Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rohan doesn't have a canon birthday or zodiac sign, so I’ve made it the same as Araki’s (June 7th).

Also! A few years have passed since the 1999 bizarre summer and the Morioh Warriors are all adults now, so I’m using some creative liberties and making most of the teenagers taller.

Morioh Residents (+Jotaro) Heights

Jotaro Kujo, age 36: 195cm (6’5”)

Noriaki Kakyoin, age 36: 178cm (5’10”)

Rohan Kishibe, age 28: 175cm (5’9”)

Josuke Higashikata, age 24: 190cm (6’3”)

Koichi Hirose, age 24: 150cm (4’11”)

Okuyasu Nijimura, age 23: 183cm (6’)

Yukako Yamagishi, age 23: 167cm (5’6”)

Hayato Kawajiri, age 20: 171cm (5’7”)

Ken Oyanagi, age 19: 163cm (5’4”)

Pre-Fic Timeline

1991: Jolyne is born

1999:

• Crazy Diamond’s Demonic Heartbreak*
• Diamond is Unbreakable
• TSKR: At A Confessional

2001:

• Vento Aureo/Golden Wind
• Purple Haze Feedback
• Hajnarus' "Mortal Life Alternative Ending" comic

2006: Jotaro and his wife get divorced; he moves back to Japan

2007:

• Rohan au Louvre
• TSKR: Mutsu-kabe Hill
• TSKR: Millionaire Village
• TSKR: Poaching Seashore

*Because Noriaki is still alive in this fic, Ryoko Kakyoin travels to Morioh to investigate who/what hurt her cousin instead of what killed him

Chapter Text

Morioh, Japan, Circa September 2007

“Stop right there!” Rohan Kishibe shouted.

You ignored him, continuing towards the cave and even quickened your pace the slightest bit.

“I know you know I’m talking to you. We’re the only two people on this beach!”

You abruptly stopped and crouched down to fiddle with your shoe. Rohan’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he was closing in on you. You were almost in range of Heaven’s Door now, and he was going to write in your pages to make you lose interest in anything and everything pertaining to this area. Some strange woman from outside of Morioh wasn’t going to investigate this cave before him.

He summoned his Stand, preparing to make a surprise attack—not that you would know it was coming anyway—when you lunged forward and took off at a surprisingly fast pace. Wet sand kicked up behind you as you tore across the beach.

He scoffed. What does she think I am, some sort of stalker? As if he would have interest in a random tourist.

Although, he had to admit… you’d run into each other quite a few times since you appeared in Morioh a few days ago. Crossing paths with someone multiple times wasn’t a difficult task given the relatively small size of the town, but to the degree which you had was abnormal even for Morioh. Rohan might have just assumed you were a shy fan were it not for the fact that he continued arriving at locations after you. Whether it be the park, the library, the cafe, the grocery store twice, even the post office, he always entered later.

Rohan clutched his travel bag close to his side and sighed. “I guess I’m going for an early-morning sprint, then,” he muttered to himself.

You had a head start, but he had the benefit of longer legs and knowledge of the local terrain. That of course included the stretch of land where the sand turned marshy. All he had to do was guide you to it, and you would get stuck. He would interrogate you there.

Right where he expected it to, the sand gave way beneath you, and your boot sunk into the earth. Yes!

You were traveling fast enough for the momentum to pull your foot out of your shoe, but as the second one sank, you fell forward and landed face-first in the muck.

He laughed triumphantly at the sight. The cave, which you’d already passed, would be his alone to investigate.

You fumbled to untie your shoelaces and slipped out of your second boot, then both your socks as they too were sucked into the marsh.

A mixture of mud and sand covered your front and locks of dirty, windswept hair stuck to your skin. Under different circumstances, Rohan might have asked you to model the look for him. As he reached the edge of the marshy ground, he sighed. “That cave is mine. I’ll not have you scaring off potential inspiration.” Something interesting was certain to be lurking inside.

Only then did he realize that he’d have to walk into the marsh in order to read your pages. You’d managed to get far enough into it that he couldn’t simply reach over the disgusting ground and drag you back.

“Heaven’s Door!”

You’d been struggling to pull your sock out of the muck, but looked up when he spoke. As Heaven’s Door descended, you yanked your sock free and threw it.

Of course, his Stand dodged the physical object with ease—not that a wet sock would have hurt him anyway. You landed hard on your rear in the marsh.

Could she be a Stand user? No, it has to be a coincidence that that sloppy-at-best throw went towards Heaven’s Door.

“Get away from me, you creep!”

Before Heaven’s Door could reach you, blindingly bright light flashed from your fist.

Interestingly, it blinded both he and his stand, and the loud bang that accompanied it left his ears ringing.

Rohan was knocked back from the force of it hitting Heaven’s Door, searing white-hot pain hitting his eyes even as he covered them. “You bitch! Was that a fucking flashbang?!”

No, a normal flashbang wouldn’t hurt Heaven’s Door…

Without sight or hearing, he was left helpless against your next attack. “You’re a Stand user, aren’t you?!”

If you responded, he couldn’t hear what you said. He stumbled to his left and fell, crawling across the sand in the direction that he thought the cliff was in. He managed to use it to stand back up, his back against the rock, and braced himself for another attack.

“Heaven’s Door, do your best to defend.”

His Stand wasn’t meant for combat, and at this much of a disadvantage, you could probably kill him if you really wanted to. He doubted you would, but there was always a small possibility that the look of fear in your eyes wasn’t real, or that rage would overtake it.

He waited with injured eyes and ears for longer than he thought a flashbang was meant to last. It wasn’t until he sensed the presence of another Stand user, and the pain miraculously ceased that he realized someone must have heard the sound and contacted the local authorities.

He opened his eyes slowly to adjust to the sunlight, squinting at the face that greeted him. “Oh. Hello, Officer Josuke,” he said with a frown.

“Are you alright, Rohan? I received an anonymous report that someone was attacked at the southern beach.”

“Yes, I was attacked,” he said pointedly, looking over at the marsh. “That’s why I was in a defensive position… a Stand user attacked with some sort of flashbang effect.”

The bitch was nowhere to be seen. Although he could certainly follow the footprints you’d left in the sand.

“Really? What’d you do this time?”

Rohan glared. “I’m not getting the police involved.” He climbed onto rockier ground, walking along stones that had been placed by passers-by specifically for the purpose of avoiding the marsh. “You really should get a bridge built here. Don’t you have a say in public works projects?”

Annoyingly, Josuke followed him. “Then forget that I’m wearing a badge and just talk to me as your good pal Josuke.”

He cringed at the thought. “No. I’ll be fine on my own. I’m going to find that bitch and get some quality payback.”

“You’re positive it was a Stand user? Morioh’s been quiet for years; as quiet as it can get around a place like this, anyways.”

“I’m certain.” As he walked, the indentation of your footsteps grew lighter and the length of your stride shorter, then heavier and longer again. “She attacked Heaven’s Door to immobilize both our senses; that’s why I was in a defensive position.” Rohan noticed an impact where it looked as if you’d accidentally dropped your boots, then briefly doubled-back to pick them up.

“Attacked Heaven’s Door? Impressi– I mean awful. That was awful of her. I’m glad that I could heal you.”

“Well, given that she ran away, I would have just had to wait for the effect to wear off. Really, you’re wasting your time, Officer—actually, how good is your English?”

Josuke stopped beside him, following his gaze down to where something had been sloppily written in the sand. He scratched the back of his head. “Iffy at best… I didn’t really pay much attention in my language classes. Do you need me to translate? I can try.”

“Yes, tell me what it says.”

Josuke squinted down at it. “It says… ‘stop following me.’”

“Good. So I am still fluent in English. I thought as much, but that handwriting is preposterous.” He chuckled. “And she knew I’d follow her, too. Clever woman.”

Josuke suddenly looked irrationally flummoxed. “Did you just compliment someone? Wow, this girl must really be something special.”

Rohan looked over at him in horror. “Special? She’s trying to investigate a cave that I’ve already claimed as mine for inspiration. When I made to stop her, she lashed out then fled. I’d hardly call that special,” he spat. “She’s merely a prey animal who’s waltzed into my territory; now she’ll be facing the consequences of her actions.”

“Right… Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Unsurprisingly, the footprints ended at a set of concrete stairs leading back up to town. After the first few steps up, there wasn’t even any residual sand to follow. “Well, Morioh is only so big. I’m certain I’ll run into her again. If not, I’ll catch her tomorrow morning.” He started up the stairs.

For some reason, Josuke gave him a look of disgust. “I don’t want to hear about your bedroom habits, man.”

“Bedroom habits?!” Rohan whipped his head around. “As if I would– that was a metaphor!”

“Whatever. Just don’t do anything dumb, ok? I don’t want to have to come free some poor girl from cuffs because you lost the keys.”

Rohan sputtered, at a loss for words. He was utterly dumbfounded by the idiot that was now passing him up the stairs. How did Josuke even get accepted into the officer’s academy? Was Morioh’s police department truly so paltry that they allowed someone this vehemently unqualified onto the force?

“I was the one who was attacked!”

Josuke stopped and slowly turned back around to talk down to him. He was naturally taller than Rohan as it was, and with the extra height provided by the stairs, he towered over him. He’d also filled out in more recent years—his father had once mentioned something about ‘Joestar genes’, whatever that meant. His ridiculous hairstyle acted like a visor, blocking the sun from his eyes and adding a darkness to them that almost made him appear intimidating.

Had Rohan not written a command to prevent Josuke from being able to harm him ages ago, he might have actually been concerned for his safety.

“By your own words, she ‘lashed out’ at you, presumably in self defense against your Stand after you attacked her, right? All because you don’t want to have to share a cave that’s located on a public beach that you therefore do not own,” Josuke said, leaning forward to menacingly loom over him. “The only reasons I’m not arresting you is because I didn’t catch you in the act. Without an accusation or recorded evidence, your admission to the crime is just hearsay.”

Rohan narrowed his eyes. Josuke was correct about that. He never actually touched you, but if you somehow managed to present evidence, he could be in legal trouble… were there any security cameras at Morioh Port that pointed to the marsh?

Josuke straightened, and all at once, the threatening aura about him disappeared. “By the way, there aren’t any records of caves being here. Do you think we need to get my nephew or the Speedwagon Foundation involved?

“Absolutely not. There’s nothing dangerous coming out of the cave; I’m quite certain it’s just a normal cave.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Fine, but if anything the slightest bit fishy starts happening, I have Jotaro on speed dial.”

Rohan rolled his eyes. “I’ll be certain to contact you if need be, Officer.”

Josuke gave him a disingenuous smile. “Great. I’m glad we cleared that up. You have a good rest of your day, Rohan.”

Rohan stood and fumed in silence as Josuke walked up the staircase. He didn’t like being shown up, especially by the likes of that steak-haired manchild, but he had to admit that said steak-haired manchild had a point.

Rohan made a change in his plans; he knew the cave would likely still be there tomorrow, but he didn’t know what sort of schemes you could be thinking up to get back at him. He needed to explain why he’d gone after you to avoid making the situation worse.

~~~

[Stand Name] Crazy Diamond

[Stand Master] Josuke Higashikata

Destructive Power: A

Speed: A

Range: D

Stamina: B

Precision: B

Development Potential: C

Chapter Text

Rohan pondered your potential whereabouts as he climbed the concrete stairs.

She’s not from Morioh, so she’s likely staying in a hotel or renting out one of the summer villas. But she was covered in mud… perhaps she went to a public bath to wash off? She’d need a change of clothes, then, assuming she didn’t have one on her person already.

And if she was the one who left an anonymous tip for the police as well, she likely stopped off at an old pay phone or shop to get the number.

“That leaves three places she could be,” he muttered to himself. “The shopping district, Morioh Grand Hotel, or up by Cape Boing.”

Given they were at the beach south of Morioh Port, there was no way you could have reached the vacation homes yet unless you hailed a taxi while covered in sand and mud, so he ruled out Cape Boing.

He checked his watch. It was only 7:21 in the morning. The cafe and Sun Mart are open, but most other shops are still closed this early.

“Then the Grand Hotel it is.”

He walked back to his car and drove into town, making a stop at Café Rengatei to get an iced coffee and some food to-go, then headed to the Morioh Grand Hotel and parked at the curb. The summer sun had already risen some time ago, and it shined through his car windows and into his eyes. He put on his Gucci sunglasses, sipping iced coffee as he did, and sighed. It was going to be a long morning.

***

Morning bled into afternoon, then evening, and the sun set below the horizon. Still, no sign of the woman. In that time, Rohan had managed to plan out a new one-shot and start some character sketches while he waited.

Although… now that he looked at it, the character he sketched looked a lot like you. Windswept hair and practical clothes, she carried a supernatural backpack with her that held everything that she’d need for the day—regardless of what said day might bring. In the potential storyline he’d thought up, she reached into the bag and pulled out something rather unexpected compared to her usual routine: a designer evening gown, as well as a gift card for a full face of makeup and updo at a well-known salon.

He frowned at the sketch. There was something missing. Something about her expression he hadn’t gotten right. Was it meant to be an air of mystery? Innocence? What kind of emotion would a first encounter with this character evoke?

Perhaps she wouldn’t pull out an evening gown… a spy mission to crash a high-end party wasn’t your style.

This woman—the real one—was in Morioh for a reason, and the cave had something to do with it. The cave that had appeared randomly, that wasn’t meant to be there. You and the cave were connected someway, somehow, but he didn’t know what dots to draw lines between.

In his peripheral, he saw the door to the Grand Morioh Hotel open, and glanced up.

It was too dark to see who was there, though, and light from the hotel made them into a silhouette. Rohan was about to turn on his car headlights when the figure stopped and turned towards him. They began walking to his car.

They were of a similar build to you, and they walked with confidence and purpose. Were it not for the slight falter in their steps, he might have actually believed that confidence.

They stopped at his car door and furiously knocked on the window, other hand on a jutting hip as they shifted their weight to the side.

He rolled his window down, angling his head to peer over his sunglasses. “Yes?”

“Ok, A, you’re not cool for wearing sunglasses at night, it’s just dorky, and B, why are you following me?”

Although Rohan didn’t know what ‘dorky’ meant, it was clearly meant to be an insult. He noted your accent—foreign, unsurprisingly, but it wasn’t one he recognized. He casually took off his sunglasses. “You’re lucky I speak English. Otherwise, this would be rather awkward.”

You scoffed, pursed your lips, then hesitantly said, “Watashi wa…” you pinched your forefinger and thumb together. ”Su-sukoshi nihongo o… hanashimasu.”

He laughed haughtily. “I’d rather speak in a language we’re both fluent in. Je parle Français, si vous préférez? O forse Italiano?”

You raised your brow. “¿Hablas Español Mexicano?”

He frowned back. “Solo propiamente dicho Español.”

You rolled your eyes. “You ever heard of dialectos, huevón?”

“English it is, then.”

You were looking increasingly impatient. “Answer my original question. And don’t try to change the subject this time.”

He could practically see the adrenaline coursing through your body in the flighty way you shifted, like a morsel of prey backed into a corner. From this display alone, one might think you was all bark and no bite, but you weren’t, were you? Your bite was quite fierce; indeed, even the teeth of the tamest of field mice could draw blood.

“If you really must know, it’s about the cave you were inspecting earlier today. It’s off limits.”

Maybe he wouldn’t even need to write in your pages. Maybe he could just lie to you, and you’d stay away.

“Oh please, it’s a public beach. I’m not—”

Damn. “Heaven’s Door.”

As he summoned his Stand, you recoiled. “And what the fuck is that Caspar-looking thing?!”

“My goodness, you have a foul mouth.” He got out of his car, advancing toward you.

Interestingly enough, you didn’t bring forth your Stand as you backpedaled, tripping over the curb and falling into the bushes.

“Well now that was just unnecessary.” He crouched down as your pages were revealed. “This won’t hurt in the slightest.”

He thumbed through, skimming your information. Your name, nationality, parentage, height and weight, birth date, age–

“Well now that’s an interesting little tidbit.”

The pages weren’t capable of lying, yet your age and the current year didn’t add up. “Is that the secret of the cave? Time travel?” He’d seen more bizarre things in the past.

“Your Stand is called The Machine, and it has the ability to summon forth an arsenal of military equipment. Well now, perhaps I should contact Jotaro, you could be very dangerous.”

He watched the words on your face shift as your eyes widened.

“You wanted to go on a journey of self discovery, so you projected a world map onto a wall, spun around a few times, and shot a nerf gun at the wall. It landed on Japan, so you projected a map of Japan and did the same thing and it landed on a city—and you actually went there? I must admit, I admire your commitment to spontaneity.

“You were on a tourist boat four days ago when the water turned rough, and the boat capsized. You don’t remember anything else because you blacked out, but when you woke up, you were in front of a cave on the southern beach of Morioh. You think you might be in an alternate reality because the year and names of various locations have changed.”

Rohan sat back on his heels, rifling through your cross-body bag until he pulled out a small device that looked similar to his iPod touch. The main difference was that it was larger but slimmer.

The screen glowed to life despite lacking a home button for him to press, presenting the time and date. They were both correct, although Rohan recalled reading that such technology was connected to satellites to stay accurate. There was no slide bar to unlock it, nor did he know your passcode, so he skimmed your pages until he found it.

He went to put the device back, but it slipped in his hands. Whatever he did was enough to trigger the screen into changing, and a new pop up appeared, this time demanding something called face id or your passcode.

“Face ID?” He glanced over at your still open pages. “Well, if this is yours…”

He hovered the device over your face, and to his surprise, it actually worked.

The homepage was also similar to that of his iPod touch, albeit with simplified app logos. ”Fascinating.”

Rohan grabbed his pen and quickly wrote onto the pages on your arm, ‘Will comply with any of Rohan Kishibe’s requests regarding her device.’

He also added the usual, ‘Cannot harm Rohan Kishibe’ for good measure, then closed your pages and withdrew Heaven’s Door.

Before you could get in a word, he held up the device and said, “Tell me what this is.”

