do exist.” Rohan rubbed at his chin. “Or does his delusion really run so deep? Either or, I’ve never seen anything like this.” It might be worth it to investigate further.
Rohan quickly scribbled in an empty margin that Mikitaka would remember nothing and stood back up, watching the other man slowly get to his feet. “W-what were you saying?” Mikitaka asked, rubbing at his head. “I feel as if I…blacked out or something. Which I know is not normal.”
“You’re probably just working too hard.” Rohan mumbled despite the fact that Mikitaka looked fresh and clean as a daisy while Rohan was sure he had forgotten to shower. It was fine, however. He didn’t sweat, he glistened. “Why don’t we get…coffee.” It pained Rohan to extend such a common offer. The pain doubled as he considered all but interviewing someone for his manga. I cannot believe I’ve had to stoop this low. People should be interviewing me.
“Coffee?” Mikitaka said thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Yes, I suppose that might be pleasant.”
Might? And now Rohan was insulted. He almost withdrew the offer and then he remembered his scant and scribbled up sketchbook full of worthless fluff. “Well, follow me, I guess.”
Morioh was littered with cafes but there were so few up to Rohan’s standards. Luckily, one he enjoyed was nearby. He wanted to get this little liaison over with as quickly as possible.
“I do not believe we have ever ‘hung out’ before, Rohan-sensei.” Mikitaka said as they took their seats outside in a tucked away corner. Mikitaka looked at the menu, his eyes as wide and bright as a child’s. Disgusting. “What an exciting day it is turning out to be!”
“Well I am very busy.” Rohan said, tapping his pencil on yet another blank page. “But we are both Stand Users, we have that in common.”
Mikitaka’s hair visibly fluffed up a little in surprise. He fiddled with the menu, his hands extremely slender and long. Rohan absently sketched out his hands, thinking they were fit for a character meant to be unnerving but Mikitaka was about as intimidating as a dandelion fluff. “Yes, Stand Users. Though I cannot see them like you can.”
“No matter.” Rohan said stiffly as the waiter took their orders. Mikitaka got a full meal complete with a giant lemonade and Rohan got an espresso and nothing else. “How’s the animal shelter treating you?”
Mikitaka giggled slightly. “You do make it sound as if I live in the shelter. Which I cannot. I found that out the difficult way.” Rohan decided against making a cruel joke. Having the other man run off would render this whole circus void. “I greatly enjoy it. I love seeing the animals I care for adopted into warm families and I love seeing the ones who come in injured and scared leave whole and happy.” Mikitaka’s voice was breathy and fluid. Rohan really hadn't spoken to him very much. He assumed he’d speak as terribly and roughly as the delinquents who used to keep him company. “I would one day like to be a veterinarian however.”
Rohan nodded, caught between complete indifference and vague interest. A veterinarian character could be compelling. Doctors were overplayed. “That’s very expensive.”
Mikitaka laughed again as their food and drinks arrived. “So blunt. My dreams are crushed once more.” Rohan could not tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic. He hated being left out of the know. “I suppose I have time. I am young, by your standards.”
Finally, I can get the information I need. “Oh yes, you’re supposedly…how old?” Rohan said, acting as disinterested as possible. It wasn’t a difficult charade.
“220 earth years old.” Mikitaka replied casually, taking a sip of his sparkling fruity drink.
“About all that, you are an…alien correct?”
Mikitaka looked around hurriedly. There was just a couple a few tables from them and they were very involved with each other. “Yes but Mr. Josuke warned me not to speak so much about it out in public. He said most people would not believe me, or could be cruel to me because of it.”
Rohan was loathe to admit that Josuke had been right about that. It was a ludicrous claim to most, but again, Rohan didn’t care about the truth. He just wanted material. “Well, we’re acquaintances. I already know about this, so what’s the harm in…elaborating a bit. About the whole alien thing.” Rohan leaned forward on his chin. “It must be a fascinating experience.”
The very tips of Mikitaka’s ears went pink and he nervously looked to the side. Perhaps he isn’t used to the attention. “If you really wish to know then I will gladly tell you, Rohan-sensei. Though it is probably not as fascinating as you might think.” Mikitaka pushed at his salad, like he wasn’t sure if he could eat it now. Rohan took note of how those long fingers delicately held the fork. “Earth is so different from my home. It was hard to adjust and I still know so little. In fact,” Mikitaka looked at Rohan and he noticed, and not for the first time, how strange and green the other man’s eyes were. One look was enough to add credence to his story. “You could probably teach me more about earth.”
