Work Text:
It's raining in Morioh today.
Not unusual by any means, but Rohan dislikes the rain. Writers say it helps them with ideas, that the gloomy atmosphere and soft pitter-patter can help their brains calm down and their pen's ink flows exceptionally well, a torrent of ideas and a waterfall of black marks to accompany it as it slides across the paper.
Unfortunately, Rohan is not that kind of author. No one goes out in the rain; no one but children who have nothing better to do than waste their days away jumping in puddles and living their life to the best, and though Rohan doesn't grudge them of them fact in life, it's the mundaneness of their childhood that really makes him dislike the rain. Being nitpicky about grammar like his neighbour, Rohan would even say that he hates the rain, not just a simple dislike.
It wets paper. It makes ink bleed. It-
"Rohan. Hey. Hey! Rohan!"
He looks up, meeting Noriaki's squinted eyes. "What is it, old man," he grouches, just because today is a special day and there's no one else around. It's also satisfying as hell to see Noriaki's usually flawless expression contort in genuine offense, not the pretended one he puts on whenever someone makes a joke.
"I'm seven years older than you," Noriaki deadpans, and shakes a bundle of papers in front of him gently. "And for your information, there's an error on page sixteen, O Infallible Kishibe Rohan."
"There is?" Rohan asks immediately, grabbing the bundle and flipping to said page hurriedly. He scans the page, looking over the art and skimming the shading, the place he made the most mistakes as a beginner artist, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees nothing in the background either. He looks up at Noriaki's neutral face. "Is there really a mistake?" Rohan demands. "Or are you just messing with me?"
"I never mess with you," Noriaki says smoothly. A green-silver tentacle bends through the air, slinking around the chair and pointing to a text bubble on the right. "See, here Pink Dark's saying I (boku) when he should be using I (ore). Slip your mind or something, Rohan? Use your brain too much gambling with Josuke?"
"Fuck," Rohan says empathetically, "I didn't realize that."
"I can see that."
It's going to take no less than three minutes, maximum five if the paper is particularly stubborn, but it's the principle of the matter and the fact that he made a mistake that irks him. The fact that Kakyoin Noriaki corrected him too, and Noriaki surely knows this because he's staring at him with his lips slightly quirked up like he's just amused at the entire situation.
Rohan pushes Hierophant Green's tentacle away, shakes the papers into a stack and places them on the drawers beside him.
"Where're you going, Rohan?" Noriaki asks.
He doesn't look back. "The rain."
It smells like earth and soft chalk washing down. The rain's sounds are soothing, little droplets sliding off his skin and dripping down his hair like little ants crawling over his skin, leaving their cold footprints behind in the wake of their trail.
Rain on pavement remains one of the worst smells to have ever been smelled by him, but Rohan spreads his arms to the wind and breathes it in-
-and he screams.
"Well, shit," Noriaki says dryly from behind him, patting his shoulder. "Didn't know you'd fucking scream because of one mistake."
It's infuriating.
That's why he loves him, Rohan supposes.