~~~

[Stand Name] Heaven’s Door

[Stand Master] Rohan Kishibe

Destructive Power: D

Speed: B

Range: B

Stamina: B

Precision: C

Development Potential: A

Chapter Text

“Tell me what this is.”

You had absolutely zero plans on doing so, but the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them. “It’s an iPhone.”

You tried to snatch your phone back, but the strange man held it out of your reach. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“No! Give me back my–”

“What is an iPhone?”

You were still trying to mentally recover from witnessing your skin peel back into paper that apparently revealed everything this person wanted to know about you, as well as having your privacy invaded in a way you hadn’t imagined was even possible, when words started spilling out of your mouth again. “It’s a kind of smart phone.”

“What’s a smart phone?”

“A phone… except smart? I don’t understand the question.”

“Like a mobile phone?”

“Yes, like a mobile phone.” You covered your own mouth before you could say anything else. What exactly had he done to you?

You glanced at your arm, expecting to see ink, but your skin only had some dirt on it.

“Are you staying here?” the man continued.

You pressed your hands against your lips harder, expecting the answer to come out even though you didn’t want to tell him, but you thankfully stayed silent.

“Hm. I should write a command to make you answer all of my questions. Heaven’s Do–”

“No!” You had no idea what he meant by that, but it didn’t sound good. “I mean– I’ll answer your questions. Just please don’t turn me into a book again. I like my skin staying on my body.” You looked fearfully at the little ghost guy beside him.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, it doesn’t actually come off.” The ghost disappeared back into his body again as he stood. “Thanks to you, I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, so why don’t we go out and get dinner together and chat? It’ll be my treat. I just want to know about the cave you were going to this morning.” He offered you his hand. “My name is Rohan Kishibe, by the way. You may call me Kishibe. I’m a resident here in Morioh.”

You narrowed your eyes. You didn’t want to take his hand, but this Rohan Kishibe guy, assuming that was his real name, still had your phone. It was a miracle it survived the ocean mostly unscathed, and you didn’t want to lose it. It was the last tie you had to reality.

You reluctantly took his hand and let him hoist you up. You were hungry; you’d been skipping meals in an attempt to save funds while you figured out what was going on. “You’ll pay?”

“As long as you don’t plan on eating the entire town’s stock, yes.” He eyed you suspiciously. “I have money, if that’s what you’re worried about. Although I was recently broke after purchasing an entire mountain, I’ve made enough from my recent manga sales to be able to afford to dine out again.”

A less-than-subtle flex, you noted.

“There’s no need to get any belongings from your room, so come along now. Tonio’s might still be open, though I can’t promise we’ll be served immediately.” Kishibe Rohan ushered you around his car, even being a gentleman and opening the door so he could half-shove you into the passenger seat.

Alarm bells were going off in your head as you watched him hurry back around the car and get in on the other side. Basic survival instinct told you not to go with this strange man, but the need for food was too strong to ignore, so you buckled your seatbelt. “Can I have my phone back now?”

“Your iPhone? No, I’ll be keeping it for now.” He slipped it into his bag before putting it in the backseat.

Instantaneous panic set in. “Why?”

“For inspiration for my manga. I’m an artist and a writer, you see, a very popular one, and I’m always looking for new ideas. Fear not, I’ll give it back in perfect working order.”

Even if he broke it then somehow managed to fix it, all the data would be lost. All of your photos, notes, messages, saved voicemails, music, and apps would be lost to the ether.

You glanced to the backseat and saw a sketchpad as well as a notebook with writing scrawled across it. The open page of the sketchpad was dominated by a woman who looked suspiciously like you. She had the same hair color and style, similar features—although her lips were the wrong shape—and clothes almost identical to the ones you were wearing.

He said he has money, you thought. So you did something bold and potentially incredibly stupid for someone already getting a free meal from a stranger. “You owe me a new set of clothes, by the way.”

He laughed out loud. “You’re the one that fell in the marsh.”

“You’re the one that chased me.”

“Would you like a meal, or would you rather just watch me eat mine?”

You remained silent.

“Thought so.”

~~~

Rohan tapped his finger on the steering wheel as he drove, his mind racing. How audacious of her!

Depriving you of a meal was an empty threat, but he wasn’t going to tell you that. In the brief moment that he’d seen you under the car’s interior lighting, you looked haggard beyond belief. Your clothes hung off of your frame, and he wondered if you hadn’t eaten much today, either.

Besides… he had considered buying you a new set of clothes anyway as payment for the inspiration. Your current clothes were very clearly the same ones from this morning, albeit wrung out and dried.

“Are you staying at the Morioh Grand Hotel?”he asked. Now that he thought about it, he’d never actually read that you were.

“…Sort of.”

“What does that mean? You came out of the lobby.”

“I don’t have a room there, if that’s what you want to know. A woman saw me walking covered in marsh gunk and offered to drive me back to where I was staying, so I just let her take me to the hotel and washed off my clothes in the lobby bathroom…”

“Why didn’t you just redirect her to where you are staying?”

You were silent.

Rohan said your name to try to get your attention and glanced over. You were fidgeting and looking out the window, anxiety clearly written across your profile. He briefly wished he could stop driving and take a photo of it to use as a reference.

A realization dawned on him. “Have you been staying out on the streets?”

He heard the smallest possible “yes,” exit your mouth. Like it was some sort of pitiful, embarrassing admission—pitiful, yes, but embarrassing? Knowing the circumstances of your arrival in Morioh, no.

Normally, a man of his caliber would never even consider housing someone else. They’d interrupt his routine, raise his bills, and be a general nuisance, but a woman who was from the future and potentially an alternate reality? That was worthy of making an exception.

He’d see how you behaved at dinner before he made up his mind.

“How did you know the car was mine?”

“I saw you sitting in it. You have no other reason to hold a stake out on a hotel as far as I’m aware, so I figured you’d tracked me down.”

Rohan parked his car in front of Trattoria Trussardi. “This is my friend Tonio’s restaurant. It’s late, but he owes me a favor, so maybe he’ll be willing to serve us.”

Rohan was only half-shocked the door opened. The restaurant had established hours, but Tonio was also the kind of man to open house if someone was in desperate enough need of food. Still, it was long past what most would consider a reasonable time to have a meal.

“What does ‘diner dependent’ mean?”

Rohan had momentarily forgotten his guest. You’d followed him in so quietly, he thought you were still in the car.

“Tonio? Are you back here?” He poked his head into the kitchen doorway, careful not to cross the threshold and risk dirtying the pristine room with his presence. He understood and respected his friend’s uptightness when it came to having the ideal workspace.

“Rohan! What brings you here so late?” Tonio greeted with a large smile. He was busy sanitizing the counters while Vergina washed dishes.

Tonio set down his cleaning supplies and took off his gloves, leaving the kitchen to speak with Rohan where it was quieter.

“I know it’s past your usual closing time, but I was hoping you’d be willing to do me a favor.”

“Of course, friend! Suffering from eye strain again?” He glanced behind Rohan’s shoulder, then his face lit up. “You have someone with you today! What a rarity!” Tonio rushed past him in favor of striking up conversation with you, and the look of bewilderment on your face bordered on entertaining.

His friend not only had a knack for diagnosing ailments, but also for knowing what language to speak to his customers in before they even said anything. “Welcome to my restaurant, signorina! My name is Tonio. I’m the owner and chef, along with my fiancée, Vergina.”

As if on cue, Vergina came out of the kitchen. Her jaw dropped at the sight. “Rohan, you never told me you were friends with a woman!”

Rohan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I know plenty of women. I just don’t like to waste time on things not related to my work.” How had this so quickly turned into highlighting the fact he was single by choice? He thought he’d only have to deal with these type of conversations with his family.

Vergina raised a brow. “Your fans don’t count, Rohan.” She turned to you and grabbed your wrist. “Goodness, you’re tiny! Amore mio, we must feed this girl.” Rohan watched as she and Tonio half-dragged you over to one of the set tables. “What is your name, signorina? I promise you, my fiancé’s dishes will have you feeling better in no time at all.”

“I–”

Before you could get a word in, Vergina turned to Rohan. “Oh, is she a Stand user? It’s been so long since I’ve met a new Stand user!”

Vergina, despite lacking a Stand of her own, was encapsulated by the concept of their power. Were there any Stand arrows left in Morioh, Rohan was certain she would’ve used one on herself by now.

“A Stand?” you blurted before Rohan could change the subject. “He said that earlier.”

Damn it, Rohan though. He didn’t want to reveal that information to you yet. It was one less card he could play.

“Yes, she is,” he admitted. “Her Stand is called The Machine. I don’t think it’s very developed, though.”

Vergina clasped her hand together in joy. “Wonderful! What kind of Stand is it? Can you summon it for us? Tonio is also a Stand user, you see. He uses his power in his cooking to heal people. He removed a tumor I had with it!”

Ever since he and Tonio’s poaching quest, Vergina had recovered and become lively and boisterous; she was a woman who loved life and intended to live it to the fullest.

“Have him read your palm. He uses holistic methods, no doctors or medications necessary.”

Tonio turned red at his fiancée’s praise. “I’m just glad that I am able to help others. If I may?”

Rohan saw you glance over to him. What did you want? An ‘ok’? Reassurance? “Well? Go on. He needs to look at you to know what you need help with.”

The room was silent save the faint sound of Italian opera playing from the kitchen as you held out your hand, palm up, to Tonio. Vergina watched in fascination as he inspected it.

“You underwent a great trauma recently. Since then, you’ve had trouble sleeping and been very stressed.“ He froze, blue eyes widening with shock. Even the music stopped as if to hear the rest of the diagnosis. “Signorina, are you aware you have walking pneumonia?”

Rohan immediately recoiled. He grabbed a cloth napkin and covered his nose and mouth with it.

“You have walking pneumonia?!” he exclaimed. And he’d let you in his car!

He was going to have to disinfect everything you’d touched. Damn it, he was probably already infected as well, given that you’d been speaking to each other and breathing the same air.

Tonio’s dishes would cure you as long as he had the right ingredients, but Vergina would most definitely demand Rohan house you so you could rest properly. He was disinclined to let you stay with him if he was going to be pressured into being a nursemaid.

Were you already sick when your boat capsized? A contagious illness was one thing, but a contagious illness from a different reality was another thing entirely.

~~~

[Stand Name] Pearl Jam

[Stand Master] Tonio Trussardi

Destructive Power: E

Speed: C

Range: B

Stamina: A

Precision: E

Development Potential: C

Chapter Text

How could a chef diagnose you with walking pneumonia via palm reading of all things? Was this the power of the thing called a Stand?

“I feel fine,” you responded to Tonio’s question.

“Tonio, am I infected as well?” Kishibe asked through a cloth napkin he’d dramatically pressed against his face.

As Kishibe held out his own palm to be read, the woman named Vergina slapped his wrist. “Be patient! It’s called walking pneumonia for a reason, you will not die because you existed near someone with it!”

“I won’t die, but I could get sick!”

You surmised that some of his panic was due to the implication of you being from another reality. Some years ago, you watched a documentary—was it released, or even filmed, yet in this world?—for biology class about viruses and how they spread through foreign groups. There was a chance that what felt like a simple cold to you could be catastrophic for whoever else caught it here. Alternatively, if it was from here, you could die because your immune system didn’t have the antibodies to fight it off.

Tonio traced one of the lines of your palm. “Ah, I see, it is still in the incubation period, so you wouldn’t know you were infected unless a doctor tested a mucus sample.” He smiled warmly at you. “With my Stand, Pearl Jam, I don’t have any need to do that.”

Tonio then accepted Kishibe’s palm and read it. “You also have it, Rohan.”

Kishibe—or should you call him Rohan? You weren’t sure anymore—visibly started to freak out more. “How long have I been infected?”

“Incubation periods vary so I can’t be certain, but you will be affected sooner, meaning you’ve likely had it for longer.”

Catastrophic for me, then, you thought.

Kishibe noticeably calmed down and placed his napkin on the table again. “So you’re saying she was infected by me, yes?”

“Most likely.”

“That’s… slightly better. Do you have the ingredients to make a cure?”

Tonio was quiet for a time.

“Caro?” Vergina asked.

“I have never tried to cure a disease while it was still incubating, but I have the ingredients.” With that, he jumped up, his brow creased in determination. “I will make a meal for you.” He then spoke to Vergina, saying something in Italian too fast for you to make out.

“Sì, amore!” she called, standing up as well. She smiled down at you. “We’ll make you something delizioso, my friends. It will be like you were never sick at all!”

You watched her trot off after her fiancé, humming along to the radio playing in the kitchen.

You sighed a long, loud sigh. You set yourself up for an adventure of self-discovery, not whatever this was turning out to be. And this Rohan Kishibe guy still had your phone.

“So,” he began. As if knowing your thoughts, he pulled out your phone. “Tell me about this smart phone of yours. Is it like an iPod touch?”

“It’s been a while since I heard that phrase.” You didn’t want to reveal too much, but you felt strangely compelled to answer his question. “Essentially, yes. It has the talking and texting capabilities of your basic flip phone, plus it can play music, take photos, and you can play games if you want to. There’s other stuff as well.”

“Really? How interesting.” He placed your phone on the table screen-up, clearly observing your movements to see how you would react. “How do you turn it on? There’s no power button.”

You could easily snatch your phone away right then, but quite honestly, you wanted to stay on the good side of this strange man. “Oh, it’s on the right side now.” You’d already noticed that you felt compelled to answer every question he asked regarding your phone, and he’d also said that he could write commands with his Stand. You wanted the book-ified version of yourself to remain as unedited as possible.

