To Have Loved and Lost: Thank you for the Food (Rohan Kishibe/Reader [Angst/Fluff/Multiple chapters]
Tonio Trussardi is in this one (Josuke eats Spaghetti)
Previous Chapter!
“I didn’t know about your hate for parties.”
“Now you do.”
You take a seat beside Rohan, careful not to nudge him as he sits on the cement. The house is obnoxiously loud, still annoying to hear even in the backyard.
“I just wanted to experience a party before graduation…” You admit, playing with your fingers as a droplet of shame swirls in your chest.
The pool glows blue, your only source of light in the darkness. Rohan seems to have no problem with the lack of lighting, sketching on his notepad with ease while you have to squint just to see your hands.
You take a deep breath, picking your next words carefully. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”
Rohan's hand stopped moving for a second. He seems to be deep in thought as he looks up from the page. You worry when he looks back down.
“Did I upset you?” You ask sadly, eyes straining in trying to search for any hint of annoyance on his face.
Your genuine tone makes the boy freeze for a moment. He responds after a second's consideration.
“… No. It was just overwhelming being in there with people constantly trying to be buddy-buddy with me.”
You nod at his reply, bringing your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on your crossed arms.
When your eyes adjust to the dark, you can finally see the sketch Rohan’s working on. It’s a sketch of the pool, his art style making it look like it’s the fountain of youth.
You lean in closer subconsciously, in awe of the boy's talent.
“You send out the manuscript yet?” The artist ignores the goosebumps on his arms as your warmth radiates onto him.
Rohan shakes his head, still focused on the drawing at hand. “I’ve yet to perfect it,” he huffs, shifting his sketchbook closer to you so you don’t have to strain your eyes.
“Mmh, you’re a perfectionist at heart. I read your draft over and over again thinking it was the final copy,” you reply, “I almost missed the bus to school because I slept late.”
His ears perk up at your confession. “… You liked it that much?”
You don’t know why he’s so shocked. He’s amazing, he knows he’s amazing.
“Duh. You don’t spend that much time on something you don’t like,” you laugh, pulling away and stretching your back. Your bare legs float on the dimly lit pool.
You put a finger on your chin, deep in thought about his manga. “I liked how distinguishable your characters are. They’re so unique, that just from their shadow or a piece of dialogue, I can tell who’s who.”
You nod to yourself. “I think that’s what kept me up— rereading and l choosing which character I should focus my attention on next.”
You don’t notice the growing blush on the other person's face as you continue your ramble.
Rohan shakes his head, swatting away any lingering thoughts he had after hearing you gush about his character's designs. He worked hard trying to make them all stand out without clashing. To hear that being appreciated—
A snap of your fingers makes him jolt in surprise. “Ooh, and the plot. You know, most manga I’ve read have a slow start, and that’s where a majority of the readers give up. Your story doesn’t have that issue at all,” you ramble on, clueless to the mini heart attack your crush— friend was suffering through beside you.
This went on for a few minutes, Rohan too flustered to stop your seemingly endless compliments. The worst part, the part he hated most, was how you failed to realize the effect you had on him.
His hands went clammy, his throat clogged up, the butterflies in his stomach were ramming against his ribcage now.
“And obviously, the artwork, too. The cover design is so eye catching that it—“
Your name falls from his lips, cutting your ramble short and earning your attention. Only then, do you realize that you’ve been gushing about his works, leaving him speechless till now.
You see the awestruck expression on his face, one that you mistake for him being weirded out.
Face flushing, you wave your hands sporadically while babbling, “I’m sorry! That must be really overwhelming to hear, I just got really excited and couldn’t—“
Rohan keeps his stern gaze on your moon-lit face, his voice gentle, but clear to your ears. He’ll admit, it was word vomit. He didn’t know what he was gonna say until it was out of his mouth, until he saw how your lips parted, and your eyebrows raised.
“I think I'm in love with you.”
Rohan can’t hide his scowl or his reddening cheeks with you laying on his chest, your hands locking his own from moving to cover his face. He settles to look away to the side in exasperation.
“You should’ve warned me, maybe then your precious sketchbook wouldn’t have suffered such a tragic fate…” He can tell you’re especially giddy the way your legs kick in the air, hitting the armrest of the couch as they drop.
“I didn’t know that you were foolish enough to jump into the pool after that.”
“Hey! I did not jump, my hand slipped from the edge.”
It had been two years since the day he looked at you in a new light at the carnival, and a year and a half since he accidentally confessed his love for you.
“And are we forgetting who jumped after me? Hm? Let’s not forget my knight in shining armour—”
“I should’ve let you sink to the bottom.”
You laugh, still triumphant, “I’ll never forget how you yelled, ‘Are you dense?! Why did you do that?!’”
Rohan covers his face in embarrassment at your mock voice acting of him, his hands finally released from yours.