Rohan sneered. “I’m no teacher. So, you’re home, what was it like?”
Mikitaka was a little coy with the details. He was visibly flustered and Rohan wondered if anyone had ever bothered to ask about his previous life, or if they just accepted the alien nonsense outright. He spoke about a cold society, one more orderly and uniform then earth could ever be but sparkling clean and free from disease. Rohan listened and doodled, glancing up from his notes to occasionally watch Mikitaka speak. His eyes all but glowed in the sunset and, artistically speaking, the contrast between that and his white hair was stunning.
“But it was destroyed,” Mikitaka’s eyes were half closed and he was staring down at his clasped hands. One long piece of hair had fallen over his shoulder in a perfect swoop. “I believe Mr. Josuke and Mr. Okuyasu may have told you this is why I came here. I roamed space for years, searching for a place to resettle. There are not many planets out there that can support carbon based life forms such as us. And I am happy I found this one.”
Only thirty minutes had gone by since he started talking and Rohan scowled. “There’s more to all of this, right? You’ve barely told me anything!”
“Well, of course there is more, Rohan-sensei. I am over two hundred years old.” Mikitaka said matter-of-factly. “But I did not think you would want to sit here and listen to me speak for hours.”
“Well you are very correct there.” Rohan couldn’t think of anything more irritating. Well, that wasn’t true. Rohan had never listened to anyone speak for so long before. “Well, thank you for your time. It’s getting late.”
Rohan left a wad of cash on the table, enough for both their bills. Once Mikitaka realized he was leaving he sprang to his feet and bowed his head a little. “Have a nice night, Rohan-sensei. Thank you for taking time to speak with me. It was nice to talk about my home world, for a change.”
Rohan waved at him over his shoulder. He didn’t need any weak thanks for a half hour conversation. What Mikitaka had given him was enough.
Rohan went straight up to his office once he got home. His mind was swimming with the ideas of stars, of drifting through the cosmos, of cities all made of silver. Rohan didn’t care if Mikitaka had been telling him his actual history or if it was all just a delusion. Rohan could use it. I really should eat something, Rohan thought, as he sat back down at his desk and settled in for another all nighters. I’m sure I’ll be fine.
He drew in blues and purples, swirling silver lines and deep black pits. It was a new world to explore and he had new mechanics to invent and characters to form. Ending Pink Dark Boy had been the hardest decision of his life, and yes, for a moment there, he’d been worried that his success with it had been a fluke and it be the only story Rohan could ever write. But I haven’t felt this enthralled since I started! Rohan thought, drawing almost frantically as the ideas came quicker then he could catch. Space! Sci-fi! Why haven’t I thought of that! Why, all the greats have tried their hand at this! Kubrick, Spielberg, I fit right on the list! Rohan cackled, almost knocking over a bottle of ink. I won’t give Hazekura all the credit though, perhaps I’ll draw him in, as a cameo! Still, even as he furiously drew like it was his last night alive, Rohan couldn’t get the alien out of the corners of his mind. He was stuck in there, like a popcorn kernel in his tooth two weeks after the movie.
Rohan glanced down at his address book, almost afraid to touch it.
It was 12 in the afternoon three days later and Rohan had just gotten off the phone with his editor. Excellent, Sensei! He had exclaimed after Rohan sent the rough drafts of his manuscript. No one else is doing anything like this right now. It might be a little cosmic, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you!
And that is true, Rohan thought, taking a long sip from his coffee. No doubt I’ll create another masterpiece, I’ve had an amazing start as it is. And yet, Rohan set his coffee down and stared at the ornate fruit ball on his granite countertop. Distastefully, he selected an apple. There is more to Hazekura’s story though. I need to know all of it. He eyed the book again and delicately flipped it open to where Mikitaka’s phone number and address were. He was positive he would consent to talk to him again. Who wouldn’t? And he had seemed eager to share. It was just that Rohan wasn’t sure if he could ask for help again. He had barely survived the first blow to his ego.
Rohan’s fingers twitched and he snatched the address book and flipped his phone open. At the very least, he wasn’t ripping Mikitaka’s face apart for material. That alone was improvement.