His brow furrowed. “Well, now that’s just foolish, having it opposite the volume buttons. What if you intend to press one, but instead press the other or both?”

You shrugged. You’d long accepted the design alteration made by the great tech overlords. “Yeah, a lot of people didn’t like that change. Or the loss of the headphone jack.”

“They removed the–?” Kishibe looked at the bottom of your phone. “My god, they removed the headphone jack. How do you listen to music?!”

“Well, there’s specific earbuds you can buy that have a lightning cable, or you can buy a third-party adapter, but then you can only use earbuds or charge your phone. There’s also Bluetooth headphones or airpods, but you need to charge those separately.”

“So no matter what, it’s terrible for consumers but benefits the seller?” Kishibe sneered and crossed his arms. “I hate companies like that. Imagine if I made art only for my own benefit, squeezed my fans dry by inconveniencing them under the guise of a new product. It’s morally corrupt.”

“Oh. That’s called A.I. art.”

Kishibe stared at you. “A.I. what?”

“A.I. art.”

“A.I. what?”

“A.I.,” you said for a third time, overenunciating the letters. “Art. Art generated by artificial intelligence.”

Silence stretched between you, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. You had the urge to wave your hand in front of Kishibe’s face to make sure he was still functioning. It honestly looked like something in his brain had broken.

“But that’s not how art works!” he said, making you jump a little at the volume of his voice. “Art is created with emotion! With experience and soul! A machine can’t produce art on its own, it can only copy it!”

You sat back, letting him go on a rant that lasted at least five minutes. His face turned bright red with rage, and it wasn’t until your phone beeped from a notification that he stopped.

The screen glowed to life as you received a text from your best friend.

How is Japan?

You both stared at the phone, even as it faded back into sleep mode.

Vergina came out of the kitchen with a pitcher of water. “Your food will be ready in ten minutes tops,” she informed you as she filled both of your glasses. “Goodness, Rohan, are you feeling alright? You look feverish.” Unprompted, she put her palm to Kishibe’s forehead, cheek, the back of his neck, then his forehead again.

He waved her off. “Yes, I’m feeling fine. Just a hot flash from stress. I get them from time to time.”

“Should I tell Tonio? I’m certain he could make you something for it.”

“No, that’s not necessary. It’ll be over in a moment.”

You were surprised by how unbothered he appeared by Vergina’s mini checkup. He didn’t strike you as a man who liked being touched without permission.

As she returned to the kitchen, he cleared his throat. “I apologize for the tirade. I didn’t realize how spirited I’d become.”

“You and many others.”

You glanced back at your phone. How did I receive a text notification? Should you ask him if you can look at it? Or would that count as ‘manga inspiration’, and thus be off-limits?

“Well, go on, don’t leave us both waiting in anticipation.”

Your brow creased in confusion. Could he see your thoughts, too?

“Oh please, I don’t even need Heaven’s Door to know you want to look at your iPhone.”

“Just call it a phone,” you grumbled and picked it up. Were you really that easy to read?

Kishibe stood up so he could view it from over your shoulder.

The screen lit up when you tapped it. Yes, there still was a text from your best friend. So I can receive texts from the present for some reason.

You unlocked your phone and opened your messages, almost expecting it to actually blow up.

What should you say? It needed to be casual, and most importantly, believable. Oh, I was on a boat that capsized and woke up in an alternate reality. It’s 2007 rn, wasn’t going to work.

She’d likely gotten the read receipt already—maybe?—so there was no going back. You opened the camera and held your phone up to take a selfie with Kishibe. “Smile and do something Japanese-y,” you said sardonically.

He went along with it well enough, striking a strange pose that looked like something out of a Vogue magazine.

You inwardly cringed at your own appearance but snapped the photo with a smile anyway. You definitely looked worse for wear and needed a shower. Public baths were a thing in Japan, but you didn’t have any soap to wash with. The best you could do was hand soap in the lobby bathroom at the hotel this morning.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you pondered what to say, eventually typing out a message and hitting the little blue up arrow to send it after the photo.

I made a friend! We’re getting some Italian food together :)

You haven’t even been there a week and you already have a man 😮‍💨

I’m lowkey jealous girl he’s a cutie

You rolled your eyes and smiled, briefly letting yourself forget your predicament. Just for a moment, you could pretend that you were in normal old Japan getting Italian food with a friend you’d made.

“I see people have gone back to using full words in English,” Kishibe commented.

You assumed he was talking about back in the era of flip phones, when people would eliminate as many letters as possible to make texting with the keypad easier. “Mostly, yeah. Some abbreviations are still used, but when you have access to a full keyboard and autocorrect, people prefer to type stuff out.”

What’s your friend’s name?

You were about to type it out, but paused. Should you spell it in Japanese? Or romanize it?

Kishibe snatched the phone away from you and began furiously typing, his fingers flying across the screen with surprising speed given his lack of experience.

Although he had mentioned the iPod touch, so maybe he did have experience?

You tried to take your phone back again, but he elbowed you to stop your hands from getting in his way. He stoutly refused to let you even touch it until he was done typing and had sent the text.

“Here. That should be a good enough introduction.” He handed your phone back to you.

His name is Kishibe Rohan. He’s a famous mangaka, so most people call him Rohan-sensei. Names work differently in Japanese culture, so technically his name in English is Rohan Kishibe, but he hasn’t given me permission to call him by his given name. My Japanese is so shit he doesn’t even make me use honorifics LOL

You stared at the screen in horror. “I do not talk like that! And why did you capitalize lol?”

“Because it’s an acronym.” He casually sat back down. “Do people not still capitalize those?”

“Only in the dictionary,” you informed him. “It’s slang.”

You heard the little swoosh sound as your friend replied.

Why are you proud of that 💀

You quickly typed out an explanation.

He took my phone and texted his own intro 💀

😭

Ok wait that’s actually kinda cute tho

A moment passed, and then you received another text.

Wait how old is he that he capitalized lol??

“Hey, how old are you?”

“That’s an extremely rude question to ask.” Kishibe crossed his arms.

You shrugged. “I can guess if you want.”

He narrowed his eyes.

Idk like 30?

“I am not 30!” he cried, even more offended than he was at being asked his age in the first place.

You looked at him from across the table, confused as to how he could see what you’d typed given he wasn’t looking over your shoulder anymore.

At first, you thought the yellow glow that seemed to limn his body was your imagination. It didn’t cast shadows nor reflect off any surface, but now you were certain you’d seen it before. It was exactly the same as the glow you’d seen around him when you were at the beach and the hotel.

You felt a presence behind you and turned your head. There, floating over your shoulder, was the little ghost guy.

“Holy shit!” It startled you so much you accidentally threw your phone at it, and to your surprise, it actually hit the thing square in the face before falling to the floor.

Kishibe let out a loud holler, and you whipped your head back around to look over at him. He was leaning forward and holding his nose, his expression one of pain. You saw bright red blood drip between his hands.

You looked at the ghost guy again—Kishibe had called it Heaven’s Door?—but it was gone now. As was the dim glow that had surrounded Kishibe’s body.

You quickly picked up your phone and put it in your bag, the conversation with your friend in the present day forgotten. “Are you okay?! What happened?!”

He said something in Japanese that you in no way shape or form understood. It was probably curse words, though.

Vergina came rushing out of the kitchen, likely to see the cause of the sudden commotion. “Rohan Kishibe, did you scare this poor girl with your Stand?!” she scolded. Was this something that had happened before?

Vergina scolded Kishibe some more in Italian, forcing him to tilt his head back and pinch his nose bridge with a cloth napkin as she did so. “I’ll ask Tonio to make you something for your nose.”

She sighed as she walked back, one hand smeared with some of Kishibe’s blood and shaking her head. You heard her mutter, “Aye yai yai, coglione.”

“For future reference,” Kishibe said, his voice nasally as he glared at you. “Don’t throw things at Heaven’s Door.”

“I didn’t–”

He held up a blood-smeared hand to stop you from speaking. “A Stand is a manifestation of the user’s soul. Anything a Stand feels, the user will also feel.”

Tonio came out a few minutes later. He balanced a tray with two dishes on it on one hand and held a glass of iced tea in the other. He placed the tea down in front of Kishibe. “For your nosebleed, my friend, an herbal tea blend. Drink it, then cleanse your pallet with water before you eat the rest of your meal.”

Kishibe awkwardly angled his head to drink the iced tea while still holding his nose bridge, gulping it down like it was the first drink he’d had in days. He finished it by the time both plates were on the table, and when he removed the cloth napkin, you were fascinated to find that the dried blood that should have been smeared on his face was gone.

“Thank you, Tonio. I greatly appreciate you going out of your way to make us something to eat. I know it’s late.”

Tonio gave him a warm smile. “Think nothing of it. You helped me and Vergina in our time of need; this is the least I can do to repay you.”

Kishibe stood after drinking some water. “I’m going to wash the blood off of my hands.” He turned to you. “Don’t wait for me to eat. I know you must be hungry, too.”

The dish in front of you smelled heavenly, and your mouth watered. Even if he hadn't graciously allowed you to break etiquette and eat without him, you likely would have anyway.

“I’ve prepared a traditional cheese tortellini for you and infused it with my stand power. If it is able to fight off the infection, you will feel Pearl Jam’s ability take effect.”

“Thank you.”

Tonio smiled at you. He gingerly picked up Kishibe’s bloody napkin by a clean corner and replaced it with one that had also been on the tray, then returned to the kitchen.

You quickly took your fork and dug in, closing your eyes and savoring the flavors as they hit your tongue. Maybe it was because you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while, or maybe it was the skills of a master chef, or maybe it was an aspect of his stand’s power… but this was by far the best food you had ever eaten in your entire life. The natural flavors of the fresh ingredients melded with the herbs and spices to create a texture and taste unlike any other. The sauce moistened the pasta without over-saturating it, and the mild heat of what you suspected was red pepper balanced out the subtle sweetness of some sort of something you couldn’t identify. Were you not already eating the tortellini, you were convinced you’d be actually drooling over it.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of a photo being taken that you noticed Kishibe’s return.

You would have assumed that he’d taken a picture of his own food were it not for the fact that his iPod touch was angled up at you.

Heat suffused your cheeks. You choked on a bit of diced tomato and had to drink some water to wash it down.

“Enjoying your food?” he asked casually, a look of mild amusement on his face.

You licked some wayward sauce from your lips, then grabbed your napkin and tried to daintily wipe your mouth as you nodded. How long had he been watching?

“And how are you feeling?”

You drank more water, willing the blush on your face to dissipate. “Fine… what did you take a picture of?”

“You, of course,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?” You ate another forkful. Usually, you had better table manners, but you just couldn’t get enough of this tortellini.

He tilted his head, apparently confused, and took a bit of his own food. He chewed it for what seemed like far longer than necessary, then drank some water.

“For future artistic reference. I’ve never seen someone eat food so…” He paused, mulling over the right adjective. “Wolfishly before.”

You should probably be offended by his comment, but strangely, you weren’t. Probably because he was the reason you were eating such good food in the first place. He’d said it so earnestly, like you were a fascination—an oddity worthy of he, Rohan Kishibe’s, exploration.

“You don’t feel at all sick? Or in any pain?”

You eyed him suspiciously and shook your head as you scraped up the last morsels of sauce. You were incredibly tempted to lick the dishware clean like an actual dog.

Kishibe gave a noncommittal hum in response, then began to eat his own food in earnest.

You drank the rest of your water, sitting back and sighing in contentment. “Thanks for the meal. I’ve never had something that good before.”

Kishibe nodded. “You said you have nowhere to stay, correct?”

Your phone very conveniently went off right as he asked, so you were able to at least avoid his weirdly-piercing green eyes as you replied, “A park bench.”

“Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll even write out a contract if you want.”

You noticed the twinge of discomfort in his facial expression. “What do you want?” you asked.

“To put it simply, you’re a treasure trove of inspiration for a mangaka like myself. I write suspense horror, and the first-hand account of your trauma is as close to the real deal I can get without experiencing it myself. Not to mention, you come from a different reality, which can be the seed of inspiration in its own right. Excuse me,” Kishibe cringed, gripping his ribs. “I advise you look away if you don’t want to witness any gore. I do believe Pearl Jam is beginning to work.”

“What? What do you mean? Are you ok? Should I get Tonio?”

“There’s no need for that, I’ll be fine in a few moments.” He offered you his iPod touch, the camera app already open. “Would you do me a favor and start a recording? You can look away after that.”

You robotically took it and started to record, arm steady like your life depended on getting the best quality recording possible. Through the screen, you watched Kishibe begin to cough, pushing his chair back as it grew worse.

“Are you sure–?”

He gave you a wordless thumbs up.

You screamed in horror as blood spurt out of his chest, droplets landing on your face and hands as his ribs tore through muscle, skin, and clothes alike, exposing his chest cavity to the world. Little creatures that looked similar to apples pulled his lungs out and ripped them open, eating away at the inner lining before shoving them back into his chest cavity. They put his ribs back in place like a set of double doors closing and folded the skin back over, then flew off into the kitchen.

You dropped the iPod and ran over to Kishibe, expecting him to be battered and bloody, but he appeared perfectly fine. There wasn’t even any sign of damage to his clothing.

Without thinking, you pulled his shirt up to reveal his chest. There were no cuts or bruises or anything, just planes of muscle covered by pale, unblemished skin.

You felt along his skin, noticing that the blood that had definitely splattered on the back of your hand was no longer there. “What…”

He took you by the wrists and removed your shaking palms from his chest. “I’d tell you to ask me to dinner first, but we’re already here, aren’t we?”

Despite the cool response, when you looked at his face, he was blushing.

The realization of your current position dawned on you and you recoiled, your face heating in embarrassment. Did you really just do that?? Did you blatantly grope a near-stranger??

“That was Pearl Jam’s power. Did Tonio not warn you?”

Chapter Text

Rohan hadn’t been felt up that abruptly since his high school days. Sure, it was for a completely different reason, but the point still stood. His body was having quite the reaction, blood rushing to his face—and elsewhere—from your insistent touching.

The look of concern and fear on your face was so… endearing. It was fear for him, for his safety and health. He wished you hadn’t dropped his iPod touch; he wanted to take a picture of your expression. “You knew that was going to happen?!” you exclaimed, the slightest hint of tears glistening in your eyes.

He raised a brow. “Of course, that’s why I asked you to record it.”

He was absolutely not prepared for the moment you yanked your wrist from his loose grasp and smacked him in the head. The force from the collision of your palm and his skull was enough to knock his headband down into his eyes. “Ow! What was that for?!”

He already knew, of course. It wasn’t exactly difficult to figure out.

“For being an asshole!” You pulled your other hand free—Rohan hadn’t even realized he was still holding your wrist—and grabbed your bag. “I’m using the bathroom.” You stomped off into the hallway, stopped, turned around in a huff, and asked, “Where is the bathroom?”

“Down the hall, on the left,” he supplied with ease.

You pursed your lips. “Thank you,” you said reluctantly, then went on your way, still pouting.

Rohan caught himself smiling as he fixed his headband.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Tonio asked as he collected the emptied dishes and refilled your water.

“Nothing of the sort. I hardly know her.”

Tonio raised a brow. “Getting dinner with a woman you hardly know? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Rohan eyed his friend. “Don’t you play coy. I know Vergina was eavesdropping from the kitchen. Why didn’t you warn her about Pearl Jam?”

Tonio shrugged. “How many people do you think would eat my food if I told them their bodies may be torn open and repaired by an unseen force?”

“Fair enough. And she was entirely unaffected?”

“Other than much needed nutrition, no. My Stand did not work on her.”