“Alright— we wanna talk about embarrassing moments? What about that time you ran away after our fight?”
You roll your eyes, scoffing.
“Which fight, drama queen? You know you love picking fights.”
His face is sweaty, his usually neutral face flushed pink. You wonder if he ran here.
Your arms cross, eyebrows furrowing in anger. He gulps.
This was the first time you two had fought, also the first time he insulted you. It was petty to leave so suddenly, but one more second inside the home with his snarky remarks, and you would’ve lunged at him.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” you remind him coldly through the crack in the door.
He shakes his head, pursing his lips. You don’t think he’s ever looked this desperate before. “Come back.”
You bring a finger up to your chin, as if to think, but you know that he knows that your answer was clear. “No.”
“Why?” He questions, glaring at your friends’ furniture peeking from behind you. He bets that they don’t even have the silk pillowcases he has. Rohan cringes at the thought of you sleeping on the couch as opposed to a king sized bed.
“You’re mean, and you called me stupid.”
“I was only telling the truth.”
When you threatened to shut the door in his face, he scrambled to find his words. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry!”
“For what?”
“For being mean, and ‘cruel’.” Rohan rolls his eyes, motioning air quotes with his fingers.
“And? What else?”
“And I’m sorry I ignored you when you brought me lunch.”
Your silence let him know to keep going.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t call you when I was on a business trip.”
This earns the door opening a centimetre wider.
“And I’m sorry for calling you stupid and overly emotional, even though you were—“
The door creaks, to which he scurries to change the direction of his words.
“EVEN THOUGH your reaction was valid and understandable. It’s my fault. And I’m sorry.”
You look off to the side, rubbing your arms now. “…I’m still mad at you.”
“I know. Come home. Please.”
Rohan breathes out a sigh of relief as you open the door fully.
You look behind you. Your clothes were still in the suitcase, anyways. Plus, you got the car.
Your furrowed brows let the boy know not to even attempt to open the car door for you. Chivalry could wait until your anger finally subsides.
He stares off into the road as he drives. Rohan's hand twitches on the arm rest. Slowly, he loops his pinkie finger with yours.
His eyes are laser focused on the road, too embarrassed to look at your face, too embarrassed to notice the way your lips quipped up slightly.
His face burns as he places his entire hand on yours. His heart beats violently in his ears, and there’s a dizziness consuming him from all the blood rushing to his head.
He holds in a gasp as you flip your hand over to hold onto his.
“I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly.”
You tell him, side eyeing his face. His focus doesn’t leave the road, but he doesn’t need to see your face to hear your sincerity.
“Mhm. You should be—“
You huff and make a move to let go of his grasp, but are stopped by Rohan's panicked hand scrambling to unite with yours again.
“I’m kidding.”
He rubs your knuckles with his thumb. “I was worried, you know.”
You watch him bite his bottom lip, almost missing the way he fought back a confession. “I couldn’t focus without knowing how you were doing.” The strained tone in his voice is buried, but after years of being with him, easy to hear.
“It was barely a few hours,” you mumble, sitting back in your chair, scratching your cheek with your free hand.
“I know but… the thought of you being away, and me not knowing how you’re feeling… I didn’t like it.”
“I thought you liked alone time?”
“Oh, I do. But not after we’ve fought. Not after we left each other like that.”
Rohan feels a pang of pain in his chest knowing he sent you over the edge, to the point where you needed to be a twenty minute jog away from him (a seven minute drive, turned three minutes if you speed) to cool off. Just a mere few hours away from you sent him into a spiral.
“…I thought that’d be the end of it. That you were leaving for good.” His eyes are downcast as he puts his pride aside and admits this.
“Hm.”
It’s quiet for the rest of the drive after that, save for the seabirds caws and singing from outside the car.
Rohan parks in front of Morioh-cho beach, the sun setting now that it’s later in the day colouring everything in a vibrant orange hue. Rohan remembers the Ferris wheel. He finally looks at you after a drive of avoiding eye contact.
You’re the first to break the silence.
“Even though you’re mean, and dramatic sometimes…” you start, drawing invisible doodles on the back of the artists’ hand.
Your finger jumps to his chest. “And obsessed with being right…” Circles around his heart, just light enough that you don’t feel it furiously ramming against his ribcage.
Then, your index makes a line up to his neck, finally tilting his chin so he’s looking into your eyes.
“I don’t plan on leaving.”
His hand twitches in yours. ‘You better keep that promise’ he thinks.
You keep eye contact, and though Rohan opens his mouth, nothing comes out. A grin makes its way onto your lips.
“What are you thinking about now?” You tease, dropping your hands back to your lap.
It’s Rohan's turn to cross his arms and pout, “That’s a big responsibility you know, spending the rest of your life with me.”
Your carefree smile makes his stomach do cartwheels.
“I don’t mind.”