Rohan nodded and paid for both of your meals. “I have a theory as to why it didn’t work on her. She’s not from here; in fact, I’m conducting a bit of an investigation on her right now. That’s why I want to keep her close.”

“Another reality, Vergina tells me?”

“I’m not positive I believe that part, but her pages aren’t lying about her being from the future. She should be a child.”

“Then the child version of her is living somewhere else on earth?”

“That would make the most sense. I might be able to find a digital trail of her parents or other family members if they use social media.”

“Do you truly plan on letting her stay with you?”

Rohan sighed, weighing his options. “It’s that, or get the Speedwagon Foundation involved, but I don’t have the same connections that Jotaro or that punk do.”

Tonio frowned. “ That punk is a protector of our home, Rohan.”

“That punk once almost killed me for insulting his ridiculous hair and, on an entirely separate occasion, set my house ablaze. He has the ability to fix anything, yet he didn’t bother even offering to do any repairs. I could have avoided the whole fiasco with that stand Cheap Trick and saved thousands in yen if he’d done me such a basic curtesy.”

~~~

You looked at yourself in the mirror, cringing in horror. You looked even worse than you did in your camera.

Tonio was a chef, so he’d likely have disinfecting soap, right? Maybe you could ask for a bar and go to a public bath. It wouldn’t be the highest quality wash of your life, but you would at least be clean.

You looked at your phone after drying your hands. It was already 8:43. Maybe Kishibe would be willing to let you crash on his couch while you looked for a job? But who would accept foreigners? You didn’t exactly have a green card, and all of your identification would seem fake.

Whatever Pearl Jam had done to Kishibe hadn’t happened to you, either, so you were likely still sick. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” you muttered to yourself, and exited the bathroom.

“Silver lining, my friend,” you heard the chef say as you walked down the hallway. “Thanks to your clever thinking, a near-invincible enemy Stand was destroyed with minimal casualties.”

“It was rather clever of me, wasn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. Of course Kishibe would pick up on the part that stroked his ego. Wait, minimal casualties? Enemy Stand? Do people use them for nefarious reasons? Now that you thought about it, Heaven’s Door wasn’t exactly a “good” Stand, Kishibe had used it to invade your privacy and write commands to make you do things against your will.

But Pearl Jam helped Kishibe, albeit in a very violent manner. Maybe it depended on the Stand user?

What about your Stand?

“Took you long enough,” Kishibe said as you rounded the corner. He was looking at his iPod touch. “This is a very good video, by the way. You have a steady hand.”

“Oh, um… thanks, I guess. I’m gonna have nightmares, so I hope it was worth it.”

“Nightmares?” You in no way shape or form liked the way he perked up at the prospect. “You should start keeping a dream journal. I won’t read it unless you give me permission.”

You stared at him. “Right. I definitely believe that.” You turned to Tonio. “I know this is a weird request, but… do you by any chance have a bar of anti-bacterial soap?”

“Is the bathroom out of soap?”

“No… no, I mean for–” You felt your cheeks heat with a blush. “You know what, nevermind. Forget I asked.” I should’ve just taken the bar from the bathroom. Of course, you didn’t want to steal, but you were a little desperate.

“If you need to shower, you can at my apartment, if you so wish.” Kishibe offered, having apparently picked up on the intent of your request. Your face only grew warmer.

Part of you wanted to say, ‘yes! Absolutely, I would love that!’ but the other part was hesitant to give this man any more leverage over you. “You mentioned a contract?”

Kishibe stood. “We’ll be on our way, Tonio. I appreciate the meal.”

Tonio smiled at you both. “Come back any time you please, my friends. Have a good evening.”

“Your cooking is delicious,” you said and thanked him one last time, then left the restaurant with Kishibe.

The drive to his apartment was surprisingly comfortable; Morioh Cho Radio played quietly as the town settled in for the night. The hum of the engine and the warm sea breeze blowing in from the cracked window lulled you into a gentle snooze.

~~~

Rohan glanced over at you, then back at the road.

Then he had to glance at you again for a longer period of time to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

Unfortunately, they weren’t. You were indeed asleep—or at the very least pretending to be—and your Stand had revealed itself.

What he assumed was its eye glowed like a red laser point, and it currently sat perched on your lap, staring at him.

“I have no intent on hurting her. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” So why show itself?

It was difficult to tell, but it looked like some sort of miniature flying vehicle, with four propellers and a center region that had a camera on it.

“You’re wholly different from the flashbang that hit me this morning…” he said partially to The Machine, partially to himself. “Has it already evolved to a new act?”

The camera lens rotated as if to better focus.

What the hell happened to her that her soul manifested into something so military-based? A civilian shouldn’t have a Stand ability this aggressive unless they themselves are.

Rohan pondered the possibilities. As his mind wandered, he thought of Yoshikage Kira and Killer Queen, and of their combined destructive capabilities. An official investigation was never completed so there was no victim count, but the number was likely in the hundreds.

Rohan tapped his finger on the steering wheel. Yes, he was likely going to have to contact Jotaro… which meant going through Higashikata. Just great.

He pulled into a resident-designated parking spot at his apartment building. It wasn’t anywhere near as nice as his old place, but he’d had to sell that for the sake of purchasing Mutsu-kabe Hill. After staying at the Hirose’s for a few weeks, he found a cheap apartment in downtown Morioh while he re-amassed his wealth.

Rohan unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted to face you. He said your name, but you didn’t respond. He swallowed nervously.

Your Stand was out in the open, but you were asleep. Perhaps he could read about more of your life? It might answer his question, and this would be the best time to do so.

He summoned Heaven’s Door, who proceeded to cower behind his shoulder. Its artistically-drawn green eyes, the same shade as his, were wide with fear.

Rohan looked back at Heaven’s Door. “Am I going to have to negotiate with my own Stand?”

It hesitantly flew forward, going over to the rear-view mirror and turning it so Rohan had view of his reflection. Only now did he see the little red dot trained on his forehead.

“Shit.”

~~~

[Stand Name] The Machine

[Stand Master] You

Destructive Power: ?

Speed: ?

Range: ?

Stamina: ?

Precision: ?

Development Potential: ?

Chapter Text

You woke with a start. The car was parked, and Kishibe was gone.

Well, gone was a bit of a stretch. He was outside the car, splayed on the ground like he’d scrambled out of his seat backward.

His hair was messy, his headband crooked, and his eyes were wide in bewilderment. His chest heaved like he was hyperventilating. Overall, it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

You rubbed your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Your Stand… it defied my writing.”

You squinted at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I wrote in your pages that you could not harm me. I write it in practically every Stand user I encounter. How did you defy it?!”

You unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your bag, getting out of the car. “What are you talking about? You saw my Stand?”

By the time you rounded the car to help him, Kishibe was already standing up and brushing himself off. “Yes. It appeared when you fell asleep. It’s highly defensive, as I’ve just discovered.” He ran his fingers through his hair and took a few controlled deep breaths to collect himself. “Anyway, welcome to my apartment building.”

You noticed a bad scrape on his hand. “You’re hurt! I’m so sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.”

He gawked. “What? No, this was enlightening! I had the rare opportunity to see a Stand before its own user has! And one with different forms, too!” In mere moments, his fear had warped into excitement.

“Different forms?”

“Yes.” He opened the back door of his car and collected his things, putting the notebook, sketchpad, and drawing supplies in his bag. “What I encountered when your Stand awakened was different from what I saw just now.”

When my Stand awakened? That was another thing you were going to have to add to the ongoing note you had in your phone.

You followed Kishibe into his apartment building and over to an elevator, boarding and going to the top floor. He led you to door 402 and unlocked it.

“Do you have a change of clothes? If not, you can borrow some of mine.” He flicked on the lights to his apartment, and you both walked in.

“You’d be okay with that?”

He toed off his shoes and put them in a side closet, once again looking at you like you had three heads. “I know how you arrived in Morioh.”

“I know that–”

“And,” he continued, speaking over you, “That’s the only reason I am being so charitable. That, and because you’re a wellspring of inspiration.”

You weren’t sure whether to be grateful, offended, or both. “Um… ok, then.”

You saw him eye your boots. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but in Japan, it’s customary to take off your shoes before entering someone’s house.”

You remembered reading that somewhere. “Feel free to tell me if I break any other customs.”

He laughed as you crouched to untie your bootlaces. “You’ve already broken plenty, but I will do my best to bestow you with the knowledge of common Japanese etiquette. To start, why don’t you call me Rohan-sensei? Most other people do.”

You took off your boots and followed his lead of putting them in the closet, trying to discern any possible subtext to his statement. Sensei meant master, right? You’d heard the word used in context of martial arts teachers. “I am not calling you master.”

“A shame,” he sighed. You half expected him to demand you show him your hands so he could smack your knuckles with a ruler.

“Can I call you Rohan? I mean, my Japanese is so shit that you don’t make me use honorifics anyway.”

He perked up. “Ah, speaking of that. I can use Heaven’s Door on you to make you speak fluent Japanese. I’m certain that would make life easier?”

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“You look too excited to be doing it for entirely selfless reasons.”

He raised a brow. “Well now, aren’t you shrewd.” He didn’t sound upset that you’d figured him out. “I only have one bed and the guest room is a workspace, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Beats a park bench.”

“I figured. Now, since you’ll be staying here, I do so kindly request you bathe before you have the opportunity to dirty anything.”

“Happily.”

The bathroom was conveniently placed right next to the entrance, so all you had to do was take a few steps to get to it—part of it, anyway. Apparently it was normal in Japan to have the bathroom broken up into multiple different spaces. The toilet was in its own room called a water closet, and the shower was separated from the sink and mirror by a door.

“Do you mind if I use hot water?”

Rohan—you were at the very least going to call him that in your head—looked a little annoyed at the question. “What, did you think I was going to invite you over then deprive you of a basic modern convenience? Of course, you can use hot water. You won’t raise my bills that much.”

“Ok, what’s my time limit?”

He looked even more annoyed. “I’d rather you take three hours and come out free of all grime than take a ten minute cascading shower. Just as long as you’re not wasteful.”

You took that as meaning three hours was the maximum. You were going to scrub yourself twice, maybe even thrice, to get rid of residual anything. After all that you’d been through, you thought you deserved it.

“There’s towels and washcloths in the linen closet. The washer-dryer unit is also in the powder room, so you can put your dirty clothes in it before you get in the shower. I’ll start the load after you’re done, so don’t worry about it beyond that.”

“Thank you.” Before you could go, he stopped you.

“Ah! That’s another custom you should get used to. When you thank somebody in Japan, you bow.”

Your only frame of reference was Western period pieces, so you did your best to mimic the way the men would always bow to the ladies. You rested one hand behind your back, bending with a surprising amount of grace until you were at a 90° angle. “Thank you,” you said again.

“No, no, not like that.”

You craned your neck to look at him, expecting further instruction.

Rohan hesitated. He appeared as if he wanted to reposition you, but instead, he waved you off. “Nevermind for now. We’ll work on it later. Just go get clean.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

You brought your bag with you into the powder room, shutting the door behind you. It was made mostly of fabric, so it could be washed, as well. It certainly needed it. “Can I wash my bag, too?” you called through the door.

“As long as you take everything out of it first.” Rohan’s voice sounded farther away now. He’d likely gone to get you a change of clothes.

You dumped the contents of your bag onto the sink counter, then searched through all the pockets and folds until it was entirely empty. You threw it in the washing machine along with your dirty clothes and grabbed a quite frankly gigantic towel and normal sized washcloth from the linen closet. Both were white with golden thread, and the towel even had Rohan’s signature custom embroidered on it.

You went into the shower room and closed the door behind you, hanging your towel up on an empty hook. After assessing the shower and figuring out how it worked, you turned the water on to hot and let it run until steam filled the room.

The washcloth material was naturally rough, and you knew it would work wonders on your skin. Rohan’s body wash smelled of cedar and sandalwood and other manly smells, and it was part of a set that went with his expensive-looking shampoo and conditioner.

You scrubbed your scalp into oblivion twice, and let conditioner sit for a few minutes in your immensely tangled locks. After rinsing out the product, you finger-combed out all the loose hair that had collected over the past four or five days you’d gone without properly grooming yourself. Careful not to let your clean hair touch your dirty body, you scrubbed yourself forehead to toetips until your skin was red. Then you did it again for good measure.

You turned the water down to make it a bit cooler. Closing your eyes, you let it run over your face and body and simply existed for a few moments. You rarely had the opportunity to do so.

~~~

Rohan hesitated as he picked out a set of clothes. He didn’t want to get anything too nice and risk you ruining it, but he also didn’t want to give you any of his thrifted post-Mutsu-kabe Hill clothes and look cheap.

After some deliberation, he settled on a Pink Dark Boy t-shirt and a pair of faux-satin sleeping pants. You probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between faux and real satin, so you’d think he was going the extra mile.

We can go to Kame Yu Market tomorrow and get her some outfits of her own there.

Although… maybe he’d let you keep the Pink Dark Boy shirt. Might as well have her wear fan merch.

He knocked on the powder room door so you would be aware of his presence, then entered. Steam had already completely fogged the mirror despite the sliding door between it and the shower being shut.

She wasn’t joking about using hot water.

He spotted the pile of oddities from your purse on the sink counter. That, paired with the sound of you humming a song likely from a time not-yet-lived, got the better of his curiosity.

He went snooping through the pile. There was some makeup, old receipts, your wallet and passport, feminine hygiene products, a pair of underwear in a plastic baggie, hair ties, a water bottle, a granola bar, travel-size deodorant, earbuds, and what looked to be a portable battery with a cable connected to it. So that’s how she’s been keeping her iPhone charged.

Your iPhone was sitting on the counter as well. Rohan picked it up and it glowed to life. He swiped up from the bottom of the screen like he’d seen you do, and after entering your passcode, it opened to a notes app.

The note that was currently open wasn’t exactly a diary, nor strictly research notes. Rather, it seemed to be a conglomerate of your experiences in this world and various tidbits of information you had deemed important.

He casually pocketed your iPhone. He already had an excuse in mind, so he also took your portable battery. I’ll say I plugged them in to charge. How kind of me.

He closed the powder room door as he left, intent on locating a charger so he could make his alibi believable. The insert of your lightning cable looked different than his own charger, so he had to switch some cords around to get everything working.

Once he’d actually plugged them both in, he grabbed his own iPod touch and opened his camera. He scrolled through your note, skimming it as he went and taking pictures of the screen so he could write it all out when he had more time.

The final entry was from earlier that day. Given the contents of it, it seemed to have been made while you were at Tonio’s.

Stands can be good or bad. Maybe based on user? Ate food with a chef’s stand ability in it, nothing happened to me. Kishibe had his insides ripped out but says he’s fine?? Not actually sure he’s fine (maybe just ✨eccentric✨)

 

Stand: “manifestation of someone’s soul”

Manga man’s stand: turns people into living autobiographies he can read and write in (doesn’t hurt but feels weird)

Chef’s stand: (violently) cures ailments with his cooking

My stand: a bunch of military shit apparently

Military shit = manifestation of my soul(?)

• Flashbang: stuns/doesn’t actually do any damage (I think)

“So it was a flashbang,” Rohan muttered.

Over the sounds of the running water, he heard you let out a loud sigh that trailed off into a groan. Shortly after, there was a thud and an exclamation.