He looks away, a tell tale sign he was making an expression he didn’t want you to see. He’s done this action many times, enough for you to know how to cause the reaction.
He only ever makes this face in response to two situations: you say something that leaves him flustered, or he’s left embarrassed about doing something nice for you.
After a beat of comfortable silence, he mutters out shyly,
“… Sure. Me neither.”
“What do you mean that’s embarrassing for me! You’re the one who ran for 20 minutes just because you were that desperate to see me.”
“No, what’s embarrassing is that you ran away over a petty little argument.”
“As if— what, so you were lying when you apologized?”
Rohan rolls his eyes.
“I wasn’t lying... but I can still say you were overreacting by driving away like that.” He pokes your cheek, taking amusement in the exaggerated frown you put on.
You lay your head on his chest and shut your eyes.
Rohan takes a moment to process it all. Just a few years ago, he would’ve overheated at the thought of extensive prolonged contact with you.
“… Even still…”
And now he’s laying on the couch with you on top of him while he strokes the back of your head.
“You kept your promise, at least,” he says, more to himself than to you.
You still respond despite your consciousness slowly slipping. “Obviously.”
His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep.
Josuke felt a lot of emotions in an hour. Sad, happy, worried, sad again, and finally, confused.
And hungry.
“When you woke up, you were in the alleyway?” Half his focus is on the pitcher he’s balancing as he pours himself a glass of water. He’s glad Tonio’s restaurant is still open, it being his first and last resort for food.
“I’m trying to make sense of it all. So far, it seems like only stand users can see me…” You smile at Tonio, who returns the greeting as he places a plate of spaghetti in front of Josuke.
“But… this is good, isn’t it? Y-You can visit Rohan! And Tooru! And it’ll be like nothing happened.”
You fiddle with your fingers, looking down in a downcast way.
“That was one of the first things I thought of.”
If Josuke could kick himself, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Internally, he’s trying to remember if he tripped and hit his head to say such an obvious thing. He settles to gulp all his water down as a way to prevent saying anything more stupid.
You rub the back of your neck, sighing as you explained. “I was so happy that I ran back to the house the second I thought of it. I was gonna tell him that everything is okay, and that we can live normally again.”
You sniffle, then try to play it off as a nose twitch and a cough. “… Of course, the house was empty.”
“I thought it was a bad thing at first, but Rohan and Tooru leaving the house was the best outcome— I accepted it the longer I stayed there.” The defeat in your voice is clear, like you’ve mulled over the circumstances over and over, trying to think of any way a happy ending could be possible.
Desperate for a chance, only to be met with reality. Disappointment. “… I can’t just be like this forever… watch both of them grow up while I stay the same.”
You look out the window, gazing at the pebbled ground. Only Josuke’s shadow is caught from the bright lights inside. “If I’m here by the same rules as Reimi, once my killer is found… I’m not really meant to stay.”
“And by the chance that I don’t have to leave after justice is served, what then? What about Rohan and his career?” You tighten your lips, letting an exhale out your nose.
“‘Mangaka convinced his fiancé is a ghost’… the public will make him a laughingstock.”
“He… he's not the type to care for strangers’ opinions of him,” Josuke replies. You turn from the window to look him in the eyes directly.
“But what about the opinion of his own son?”
Your rebuttal lets Josuke know just how hard you pondered at that house.
“Just because Rohan can see me doesn’t mean Tooru can.”
Images of family photos with a missing space visualize in your mind. An argument between the two most important people in your life, with your existence as the main fuel for fighting. How do you explain that to someone? ‘One of your parents is a ghost, but you’re the only one in the know who can’t see them.’ You wouldn’t blame Tooru for thinking his dad was pulling a long, cruel joke on him.
You shrug. “It’s just trouble. Me being here.”
“… He’ll be crushed if he sees you again and you have to leave,” Josuke says out loud, though he meant to keep it to himself.
You nod. “Right. Which is why…”
Your hands are folded in your lap, voice strong and firm.
“I’d like for you to keep this a secret from Rohan.”
The teen frowns as he rests his cheek on his palm, his other hand twisting the spaghetti on his fork. A question popping up in his head causes him to shoot up. “… Where will you stay? Staying with Reimi is no good— you’re not used to the alleyway rules the way she is.”
You look off to the side. “There are many abandoned houses in Morioh-Cho. I’ll find one that’s good to sleep in. It’s not like I need—-“
Your stomach rumbling causes you to pause. “—… food….” You tighten your lips, and hide your face in your hands.
“I shouldn’t have died on an empty stomach.”
Josuke shakes his head. “Man, you can’t predict things like that.” He feels guilty sitting in front of a meal while you sit there trying to conceal your hunger.
He’s still twisting the spaghetti on the fork, procrastinating putting it in his mouth. “How do you know that you don’t need to eat?”