What is she doing? he wondered.

~~~

You massaged a particularly sore muscle in your calf. You were pretty sure you’d injured it when you got stuck in the marsh.

Rest was the only thing that would allow it to completely heal, but setting the shower head to a higher pressure so it beat against the worst of the ache certainly helped. The main problem was that in order to get the water to hit that specific spot, you had to awkwardly bend your leg and rest it on your opposite thigh.

The second you relaxed too much, your sore calf slipped and your foot hit the shower wall. “Ow!” you said and cursed under your breath.

You thankfully managed to catch yourself before you could fall, and put your foot back down on the floor.

You didn’t want to risk injuring yourself further, so you ceded to turning the shower off and wrung out any excess water from your washcloth. You pulled your towel from its hook and wrapped yourself up. Rohan wasn’t particularly large, but the towels he had were almost blanket-sized. Extra fabric to get extra dry, I guess.

After drying off, you peeked into powder room to make sure the coast was clear—not that you didn’t expect it to be. Just as it had been before, the door was shut and the room was empty.

You threw your washcloth into the washing machine and looked over at the sink to assess the outfit Rohan had so kindly provided for you. A bright pink graphic tee with the line art of a cartoon character in neon blue and silky black pajama pants. The pants made sense, but the shirt didn’t; Rohan didn’t seem like the type of person to wear bright pink. Regardless, you were grateful that you’d been prepared and had travel deodorant and a pair of emergency panties tucked away in your bag, as you were in need of both.

Once dressed, you squeezed out as much water from your hair as you could with the towel, finger-combed it again, parted it, braided it, and tied it up with a hair tie. As you did, you took stock of all the other stuff from your bag, noticing the absence of your phone and portable battery. Maybe Rohan had plugged them in for you? But why would he do that? It wasn’t like you asked.

You sighed. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. The energy burst you’d received from your earlier power nap was clearly wearing off.

You opened the powder room door and turned the corner into the main space. “Rohan?” you called.

He came out of one of the side rooms, closing the door behind him. “Yes? There’s no need to yell. This apartment is tiny.”

Although you hadn’t yelled, you couldn’t disagree with him. His apartment could hardly be 50 square meters. It was fine for one person, but a 2-bedroom apartment where you didn’t have your own space quickly felt cramped.

“Um… I was wondering where I should put my towel, and if you moved my phone by any chance. I might be mistaken and just didn’t see it–”

He pointed to the kitchen counter, where both your battery pack and phone had been plugged in to charge. “Just hang your towel back up, unless you plan on washing it? I have cleaners come in regularly, so the floor isn’t disgusting, in case you were worried about it falling.”

“Oh, ok. Cool, I’ll just… go do that…” Why were you suddenly being so awkward??

You started walking back to the powder room.

“I drafted a contract, by the way,” he continued, making you pause mid-step. “I even wrote it in English—just for you and your shitty Japanese.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Gee, thanks. You won’t be able to hide anything in the fine print,” you replied over your shoulder and continued walking. You once again rounded the corner into the powder room. “Is there anywhere I can put the stuff from my bag until it’s clean?”

You collected everything from the sink counter, carrying it carefully balanced in your palms.

“Just on a side table for now. Might as well keep it all in reach.”

He gestured to a side table beside the couch, where a pillow and blanket had already been set up for you.

You were confused by the way your cheeks heated with a blush. Oh wow. A guy who offered to house me got out a pillow and blanket for me to use, you reasoned, the absolute bare minimum.

If you could bold your own thoughts like text in a document, you would have done so, and underlined them for good measure. You dropped your stuff onto the side table and turned, startling a bit when you almost ran into Rohan, who now held a piece of paper in his hand.

“Read it and tell me what you think.”

You accepted the paper. On it was a hand-written contract.

This contract, although not legally binding, is a physical representation of a verbal agreement made by each party to abide by the terms and conditions stated. Should any term or condition of this contract be breached, Kishibe Rohan has the right to kick __________________ out of his home. Given the nature of __________________’s arrival in Morioh, Kishibe Rohan will contact the Speedwagon Foundation on her behalf and vouch for the solidity of her story, thereby hypothetically giving her access to funds to continue not being homeless on her own.

“Hypothetically?”

“It’s late, so I haven’t actually called the Speedwagon Foundation yet, but I’m certain they’ll be willing to help you.”

“Okay, but what’s the Speedwagon Foundation?”

He laughed, then stopped laughing when he realized you were serious. “Does the Speedwagon Foundation not exist in your world?”

You figured that much was obvious, but apparently not. “No.”

“Absolutely fascinating! You know, your theory about being from an alternate reality is starting to have some real weight to it. I wonder what other differences our worlds possess?”

“Do you have Jeff Bezos here?” you asked. “Or Elon—actually wait he wasn’t as big a deal back in 2007 anyway—or Bill Gates? Does Facebook exist? People think that the guy who made that looks like a lizard pretending to be human.”

Rohan raised a brow, interest clearly piqued. “Matthew Zuckerberg? Of course he doesn’t look human, he’s an alien that assimilated; the pointy ears and sallow skin are a dead giveaway, if you ask me. Maybe they’re still considered a conspiracy in America, but Morioh is actually home to the first alien to ever arrive on Earth, and he’s a Stand user, too… oh my, I can practically hear the gears in your brain turning.”

You actually imagined it being more like a dial-up sound.

“You know what, stay right where you are and keep looking stupid. I’ll be back in a moment!” Leaving you standing there by the couch, Rohan scurried off and returned with a damn camera.

“Oh good, you’re even slower than I thought! Don’t. Change. Anything.” He proceeded to snap a few pictures, changing angles as he went.

If you didn’t know how expensive professional cameras were, you would have knocked it out of his infuriatingly elegant hands.

He pulled away from the camera. “Your expression changed. You’re angry at me, aren’t you? If you really hate being patronized that badly, I’ll add it to the contract conditions.”

He plucked the paper from your hands before you’d even finished reading it, padding away on socked feet to apparently add to the conditions.

Brain still dialing up, you trailed behind him. “Can you back up, like, three whole statements and actually explain what they mean, please?”

Rohan seemed surprised you’d followed him into his work room. “I see Americans never stopped the valley girl filler. I always found that annoying.”

For some reason, that insult in particular shook you from your trance. Before you had time to think about what you were doing, you’d yanked his headband down onto his face, pulling it just enough that the elastic snapped back into his eyes.

Rational you would never have done that. However, rational you was not currently present. Rational you was craving sleep, and had been replaced some time ago with irrational you. Irrational you was very satisfied with the way Rohan stopped what he was doing to cringe in pain.

“Ow,” he said pointedly after a beat. He fixed his headband and continued searching around his desk, eyes lighting up when he found a pen.

You frowned when he started writing and yanked his headband down over his eyes again.

He stopped again. With a little more force this time, he fixed his headband.

You yanked it down a third time.

He fixed it a third time.

When you reached up to grab it again, he intercepted your hand with his own. He put his pen down and straightened to his full height, menacingly looming over you while gripping your wrist.

Except now you were annoyed and too tired to be afraid, so you just stared back up at him.

His lower eyelid twitched ever-so-slightly, and you smiled.

~~~

Even Rohan had to admit, he was moving a little fast for the average human brain to keep up with, but at this particular moment, you had him stumped. He thought insulting your speech would shut you up—and it did—but then you started to annoy him. Like a child, you were messing with his headband for… for what?

What was your goal? What was the aim of the game you’d started playing? Were you just bored? No, that couldn’t be it, there was far too much to talk about for you to be bored. He could threaten to kick you out, but he was actively writing out another condition on the contract, so it’d be a weak threat at best.

You pulled down his headband again, and he fixed it with a level of grace and patience on par with Mother Theresa herself.

If she touches my headband one more goddamn fucking time I’ll–

He sensed your movement before he saw it. With preternatural speed, he grabbed your wrist in midair, grip strong enough to cease your ability to move freely, but not so tight he would actually hurt you.

The moment you felt any sense of fear, he was liable to get attacked someway, somehow, whether you wished to defend yourself or not. He’d learned that the hard way. The only reason his brain matter was all still in his skull and not painting the inside of his car was because Heaven’s Door opened the car door fast enough for him to dodge whatever projectile The Machine fired at him.

Well, whatever this game you were playing was, he was going to win it.

Rohan deftly guided your hand so he held it by just your fingers. He bent down, mimicking the way you’d bowed to him earlier, and left a feather-light kiss on your knuckles. Your skin was soft beneath his lips. As he prepared his camera, he briefly wondered if the rest of your body felt the same.

The smug expression on your face turned to one of absolute befuddlement.

Perfect.

He pressed the button, and the camera flashed, capturing your confused visage on digital film for him to recall any time he pleased.

Or so he hoped, at least. He wasn’t able to see the angle the camera was at while taking the photo.

Chapter Text

Rohan scrolled through the photos he’d taken of your iPhone. He was at his desk now, copying it all down onto paper to start an unofficial case file. He was likely going to be in contact with Jotaro, and Jotaro would undoubtedly want all the information possible.

September 16

OK, so this is voice to text so ignore the grammar errors and fillers, but I don’t know how to type out my thoughts on the digital paper because this is a fucking crazy man. Something is wrong like really really wrong. I don’t know where I am stuff has changed and I I don’t know how to describe it like the beach changed there’s a whole cave that wasn’t there before and everything is named differently. I am positive there was nowhere called more E O show more E O show more E O whatever I’ll just fucking type it.

Morioh Cho

Everything is outdated and people are giving me funny looks that’s probably because I’m drenched and dressed weirdly and clearly foreign. Signs that used to have English on them don’t have English on them anymore and the whole town landscape looks different. I don’t I don’t even know my phone says it’s 2007 but that’s not right and I didn’t change it. I don’t even know how to change it. I’m pretty sure it’s programmed by like a satellite or something.

As much as he wanted to fix all the errors to make it easier to read, Rohan forced himself to write it as-is in English and translate it as close to word-for-word as possible in Japanese. This was a firsthand account, so it needed it to be kept in its original state.

September 17

So I can connect to modern internet and the days are the same by like I mean it’s September 21st here and there so time is still moving. I’m not like trapped in some like freezeframe in the future. I mean I know some basic Japanese phrases, but my cards are all getting declined, and I only have so much physical yen. I can’t go anywhere like official governmental because the fuck am I supposed to say? They won’t believe me and I could get deported but I don’t fucking exist here as myself cause it’s 2007 so I’m just going to lay low I guess and take things day by day.

There’s this one cafe nearby that has free Wi-Fi thank fuck so I’m going to go there and just hang out for a bit and try to get my shit together. My brain is moving really really fast and the world moves slower.

I’m glad it’s still warm out, but it gets chilly at night. Park benches aren’t super comfy surprise surprise, and I had to dip when I saw a cop. I don’t know if they can arrest you for sleeping on a park bench in Japan, but I don’t want to find out.

Also I figured something out while I was at the cafe I put my phone on airplane mode to stop from getting bombarded by ads while I was playing a game cause what else can I do honestly, and I forgot that I did when I went to look something up online my internet had turned into 2007 internet. If I can get access to a computer I might play some old flash games I miss that shit.

 

September 18

This town is decently big so I’ve been doing some slinking around. There’s vacation homes up to the north so I might try to squat in one of those if I can, and I’ve been more or less bathing in sinks at public restrooms not the cleanest or safest thing, but it works.

I had to steal some food from the store. I feel bad, but like I need to eat. I’m probably being paranoid about this one specific pompadour cop but I swear he’s following me. I almost ran into him on my way out with my bag full of snacks and a cord to charge my battery with. I guess iPods exist right now but the switch from one charger type to the other is a good few years ahead of us so I’m stuck with only this cord I really hope it doesn’t break cause it’s not like I have any spares.

There’s one pretty beat up house closer to town that looked abandoned. I was going to try to sneak in and sleep there tonight, but I saw someone walk out of it, so I don’t know anymore. He was wearing a uniform that had American dollar signs on it so I’m hoping he speaks English. Even broken English would make it easier to communicate with someone.

 

I went back to the rotting house and there’s definitely someone living there beside potential English speaker. I saw someone moving around so it’s a bust as a squatting spot, but I don’t know if I’m willing to go up and just knock on the door and be like hey do you speak English.

 

**THERE’S TWO POMPADOUR COPS

Okuyasu managing to become a police officer was even more of a mystery than Josuke. At least Josuke had some level of intelligence. Okuyasu leapt before he looked—often times with his fists at the ready. He had no ambitions of his own and only wished to hang out with his best friend. Nobody on the force thought it unwise to make the two partners, either.

Rohan shook his head. At this rate, a mangaka like myself could probably become a Morioh police officer.

Copadour 1: bigger hair, normal uniform

Copadour 2: smaller hair that’s short on the sides, has the uniform with dollar signs and “billion” written on it

Only reason I know this is because I FELL ASLEEP IN A FUCKING BUSH OUTSIDE COPADOUR 2’S HOUSE, WHICH IS APPARENTLY THE NOT-ABANDONED HOUSE. FML.

Idk wtf I saw in there, but I fell asleep near a window. I woke up because someone opened up the window. Not sure if he(?) saw me, but if he did, he didn’t comment.

The dude looked WEIRD to say the very least. I mean thanks for not telling the cops that were right outside that someone was sleeping in your bush, much appreciated, but he looked like he was wearing some sort of sfx makeup or had a really serious skin condition.

I jumped the back fence into a neighbor’s yard and got away as fast as I could

Rohan left a notation mark beside the end of that particular entry, then left a note in the margin. Likely saw Mr. Mansaku Nijimura.

He also put down small notes specifying “Copadour 1” as Josuke Higashikata and “Copadour 2” as Okuyasu Nijimura.

September 19

I slept IN A BUSH for so long that I stayed up most of the night. Morioh gets pretty quiet after dark, and I was able to take a sink bath (ugh) at the gas station. Thankfully the graveyard shift cashier didn’t question why I took so long in the bathroom.

I figured out that I can switch between 2007 internet and modern internet whenever I want just by turning airplane mode on and off. I went looking up some info with the 2007 internet and as crazy as it sounds, I think I might be in an alternate reality. I can search news articles and various facts but details will differ, even if I look at the 2007 version of a modern Wikipedia article.

Alternate reality, or I’m actually in a coma and my brain is making this all up. Lamps look normal tho so 🤷🏻‍♀️

Rohan tapped his finger on the desk in thought. After deliberating, he decided to put another notation mark and wrote in the margin, iPhone may be a Stand.

He also added an extra note onto the Japanese version of the transcript to specify that “Copadour” was a play on words in English.

September 20

I decided to go back to the spot where I first washed up to see if there was anything of note. I was just gonna do a quick recon, then make up a better plan once I had an idea of how the area looked, but some guy I’ve seen around Morioh randomly followed me, then attacked me.

I can’t even describe it. He didn’t actually physically attack me. He like called out a pokémon. Honestly, he might have been on drugs.

But that would mean I’m also on drugs tho cause he called out a fucking pokémon, and I SAW the fucking pokémon. It kinda looked like Casper the friendly ghost.

I defended myself, and he called me a bitch and a “stan user”, whatever that means.

So overall a great guy. Not at all weird.

 

“Stan user”=pokémon trainer?

Maybe the ghost thing is called Stan?

I’m not positive what exactly I did to defend myself, actually. I threw my sock at Casper cause my shoes and socks had come off in a marsh. The dude laughed when I fell into the marsh btw, and when Casper came at me I punched it.

The guy accused me of using a flashbang. Which why tf would I have a flashbang on my person?? All I know is I punched Casper, there was a flash and a bang that the guy thought was me for reason, then he stopped and told Casper to defend. I just got my shoes and socks and got tf out of the area.

I’m at the Morioh Grand Hotel now. Some lady saw me covered in mud and offered me a ride. Idk why I accepted, but I managed to communicate to her what happened and she helped me report the guy so whatever happens next is up to whoever finds him.

RETROACTIVE NOTE: dude was saying stand, not stan. Also, dude’s name is Rohan Kishibe.

 

Stands can be good or bad. Maybe based on user? Ate food with a chef’s stand ability in it, nothing happened to me. Kishibe had his insides ripped out but says he’s fine?? Not actually sure he’s fine (maybe just ✨eccentric✨)

 

Stand: “manifestation of someone’s soul”

Manga man’s stand: turns people into living autobiographies he can read and write in (doesn’t hurt but feels weird)

Chef’s stand: (violently) cures ailments with his cooking

My stand: a bunch of military shit apparently

Military shit = manifestation of my soul(?)

• Flashbang: stuns/doesn’t actually do any damage (I think)

Rohan finished the rest of the transcription and stacked the papers, placing them upside down and off to the side to hide their contents. On the off chance that you entered his work room, he didn’t need you seeing that he’d gone snooping through your iPhone.

He centered the piece of paper with the contract draft on it on the desk, reading over it again in search of any loopholes. He hoped the line he’d left for you to fill in your name was long enough; he hadn’t bothered remembering how to spell it.

“Rohan?” you called from the main living space.

Chapter Text

The dial up sound was playing in your brain again as you watched Rohan move your hand and bend over, and your heart fluttered a little when you felt his lips brush against the back of your knuckles. Then he gently kissed them like some sort of loyal knight greeting his liege lady, and you were positive the only reason you didn’t melt into a puddle of molten goo on the spot was that it was physically impossible.

You were far too busy trying to process the stream of thoughts entering your head to properly notice the way he was maneuvering his other hand. What is he doing why is he kissing my hand I didn’t know I was into that oh no am I blushing I’m probably blushing this better not awaken anything in me wow he’s actually rather handsome when he’s not talking I just noticed that his hair isn’t black it’s dark green it looks so feathery and silky I wonder if he would let me play with it–

Bright light flashed in your face, and realization washed over you like a bucket of ice water being dumped on your head. The metaphorical puddle you’d melted into resolidified.

You snatched your hand away. “I’m not signing anything until you call the Speedwagon Foundation and can guarantee my safety,” you said coldly.

You stuck up your nose and turned, walking out with your chin held high and pride severely bruised. How naive were you to so easily fall for that trick?!

You continued berating yourself as you went over to the kitchen, taking your phone and checking for any notifications. The battery was at 100%, so you unplugged it and brought it with you over to the couch. You were fully aware that Rohan was watching you from the doorway of his work room, but you chose to ignore him and laid down on the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chin and getting settled for the night while you fumed. You opened up your notes and started typing about everything that had happened through the day, editing parts to include the new information you’d received, then cut the final section about Stands and pasted it into a separate note.

I decided to go back to the spot where I first washed up to see if there was anything of note. I was just gonna do a quick recon, then make up a better plan once I had an idea of how the area looked, but some guy I’ve seen around Morioh randomly followed me, then attacked me. His name is Rohan Kishibe, and later he found me at the Morioh Grand Hotel and offered me dinner and information.

Apparently he’s something called a “Stand User”, and I am, too. I’m still not sure exactly why he attacked me, but it has something to do with the cave. I’m staying over his apartment now cause his couch beats a park bench, bush, etc. any day of the week.

I made a note for info about Stands and Stand users so I’ll try to keep them separate.

 

Apparently this world has aliens, too. Like literal aliens from another planet in the universe that isn’t Earth aliens. Mark Zuckerberg is one of them, and he goes by the name Matthew here. Maybe the tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists are actually right? I compared the pictures of Alternate Reality Matthew Zuckerberg to Mark Zuckerberg and they’re clearly two different people tho so idk.

~~~

Rohan watched you walk away in a pouty little huff. He followed you to the doorway, leaning against the frame while you marched over to the kitchen and collected your iPhone.

Without looking at him, you marched over to the couch, pulled the blanket back, and laid down.

You really were cute when you were angry, weren’t you?

He considered saying goodnight to you just to see what you’d do, but ultimately decided against it. You’d both gotten your digs in at each other; might as well let the sleeping dog lie.

He went back to his desk and looked at his camera, viewing the photo he’d taken. Admittedly, it could have been a better. The camera itself was a little too low so your face wasn’t centered, and it was angled too sharply so you weren’t in perfect focus, but it still captured your expression well enough.

Rohan put everything away and turned off the lights to his work room, gently closing the door behind him. He went to the bathroom and got ready for bed, then set the washing machine to run overnight.

He crept back to his bedroom, avoiding the one spot where the floor creaked, and climbed into bed, acutely aware that there was another being in his apartment.

***

Rohan woke up to the sound of his alarm at 6am. He shut it off and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and stretching.

He got up out of bed and dressed for his morning run, then went into the kitchen to prepare himself breakfast.

Only then did he remember you were still there, sound asleep on his couch.

He had the strange urge to check on you—to make sure you were still alive, perhaps?—and peeked over the back of the couch.

You were still out cold, unsurprisingly. Somehow, you’d managed to fall asleep with your iPhone slack against your face, like you’d been doing something but drifted off part way through. How cute.

Your Stand was perched on your hip, once again in the form of the little flying machine.

Less cute.

Rohan rounded the couch.

The Machine immediately took notice of his presence, and its camera targeted him.

He put both his hands up. “I’m just going to move her phone to the side table,” he informed it.

He gingerly took your iPhone from your hands, rested it on the side table, and backed away. Then, just to be extra nice and not risk getting attacked by The Machine, he went over to the balcony door and closed the curtain to prevent morning sunlight from shining in your eyes. The whole time, he kept The Machine in his peripheral vision, worried that summoning Heaven’s Door to watch his back would make your Stand go on the offensive.

As he started walking back to the kitchen, you shifted, drawing your hands closer to your chest and curling up into a tiny ball.

Is she cold? Rohan wondered. You had managed to wrap yourself up in the blanket like a sushi roll.

Well, he didn’t have any other spare blankets, only the ones on his bed. You could pick some out for yourself at Kame Yu Market. Should I get an air mattress? I don’t knows how long she’ll be staying here.

But where would he put it?

Rohan shook his head. Worry about it later. He had two days’ worth of work to complete because of how long his venture with you had taken. He was likely going to need to shift some of tomorrow’s work into Saturday so he would still had time to run errands and contact the Speedwagon Foundation today.

But before anything else, breakfast.

He started reheating some leftover miso soup he had in the fridge, and put water in the kettle for his morning tea. He grilled some locally-caught salmon on the stove while the tea steeped, and once everything else was done, he got out some rice balls and pickled cucumbers. After plating everything, he sat down at the pull-out table and ate in peace and quiet.

He spent time organizing his thoughts. Part way through his meal, he gathered a pen and notebook to write down everything he might need to purchase.

Clothes, toiletries, feminine hygiene… he’d need to give you something to do so you didn’t lose your mind from boredom; maybe he could find some books and have you translate them to practice your Japanese. As much as he didn’t want to doubt Heaven’s Door, if you could defy his writing once, there was no saying you couldn’t do it again. Pearl Jam hadn’t worked on you at all.

He needed to get you to a doctor and get a mucus sample tested, too, so he wrote that down as well. Once you started showing signs of pneumonia, you would likely end up needing to get better the old fashioned way. Some level of identification was required to get a prescription for antibiotics, unless you got them through the Speedwagon Foundation.

Rohan sighed. If he thought of anything else, he’d add it to the list. For now, he cleaned his dishes and anything he’d used while cooking, then switched your clothes from the washer to the dryer.

He collected his iPod touch and earbuds, but as he was about to leave, he doubled back.

He found some paper and wrote a note on it.

Went for a run. Feel free to eat anything you want from the kitchen.

-Rohan

He pondered the best place to put it to guarantee you noticing it.

So he stuck it to your iPhone, then left, locking the door behind him. He opted to take the scenic route this morning, basking in the fresh coastal air and watching Morioh awaken for yet another day.

He truly enjoyed living here. It was far more peaceful than S City or Tokoyo had ever been. Sure, Morioh had its quirks, but that only added to its charm, didn’t it?

“Oi, Rohan! What are you running from? Responsibility?” a husky voice called.

He rolled his eyes. And the morning started out so nicely.

A police car rolled up beside him and kept pace, radio blaring an overplayed hit. In his periferal vision, Rohan saw Okuyasu in the driver seat.

“Josuke told me you scored a girl yesterday! She got a bangin’ bod, or what?”

Rohan slowed to a stop when he reached a corner. He took out his earbuds. “Learn how to not fit the ‘cops are pigs’ stereotype, and then come talk to me.”

“And here I was trying to be the bigger man and mend bridges even though you tried to kill me.” Okuyasu said with a frown. “Y’know, being a police officer, I know about laws and shit now. I could throw you in jail for what you did…” Trying to make the synapses in his brain fire made him look mildly constipated. “Or I could tell Josuke you insulted his hair while he wasn’t around.”

Rohan wouldn’t go as far as to say he was traumatized by the beating he received that day, 8 years and some months ago—anything more than physically, at least—but he’d certainly learned his lesson. He now insulted Josuke’s hair only around people he knew wouldn’t go and relay the information to the man himself. “Hmm. And he’d be fool enough to believe you. Very well. Yes, I did ‘score a girl yesterday,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Okuyasu turned the radio off. “Is she hot? I bet she’d be more into a big, strong police officer like myself any day of the week.” He flexed his arm.

Rohan rolled his eyes even harder than he had before. How to reply? He needed to be scathing without harming your integrity or making any assumptions. “Did you know that people tend to be attracted to those of similar intelligence?”

Okuyasu raised a brow. “No. Why does that matter?”

“Try using that brain of yours and figure it out. Goodbye.” Rohan put his earbuds back in and continued jogging.

~~~

You woke up underneath not one, but two blankets. The second one smelled like Rohan’s body wash and something else you couldn’t quite place, but was pleasant nonetheless.

You rubbed the lingering sleep from your eyes, surprised by how well-rested you felt; you hadn’t stirred in the slightest in the middle of the night. Hell, you couldn’t even remember any dreams you had.

You sat up and stretched, noticing that the curtains of the door leading to a balcony were shut now. Daylight seeped in from the cracks of space between the fabric and the walls and floor. Rohan must have closed them at some point.

You glanced around for your phone. It was on the side table with the rest of your things, a yellow sticky note attached to it. You didn’t remember leaving it there, which meant Rohan must have gotten ahold of it again.

I wonder what kind of snooping he did. He seems like the type to do that.

You swung your legs over the edge of the couch and winced when your bare feet touched the cold hardwood floors. Various joints popped as you stretched and stood. You sighed and picked up your phone to look at the note Rohan had left.

The phrase ‘Went for a run’ was scribbled out, and a little arrow was drawn after it to insert what was written above.

NVM. In the shower or studio. Feel free to eat anything you want from the kitchen.

-Rohan

You heard the shower turn on, so he must have just returned from his run.

Normally you weren’t the snooping type, but turnabout was fair play, right? You also wanted to read the rest of the contract and maybe draft your own version of it, anyway.

So you wandered over to his work room—studio, rather—and slipped inside. There was a dual printer-fax machine and a desk with built-in storage, as well as a shelving unit which held various art supplies. On the desk, multiple stacks of paper had been set off to the side, likely to make room for the contract draft which sat in the center. The pen Rohan had been using last night was now in an organizer with other pens, pencils, and brushes.

You sat down in his chair and finally read the rest of the contract.

This contract, although not legally binding, is a physical representation of a verbal agreement made by each party to abide by the terms and conditions stated. Should any term or condition of this contract be breached, Kishibe Rohan has the right to kick __________________ out of his home. Given the nature of __________________’s arrival in Morioh, Kishibe Rohan will contact the Speedwagon Foundation on her behalf and vouch for the solidity of her story, thereby hypothetically giving her access to funds to continue not being homeless on her own.

From this point forward, Kishibe Rohan will be referred to as Party A and __________________ will be referred to as Party B.

 

The terms and conditions of the agreement made by Party A and Party B are as follows:

1. Party A will house, clothe, and provide food for Party B.

2. Party B will not excessively disturb Party A while Party A is working.

3. Party B will provide Party A with manga material and inspiration.

4. Party B will model for Party A as Party A sees fit.

5. Party B will complete basic household chores to prevent undue stress for Party A.

6. Party B will reveal the ability of her Stand “The Machine” and aid in basic research of it.

7. Party B will not intentionally attack Party A with or without her Stand “The Machine”.

8. Party A will not intentionally patronize Party B.

Lines had been drawn and labeled at the bottom of the page for names, signatures, and dates to be written. There was plenty of space left to add more terms to the contract, so you grabbed a pen and added onto the list.

9. Party A will not use his Stand “Heaven’s Door” on Party B without Party B’s permission.

10. Party A will not add, remove, or otherwise alter Party B’s information using his Stand “Heaven’s Door” without Party B’s written consent (see Section 2).

You grabbed another piece of paper and titled it.

Section 2: What Party A Can Write In Party B

*Each addition, removal, or alteration made to Party B’s information must have individual written consent.

You didn’t know what Rohan’s penalty for breaching the contract should be. I could make him do an apology dance?

Your stomach grumbled loudly, and you sighed. You would certainly think better if you weren’t hungry, so you got up with the intent of making yourself something to eat.

You quickly used the bathroom and washed your hands in the kitchen sink, then poked around the tiny space.

All of the food was, unsurprisingly, Japanese. You didn’t mind the different cuisine, but you didn’t trust yourself to try making something all on your own. Instead, you opted to make something American-style.

So you pulled out eggs, butter, what looked like really fluffy bread, and found some fresh fruit to use as a side.

After you located the various tools and seasoning needed, you got to work making some soft-fried eggs and toast. It took you a little while to figure out the toaster, given you had to translate the text on it, but once you did, you put a couple slices of bread in and left them.

The kitchen was cramped and maneuvering in the space was a challenge. Thankfully, you’d done this enough times in the past that the toast only came out a little burnt when you plated it alongside the eggs.

It was then that you realized Rohan only had chopsticks, spoons, and knives. There wasn’t a single fork in any of his drawers or cabinets—or a proper dining table, for that matter.

You’d seen clips of innovative apartment spaces where everything was either fold-out or in some way rearrangeable, so you assumed his apartment was that way, as well. You didn’t really feel like figuring it out and letting your eggs get cold, though, so you brought your plate over to the coffee table. You put some fruit in a small bowl and got a glass of water, then sat on the floor.

You had some experience with chopsticks, but fried eggs slathered in butter weren’t the easiest to wield regardless, so you ended up going back to the kitchen to get a knife and spoon instead.

‘Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.’ you thought and laughed to yourself.

As you mopped up some of the yolk with your toast, you heard the shower shut off. Not long after, he, Rohan Kishibe, came out dressed in casual clothes. You watched him look around the living space, then spot you by the coffee table.

“Why are you over there?”

You finished the food in your mouth. “There’s no table.”

He narrowed his eyes, face screwed up in confusion, and went over to the wall where there was a weird contraption hanging up.

Just like you suspected, it folded down into a functioning table and chair. Rohan gestured to it like it was somehow incredibly obvious how it worked.

“That’s nice,” you said sarcastically and used your knife to shove more fried egg onto your spoon.

Rohan came closer and looked over from behind the couch. “What is that?”

“Food.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why is it drenched in so much butter?”

“Cause butter is good, bitch. If you want, I can make you some.”

You saw him deliberate for a moment, then he sighed. “Not everyone can be a master chef, I suppose. Your clothes should be done drying by now, so I advise you get dressed once you’re done. We’ll be going shopping today.”

You gave him a thumbs up as you chewed and swallowed. “I looked at the contract, by the way.”

“Oh? And what did you think?”

“I added some stuff.”

He didn’t look happy to hear that.

“What does me modeling entail? ‘As you see fit’ is super vague.” You were by no means a lawyer, but you knew enough about legal matters to know wording was incredibly important. Rohan had likely written that particular condition the way he did on purpose.

“Nothing unusual. Just anything that strikes me as a look I’d want to preserve.”