“W-Well, I haven’t tried yet, but it’s not like I can go to a store and pick something up…” You’re avoiding eye contact with his food.
A sandwich is plopped down in front of you, sitting atop a garnished plate and dipping sauces.
Tonio smiles down at you. “Worry not. As a chef, it is my sole responsibility to make sure that every customer that enters my restaurant is fed.”
The middle of your brows lift in gratitude and sadness. “Tonio, I’m really thankful, but I—“ Your hand waves through the plate as you try to pick it up.
“No, no, pick the food up. That’s why I made you a sandwich instead of something that requires utensils.”
You gulp, hands shaking as they reach for the plate. Tonio nods his head toward the sandwich.
Josuke watches with intensity, hands going clammy, completely forgetting his own plate.
You’re expecting to be disappointed, until the tips of your fingers make contact with the bread.
“No— no way!” You pick it up, inspecting the entire thing with a slack jaw. One tentative bite leads to three more, all mouthfuls leaving you craving to keep eating until the plate is left with nothing but crumbs.
Tonio smiles as you chew, his hand resting over the middle of his chest, above his heart.
“Many cultures offer food to the dead. As long as it’s offered to you, you should be able to take it,” he explains, moving to refill Josuke’s water.
“Everything in this sandwich is supposed to help with rejuvenation. How do you feel?” Tonio tilts his head.
“I feel so refreshed!” You squeal out, feeling your mood improve with every second.
“I’ve never been happier to eat a sandwich. You’re amazing, Tonio.” To this, he laughs, and pats the back of your chair.
The chef makes his way back to the kitchen, leaving you and Josuke alone to talk about your arrangement.
“I guess I can eat! Though, now my plan for finding an abandoned house is a no-go.” Your voice is cheerful despite having to shift gears to find a place to stay. Josuke assumes it’s because of the food.
‘It must’ve been difficult wandering alone like that.’
He can feel his eyes burning, the bleeding heart he is.
‘All alone, no one to see you, let alone talk to you.’
Josuke blinks away the tears slowly welling up, and shakes his head to compose himself. “I can ask Jotaro and Mr. Joestar if they can provide a hotel room for the time being. Would that work?”
He watches you nod and hum in agreement, mouth full of bread and vegetables. Your eyes are closed in a state of pure bliss as you savour the taste.
A shocked noise leaves you. You plop your sandwich down and cover your mouth with your hands.
“I’m sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, I just missed eating so much, and—“ You finally look at the teen, who’s taken a handkerchief to his teary eyes. You’re left gawking as he wipes his eyes with his sleeves as more tears cascade down his cheeks.
“Josuke?! What’s wrong?!”
He waves a hand, shaking his head. The longer he attempts to compose himself, the more he breaks down into sobs.
He somehow makes something out through hiccups and wails.
“I'm so happy that you’re happy!”
In your panic, you try to grab a fistful of tissues from the table. You remember your predicament as your hand slips past the objects.
“Don’t cry into your spaghetti, Josuke, it’s alright!” You settle on waving your hands out in front of him, a clear attempt at comfort.
It would’ve been a bizarre thing for an outsider to see. A teenage boy with a loud hairstyle, crying hysterically at a table alone.
The drivers buzzing past the restaurant window probably had that same thought before continuing on with their night, unknowing of the story behind exactly why this random highschooler was sobbing so loudly, shrugging as they recounted the stories to their families, or kept it to themselves.
Late in the evening, where it would’ve been a mundane night for you as well. The lights only would’ve been turned off because it was time for you to get ready for bed, and the news would have remained a drowsy channel you put on to fight the silence of your home, rather than a channel covering the details of your death.
When you were an invisible wanderer roaming your street, you saw the way life continued on for the sleepy town. People passed by the mansion as if nothing happened, their busy personal lives seemingly leaving them no time to point and stare at the police tape and barricaded doors of your home.
Everybody else moved on from the shocking murder at the Mangaka’s house. The world will keep spinning. The statement is as cold and heartless, as it is true.
It’s water under the bridge.
Rohan pushes the door open when he hears the agreeing beep of the hotel lock. He has to give his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of his room before taking his shoes off and walking in.
Tossing his hotel key onto the table, he barely notices the crinkle of tin foil reflecting light from the moon. There’s a note placed on top of it, the paper warm from what’s beneath.
‘From the Higashikata family.’ The lovely cursive lets the artist know that it was not the son of the family who wrote it.
There’s more written on the back of the card, but Rohan is too tired to strain his eyes (and his heart) further. He’s drained from the day.
The Braciole sitting beneath the tinfoil also lets the artist know where the sender visited to procure the dish.
He picks up a slice, and pops it into his mouth. The flavour exploding onto his tongue is a temporary comfort.
Despite all the confusion, pain, or change that people will continue having to overcome, one fact will remain the same no matter the circumstance:
Tonio’s food is delicious.