He’s avoiding giving me a straight answer. “I’m not modeling underwear for you, if that’s what you intend. Or anything swimwear-related or nude.”

He looked taken aback and maybe even a little offended. “Of course not. I write suspense horror, not hentai.”

You shrugged. “How was I supposed to know that?”

Now he definitely looked offended. “What do you take me for, some sort of creeper who’d take advantage of a lone woman late at night?!”

That made you feel a little bad. After all, he’d fed you, clothed you, and let you shower and sleep in his apartment for nothing in return. “I come from a different time and a different culture, Rohan,” you reminded him. “And I’ve been on the internet long enough to know there are men who will do the basics of providing and expect consent in return.”

Based on his reaction, you’d actually managed to shock him into silence.

“Surely you know they are outliers?” he asked after a long pause.

You poked at a piece of fruit with your chopsticks. “Of course…” you replied somberly. “But the fear is always there. You said my Stand appeared even when I was asleep? Maybe that’s why.”

If he’d had a retort, he’d lost it. He actually looked rather serious now. “I’ll rewrite that condition to make the wording more clear. If I end up asking you to do any sort of modeling, You’ll be fully clothed. None of the poses will be suggestive, either.” He walked away to his studio without further comment.

You sighed and ate your fruit in silence. Guilt gnawed at your gut, but you pushed it down. Your concerns were reasonable, and the additions you’d made to the contract were as well.

After you finished your breakfast, you cleaned all of the dishes and utensils you’d used and put them away, then went into the powder room and pulled your clothes and bag out of the dryer. You shut the door and got dressed quickly, putting the now-dirty clothes Rohan had given you into the nearby hamper and sealing your clean pair of underwear in the plastic baggie to operate as your new pair of emergency panties.

You brought your bag out with you and put everything back where it belonged. You could hear Rohan’s voice coming from his studio; it sounded like he was on a call with someone, but he was speaking too quickly for you to understand his Japanese.

Chapter Text

“Yes, Jotaro, I’ve read her pages. She isn’t lying.” Rohan said. He knew your story sounded bizarre at best—impossible at worst—but he hoped Jotaro would believe him. “As much as I don’t want to get you and the Speedwagon Foundation involved, this isn’t something I can handle on my own.”

He heard Jotaro sigh over the phone. “Very well. There’s a Speedwagon representative in Morioh that can meet you today, if you have the time.”

If you met with the Speedwagon Foundation today, there was no guarantee there’d be time for shopping. “As much as I would like that, it’s a little soon. She doesn’t have anything of her own so we need to run some errands. You used to be married; what do women like?”

Rohan heard another long, poorly-concealed sigh. “Women like communication,” Jotaro said stiffly. “How about tomorrow morning, 9:30 at Café Rengatei? I’ll be able to meet you there, as well.”

“You’re saying I should ask her myself? I–”

“I’m telling you not to ask me.” Jotaro cut him off, sounding more than a little impatient now. “Do you want to meet tomorrow, yes or no?”

Jotaro’s recent divorce was a touchy topic; one that Rohan desperately wanted to poke and prod—from a safe distance, of course. He couldn’t get punched through a phone.

Well, at least I tried, he lamented. He’d heard about it by chance from Okuyasu and had wanted to know all the juicy details ever since. As a man who was neither married nor divorce, he had no experience with such things. “That would be preferred. Should I send you all the information I have on her?”

“Please. Any and all details will be of use. I’ll contact our Morioh representative and relay everything to him.”

“Oh, she also needs new identification papers. There’s quite a few problems with her real ones, as you can imagine. And antibiotics for pneumonia.”

“Take a picture of her face in front of plain background to use as an ID photo and send over some images of her real identification. I’ll get everything made.”

“Thank you, Jotaro. This will be a huge help.”

Jotaro didn’t even bother saying curtesy goodbyes, instead opting to rudely hang up the phone.

Rohan looked down at the contract draft. With a red pen, he crossed out the word hypothetically from the first paragraph and added an asterisk to the end of condition four, writing a footnote that specified what kind of modeling he expected. Then, he read through the changes you’d made.

Unsurprisingly, your additions restricted him significantly, but they were logical. Although, looking at the condition nine, Rohan wasn’t even sure if he could use Heaven’s Door on you without your permission anyway, given how reactive The Machine was.

He yelled your name in hopes that you would come to his call, and to his delight, you poked your head into the room.

“Yeah?”

“I want more of your input on the contract. Is there any other ambiguous wording you wish for me to change?”

You walked over to the desk and picked up the contract, skimming over it again. “Can you define what ‘excessively disturb’ means? As well as what chores I’m expected to complete?”

He added tiny numbers next to each term you wanted further clarified—changing the asterisk on condition four to a number as well—then notated what they each meant. After all the edits were made, you would each write the finalized contract out, then sign and exchange copies.

“What should your penalty for breaching the contract be?” you asked.

He furrowed his brow. “Wouldn’t it be loss of a highly valuable asset as it is?”

You didn’t seem to catch on to the fact he was talking about you. “If I breach the contract, I get kicked out. If you breach the contract, nothing bad happens. I don’t take anything with me.”

“You take yourself,” he further clarified.

Rohan saw the faintest hint of a blush redden your cheeks. He sneakily pulled his iPod touch out of his pocket and took a photo of your profile.

The blush became far more apparent. “And about that, too!” You grabbed the pen from his hand and scribbled another term onto the contract.

11. Party A will not take photos of Party B without her permission.

“Hey hey hey hey now,” he said smoothly. “That’s a step too far! How else am I supposed to capture your beautiful visage while modeling? This isn’t the European Renaissance, do you truly wish to hold the same pose for hours straight for me to sketch, line, and paint? These are full-color looks we’re talking about, not just black and white.”

“I’ll give you permission while modeling.”

Rohan took the pen from your hand and crossed out the proposed term. “And I also need candids. As a manga artist, I seek reality.”

You crossed your arms, brow raised haughtily. He half expected you to start counting down from ten.

He mirrored your pose, even pursing his lip when you pursed yours. Did you really think staring at him was going to make him change his mind? He was made of stronger stuff.

“Why don’t we compromise?” he offered after an uncomfortable period of time staring at each other. “I won’t exceed a maximum of ten photos a day without your permission.”

He’d purposefully overshot his photo count in order to negotiate down to a more reasonable number. It was a basic rule of haggling, but by the look on your face, he’d freaked you out a little.

“How many photos of me are you taking without me realizing?!”

If this weren’t the most inopportune moment, he’d have taken another. In your eyes was the slightest hint of a fear he couldn’t empathize with no matter how desperately he wished he could. For now, he just had to hope he could commit your expression perfectly to memory.

“None so far. You’re very perceptive.” Hopefully complimenting you more would calm you down. Really, you had no idea the power you held over him; a wellspring of potential manga material whom he couldn’t access as he so pleased due to a highly defensive Stand. You were infuriating, yet equally tantalizing, like a prized jewel kept safe behind bulletproof glass.

Or perhaps a better comparison was being allergic to one’s own favorite food? Yes, that was more accurate. You, like an allergic reaction, fought back. Jewels just sat looking pretty—unless they had supernatural properties, of course.

Perhaps a bit of manipulation is in order, Rohan thought. “Well, I suppose ten candids is too many. You’re interesting, but not that interesting.”

“Hey!”

Good. He’d offended you. Now you’d want him to take photos of you to soothe your own ego. “No, no, you’re right.” He waved you off. “I wouldn’t be able to take ten photos each day anyway. I could manage eight if I really tried, but I doubt they would all be worth it. Five or six would only be reasonable if I followed you around all the time. How about three, no, two photos?”

He just had to keep leading the conversation, write this term himself, get you to sign the contract, and be done with it.

“Two random candids of me?” you asked, still offended, but more inclined than before.

“Would you like me to take more? I’d be willing to raise the maximum to four or five,” he continued casually.

“No, two is fine.” You took the pen from him again and started writing.

“…What?”

“I said two is fine.”

What?!

That always worked!

He summoned Heaven’s Door, potential attack be damned. He was going to make you forget this conversation and try again.

Just as your pages were about to be revealed, a metallic black arm appeared from beyond your shoulder and grabbed Heaven’s Door by the head. Its entire palm spanned his comparatively-small Stand’s face, and Rohan felt cold metal bite into his real skin.

It picked up Heaven’s Door—and by extension, him—and threw both across the room. He went flying back and hit the wall hard enough to leave a dent, the closet door beside him rattling from the force. Stars danced across his vision as his head slammed back.

“You are not to touch my master,” a voice similar to yours, yet also deeper and more mechanical spoke. “I thought you had learned your lesson, Manga Man.”

~~~

You vaguely registered the sound of swivel chair wheels, then a loud thud as you finished rewriting the new condition.

11. Party A will take no more than a maximum of 2 candid photos of Party B per day without her permission.

You’d seen right through Rohan’s attempt at manipulation, so you assumed he had rolled away in frustration to punch a wall like an immature teenager or something. However, you didn’t expect to hear your own voice speak to him, and you turned around.

“You are not to touch my master. I thought you had learned your lesson, Manga Man.”

Manga Man? You’d called Rohan that in your notes…

Standing almost directly behind you was a giant suit of ebony armor. It looked like something you’d seen from a fantasy video game, except the helmet—or was it the thing’s actual head?—was shaped like a modern-day stealth bomber. The armor was matte black with minimal accents to it, just hard plates of metal meant for protection.

“You summoned your Stand,” Rohan said weakly. “Just for me. I’m honored.” He had a dazed look in his eyes as he stared at the what you assumed to be The Machine.

“Did you throw him?!” you asked.

She—it?—looked down at you. “Technically, I threw Heaven’s Door.” It looked back to Rohan. “He was going to use his Stand ability on you, likely because you saw through his manipulation tactic.”

You took in the information, unsure whether to feel happy or upset. The Machine protected you, which was awesome, but it also physically assaulted the person providing for you. You quickly scribbled down another contract condition.

12. Party A cannot kick out Party B if she unintentionally attacks Party A with or without her Stand “The Machine”.

You knew basic first aid, so you hurried over to Rohan and started to inspect him. Thankfully, there was no blood on the wall, and when you checked his scalp, all you could feel was a large goose egg that he immediately complained about when you touched it. You stood in front of him and lowered yourself to his eye level, holding up your pointer finger. “Follow my finger with your eyes,” you instructed calmly.

“I appreciate your concern,” Rohan said, his voice wavering, “but I don’t have a concussion. It takes more than that to put me out of commission.” He started to stand, swayed, then lowered himself back into his chair. “On second thought, perhaps I’ll take a break. Roll me back over to the desk, will you? I want to write down exactly how being thrown by your Stand felt while the experience is still fresh in my mind.”

You snapped your fingers in his face. “I’ll roll you to the desk once you follow my finger with yours eyes.”

He sighed like you were a burden, but did as you requested. His left eye noticeably lagged as it followed your finger left, right, up, down, and diagonal. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and put the flashlight on the brightest setting, shining it in his face and watching his pupils shrink. The left one once again lagged.

“What’s the western version of your name?”

He squinted and shoved your phone out of his face. “Kishibe Rohan.”

“Western.”

“Kishibe Rohan.”

Dang it. You looked over at The Machine. “Next time, toss him gently, okay?”

“Yes, Master.”

You turned off your flashlight and rolled Rohan over to his desk, even doing the good deed of getting him a notebook and pencil. He instantly started writing.

“You need to go to a doctor, unless Tonio’s food can fix a concussion.”

After Rohan finished scribbling down his experience of being tossed like a rag doll, he pointed to the door leading to the main living space. “Roll me to the kitchen phone.”

Wasn’t he on a call earlier? You spotted the landline sitting no more than a few inches from his hand. “Is there something wrong with the phone right there?”

“Oh.” Rohan blankly stared at it. “No. No, there isn’t.” He picked it up and dialed a number. “Pearl Jam can’t make an entire new brain… I think. I’ll just call Koichi and tell him about it, then he’ll ask Josuke for help.”

You didn’t know who either of those people were, nor how Josuke could help, but you had to trust Rohan. “Why don’t you just ask Josuke?”

His face screwed up in disgust. “I’m not asking that idiot for help.”

“But–” You heard the phone pick up, and someone answered.

“Koichi!” Rohan put the phone on speaker. “You’ll never believe what happened to me.”

Koichi’s voice was clear enough that you were able to understand him. “Why are you speaking English?”

“Because I’m with someone who doesn’t speak Japanese, and it’s considered courteous to include her in the conversation.”

“What is… krr-ti-os?”

Rohan spoke some Japanese, presumably defining the word for his friend.

“Uh… I understand. What do you want to talk about?”

“I met a new Stand user! Her Stand is very strong. I tried to use Heaven’s Door on her, but it attacked me. I hit my head very hard, but–”

Koichi exclaimed something in Japanese. You were able to pick up the name Josuke amidst it.

“I am at my apartment.”

Koichi spoke more Japanese. He sounded concerned, but you couldn’t make much out because he was talking too quickly.

“Ok. We will see you here.” Rohan ended the call.

You noticed the way he simplified his English for Koichi, but chose not to comment on it. How sweet.

He sighed and flopped back in his chair, wincing when the back of his head bumped the headrest and aggravated the swollen lump.

“Do you have any ice packs? It’ll help with the pain and swelling until your friends get here.”

“Josuke is not my friend,” he said with a sneer.

“Sure.” You walked over to the kitchen, looking in the freezer for an ice pack. Once procured, you wrapped it up in a hand towel and brought it over, offering it to Rohan.

He reluctantly accepted it and put it against the back of his head. “I don’t think that twelfth condition is necessary,” he said, referencing the contract.

“At best it’s unnecessary, at worst it protects me.”

He seemed to be mulling it over, then nodded his head. “Good enough.”

Wow. Getting a concussion really subdued him.

He quietly moved the main page out of the way to write something beneath Section 2.

“This should be word-for-word, I assume?”

“Yes, please.”

With a black pen, he wrote something in Japanese. “Once we get this all sorted out, we’re going shopping,” he said with a yawn.

You watched his head tip back as he shut his eyes.

“Rohan?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“Maybe a quick nap.”

Was that an okay thing to do? To nap with a concussion?

You grabbed your phone and did a quick search on the internet. As it turned out, taking a nap was highly advised.

“How long will it take your friends to get here?”

Rohan simply groaned in response as he rested his arms down on top of the contract draft.

“Just nap until then. I’ll get the door.”

He was using his arms as a makeshift pillow with the ice pack balanced on the back of his head. You strategically tucked it under his headband so it would remain in place, then went out into the main living space to wait for Koichi and Josuke.

~~~

[Stand Name] The Machine

[Stand Master] You

Destructive Power: C

Speed: B

Range: varies

Stamina: A

Precision: A

Development Potential: C

Chapter Text

The doorbell rang, and you hurried over, hopping down into the entryway and opening the door.

You weren’t expecting to be met by Copadour 1 of all people, accompanied by Copadour 2 and a boy who looked younger than you. All three were shocked to see you instead of Rohan.

“Um… Konnichiwa,” you said. “Rohan is inside.” You pointed behind you.

“English?” Copadour 1 asked.

“Yes,” you said sheepishly. You pinched your fingers together. “Very little Japanese. Sorry.”

He probably knows sorry, right?

The three guys looked at each other, then spoke some Japanese in hushed tones.

“Italiano?” the short one asked.

“ ¿Español? ” you offered.

He shook his head back at you.

You shrugged and let them in. You knew basic Japanese, but nowhere near enough to hold a conversation with three native speakers. Translator apps to the rescue! you thought.

You pulled out your phone and opened the translator app you’d been using, showing it to them. “Translates,” you said slowly and clearly, making exaggerated gestures to help get your point across. “Talk to it.”

The three dudes looked at each other again, then Copadour 1 leaned down to talk into your phone. He seemed genuinely shocked by the capabilities of voice-to-text as well as the translator itself.

Where is Rohan?

You led them to the studio, where Rohan was now sound asleep.

“I think he has a concussion,” you said to your phone, translated it, then showed Copadour 1 the text.

His face lit up in recognition as he read it aloud to his companions, then he and the short guy talked some more and Copadour 2 made a comment. The short guy got upset with Copadour 1, who rolled his eyes. Short guy began panicking when Copadour 2 started wandering around the tiny studio.

You saw Copadour 1’s body glow a faint shade of purple similarly to the way Rohan’s did when he used Heaven’s Door, and a pink and blue robot-looking thing appeared.

“Stand?” you asked and pointed to it.

They all stopped and looked at you. “Sutando?” Copadour 1 asked. “You see my Sutando?”

You nodded. The short guy started talking in Japanese again, and you heard him repeat the word ‘Sutando’ to Copadour 1.

“I see your Sutando?” Copadour 1 asked.

You shrugged. You still didn’t know how to make The Machine appear on command.

Then, the short guy said a word you definitely recognized. “Josuke?"

Copadour 1 responded, which meant he was likely Josuke, and either Copadour 2 or the short guy was probably Koichi. Based on how his voice sounded on the phone, you guessed it was the short guy, and pointed at him. “Koichi?” you asked.

He seemed momentarily confused that you knew his name but answered anyway. “Yes.”

You pointed to Copadour 1. “Josuke?”

Copadour 1 nodded.

You pointed to Copadour 2 even though you didn’t know his name, hoping they’d fill you in.

“Okuyasu,” Copadour 1 supplied. “You are?”

You pointed to yourself and said your name, then pointed to Rohan and asked, “Can you help him?”

Copadour 1— Josuke, you mentally corrected yourself—removed the ice pack from under Rohan’s headband. One of his hands was balled into a fist, and it looked like he was about to punch Rohan’s head. You heard a strange noise that reminded you of a power tool except lower in pitch, and the swelling from where Rohan had been hit noticeably shrunk until it disappeared.

“Rohan is good,” Josuke said. He pointed to your phone, and you allowed him to speak into it.

My stand has the power to repair things.

“Even people? Wow. That’s really useful,” you rambled, aware he probably couldn’t understand you. You pointed to the wall that Rohan had slammed into. “Do you think you could also fix that?”

Josuke didn’t move from where he stood, but his Stand floated over and repaired the cracked and dented drywall. As it returned to his body and disappeared, the purple glow also fading.

Thus far, Okuyasu had been both largely silent and silently large. He started to talk to the others while snooping through the closet, and you recognized the word ‘hentai’ as he spoke.

What are they talking about??

“Kon…torakoto?” Josuke asked.

You turned your head to look at him. It took you a moment to figure out he was reading the contract draft Rohan was laying on; he was transliterating the English letters.

Koichi tugged on Josuke’s sleeve, speaking to him in Japanese. Josuke replied in a nonchalant tone while pulling the contract paper out from underneath Rohan’s arm.

Now you were starting to panic, unsure of how to stop these two much larger men from doing as they pleased in Rohan’s space. Glancing between them, you made the decision to metaphorically tackle Okuyasu because Koichi was already trying to handle Josuke.

You walked up to Okuyasu, taking him by the arm to stop him from rummaging around through what you gleaned to be art supplies.

He for some reason interpreted that as you being interested in the size of his arms. He said something to you in Japanese and flexed the muscles that were beneath your hands.

Damn, this dude’s jacked.

Koichi randomly squealed, and you both looked over to the desk.

The swivel chair rolled back as Rohan stood. “Well, I suppose the jig is up,” he said. He held Josuke’s wrist in a white-knuckled grip and plucked the contract from his hand. “Helping me doesn’t give you permission to snoop.”

Uh-oh. The tension was almost palpable.

Rohan was at least a few inches shorter than both cops, yet still commanded the space—likely because it was his apartment. Koichi looked like he was about to wet himself.

“Heaven’s Door!” Rohan shouted dramatically.

Then all three other guys said things that ultimately melded into one unintelligible jumble of sounds, and magically the number of beings in the tiny room doubled. Even The Machine came out, wrapping her arms around you protectively.

It didn’t matter, though, because everyone except you and Rohan fell prone as they turned into books. Their Stands, initially ready to fight, were now floating around looking confused.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Rohan said to you. “If I could make you understand Japanese, I would. For now, this will have to do.” A pen magically appeared in his hand, and he crouched by each person, writing something in their exposed pages while also casually skimming. “You all should have paid better attention in school. You learned English, didn’t you?”

As he stood, the unfolded pages of all three men fluttered shut like open books in the wind.

“What d–” Josuke put a hand over his mouth in surprise. He slowly uncovered it, and tried again. “Why… why can’t I speak Japanese?!” He jumped up and marched up to Rohan, grabbing him by the collar. “Did you take away my ability to speak my own language?! Give it back before I decide to put you in the hospital again!”

Rohan let his head loll back far enough to make eye contact with you. “This is one of the many reasons I’m not friends with him.” He craned his neck to look up at Josuke. “I wrote two commands in you, Okuyasu, and Koichi. One: you can understand, speak, read, and write fluent English. You’re welcome. Two: you will only speak English around my American guest so as to not leave her out of the conversation. Of course, the command that makes you unable to harm me still applies.”

Josuke’s entire upper body was tense, and he looked like he was trying to throw Rohan into the desk. His arms trembled as they moved slightly, but he held onto Rohan’s collar without letting go.

“Damn it, you asshole!” He forcefully released Rohan.

You got the sense there was some sort of history between these two.

“Interesting.” Rohan smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. “Curse words also translate. Tell me, what language do you think in? Is your inner monologue still Japanese?”

“Inner monologue?” Okuyasu asked, still on the floor.

Koichi stood up and fixed his hair. “Why can’t you just write commands in her?”

“That’s not of your concern right now, Koichi.”

“What do you mean not right now? If it matters later, just tell me now.”

Rohan pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not information for all present company.”

“Why can’t I hear it?” Okuyasu then seemed to realize something. “Hey, do you think you could write ‘rich’ on me or something? I could finally get my house fixed up by a professional. Doing it bit-by-bit on my own is hard.”

Rohan folded his arms. “No. That’s not how Heaven’s Door works.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not. If it was, I would have just written that on myself by now.”

“If you can write on yourself, can’t you just make it so that is how it works?”

Rohan didn’t immediately respond, either because he was genuinely considering Okuyasu’s question or because he was too dumbfounded to speak. The expression on his face was too ambiguous for you to tell.

To your surprise, Rohan grabbed Heaven’s Door from where it floated beside him and pulled it closer, hugging it. “Why would I ever want to alter my Stand?! Heaven’s Door is perfect just as it is! Really, the audacity! How would you feel if I wrote away The Hand’s ability to erase things?!”

“You kinda already did,” Josuke said. “The Hand can’t use its ability to harm you.”

“Protecting myself from you brutes is completely different from removing a Stand’s ability! My writing simply prevents you from using it on me!” He made a sound of frustration. “All of you, get out of my apartment!”

“Hey!” Okuyasu finally got up. “I know I’m a brute but don’t call Koichi one! Have you ever been punched by his Stand? It barely even tickles!” He walked over to the computer, body faintly glowing an electric blue color, and raised his hand. “I wonder if your writing still works on objects you own?”

Koichi squealed again. “Okuyasu! Do you know how expensive that is?!”

Sure, the computer looks old to you, but from what you knew about Rohan, it was probably top of the line.

Maybe I should step in…

Without thinking further, you lunged forward, reaching your significantly slimmer arm out to block his hand from smacking the computer.

“Okuyasu, no!” Josuke shouted.

Then you realized his raised hand had a unique bluish-green aura. The space around the aura was warped, almost as if it were being sucked into a black hole.

The Machine’s armor surrounded your arm. The sound of blunt metal rang out when Okuyasu made contact, his hand bouncing off while you were protected. The force of it felt like you’d been hit with a softball, and you were pretty sure you were going to have a bruise by tomorrow.

The room went completely silent. You watched in amazement as the lighter objects on the desk went flying up into the air, then clattered back down.

“Did she just–”

“–Koichi, hand me that notepad! I need to write this down!”

“How did she deflect The Hand? That shouldn’t be possible.”

Whoever said what, it all went in one ear and out the other for you. Did this man—this police officer—have any sense of duty? Of honor? Or did he just wear a uniform to feel superior? You despised people like that.

He’d hit your non-dominant arm, so you used your dominant one to smack him upside the head, a black gauntlet forming around your hand as you did so. Okuyasu cradled the back of his head, doubling over and curling up from your assault.

“You disgraceful piece of shit!” you shouted at him. “Treat Rohan with some respect! As a police officer, your duty is to serve and protect the people, not destroy their stuff! Would your mother be proud if she knew you went around smashing computers because you think with your dick instead of your brain? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

You saw him tremble a little, then Okuyasu craned his neck up, tears in his wide eyes.

Maybe I went a little too far.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and Josuke leaned down to whisper in your ear, “His mom died when he was a little kid.”

Okay… so you accidentally went more than a little too far.

“Josuke,” Okuyasu sniffled. “Do you think my mom would be proud of me?”

“I…”

Shit. You’d long-jumped over the line. Well, time to fix it.

“As the only woman in the room,” you began with false bravado. You had absolutely no idea if this would work, but this guy seemed pretty dumb, so it probably—hopefully—would. “I can tell you that no, she wouldn’t. She’d be ashamed her son had turned into a bully.” You stuck your nose up and crossed your arms.

“A bully?!” His eyes grew impossibly wider, and the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks finally did.

Josuke hesitantly said your name.

“Yes,” you continued firmly. “You’re a police officer. You’re meant to act as an example to the people you serve. Who would call an emergency hotline if they thought that the cops who arrived would treat them poorly?”

“Josuke,” Okuyasu whined. “Would Big Bro Keicho be proud of me?”

“Keicho Nijimura shot imprisoned criminals with a stand arrow, resulting in the deaths of multiple Morioh residents,” Rohan stated frankly. “He’s not exactly the pinnacle of morality.”

What?? You were definitely going to ask about the details of that story.

Josuke shot Rohan a glare. He helped his friend stand up straight, taking a moment to heal the cut on the back of his head. “I’m sure Keicho would be proud of you, Okuyasu. You became a police officer to help protect our home and take care of your dad, how could he not be proud of that?”

“But…” Okuyasu sniffled. “I became a police officer so I could hang out with you…”

“And we protect Morioh together! How about this, buddy; she’s right, you need to keep your cool even when Rohan is being an asshole, because people look up to us. But I bet your mom would be proud that you protect her home, isn’t that right?” Josuke looked at you expectantly.

You tried to ignore Okuyasu’s big puppy dog eyes, but he looked so hopeful. “Yes, she would be,” you relented.

He perked up immediately. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You’re a public figure; people look up to you as a role model, so you need to act like one.”

Okuyasu wiped his eyes. “I guess you’re right. I did get a little carried away.”

“I’m glad you can acknowledge it. Now apologize to Rohan, please, and do as he asked. You’re in his apartment, so his rules apply.”

Okuyasu kept his chin down, not meeting Rohan’s expectant gaze. “I’m sorry, Rohan-sensei.”

Rohan looked at you. You looked back at him with a raised brow, and he sighed. “I accept your apology,” he said, then looked at you again, as if to say, ‘see? I can play nice.’

“And?” you added.

“And? What do you mean and?”

“And perhaps you should thank him for coming to make sure you were okay.”

Rohan glared.

“Rohan.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Thank you for coming to make sure I was okay, even though I didn’t ask you to.”

Okuyasu smiled, puffing out his chest. “You’re welcome, Rohan-sensei. I’m glad I could help.”

You and Koichi both sighed with relief. Crisis created and averted.

“Hey, Rohan?” Koichi asked. “Can I see next week’s–”

“No.”

Chapter Text

Rohan didn’t want to believe it at first, but you were right. The back of his head throbbed mercilessly. His senses felt murky at best. Standing up made him queasy, and he’d become so tired when he tried to continue working with you.

Your touch was exceedingly gentle as you lifted the back of his headband to tuck the ice pack under it. He managed to hide his smile and let sleep claim him as you left his studio.

***

He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but the sound of voices roused him.

“I think he has a concussion,” he heard you say, then Josuke repeated it back in Japanese.

They were still high schoolers just three years ago. Could they really not remember enough English to have a basic conversation?

Idiots.

Ugh. It hurt to think.

“A concussion? Wait, is she the Stand user Rohan was talking about?” Rohan heard Koichi say.

“I assume they’re one and the same, though I’m surprised she’s at his apartment. I really didn’t expect him to be able to win her over. Even Jotaro is better with women than he is.”

Hey! If he wasn’t still pretending to be asleep, Rohan would have defended himself.

“Jotaro blinks and there’s at least one woman in front of him, the lucky bastard,” Okuyasu grumbled. “Rohan has the opposite effect.”

“You think he repels women?” Koichi asked. “Clearly you’ve never seen his fan girls.”

“Good. I don’t want to, either.”

Rohan silently thanked his friend for defending him. He felt Crazy Diamond’s presence in the studio as Josuke summoned his Stand.

“Stand?” you asked.

Feet shuffled.

“Sutando?” Josuke asked. “You see my Sutando?”

Could he really not say ‘Stand’ in English? Was he trying to correct you into saying it the Japanese way? It was a transliteration in the first place.

“Can you ask her to show us her Stand?” Koichi said.

“I see your Sutando?”

He’s trying to correct her on how to pronounce an English word, Rohan realized with horror.

Evidently some nonverbal communication went on after, because Koichi started talking again . “Maybe she doesn’t know how to summon her Stand yet? Sort of like how I couldn’t summon Echoes at first. What do you think, Josuke?”

“It could be like Mikitaka or Yukako’s Stand ability. They don’t have separate forms like ours.”

“Koichi?” you asked.

Evidently, you’d managed to deduce who Koichi was.

“Yes,” Koichi replied in English.

Finally. They’re talking to her like she’s a person.

“Josuke?”

“Okuyasu,” Josuke replied.

Rohan assumed you’d either gestured to Okuyasu and Josuke was correcting you, or you’d already established Josuke’s identity and now wanted to know who Okuyasu was.

“You are?” Josuke continued.

You said your own name. Rohan noted how you ever-so-slightly mimicked their accents. “Can you help him?”

The ice pack was removed from beneath his headband, and Rohan felt the sharp pain ease until it was gone. For the second time in two days, he’d been healed by one of his least favorite people.

“Rohan is good.”

Now, if you could just get them to leave.

“My Stand has the ability to fix things.”

Rohan’s opinion of Josuke stooped even lower than what it had been before. It had already been addressed that she didn’t speak Japanese. Why was he still speaking Japanese to her?

“Even people? Wow. That’s really useful,” you replied. “Do you think you could also fix that?”

I’ll ask her how she managed to know what he was saying after they leave. Although, what he knew about smartphones, he gleaned that she likely had some sort of translator.

“Oi Josuke, you bet Rohan has some hentai hidden away in here?”

“If you find anything, I don’t want to hear about it!”

“Not me either. Maybe you shouldn’t go snooping through his closet.”

Koichi not you too!

Then Josuke said some gibberish, and Rohan felt the paper beneath his arm shift.

“Josuke, you shouldn’t go reading his writing without his permission,” Koichi said.

“Relax; it’s fine. It’s not like I can read it anyway. I’m just practicing my English.”

Rohan rested more of his weight on the papers to stop them from being taken.

“Oh, hey, pretty girl, you interested in my muscles? I guess Rohan was wrong, then, huh?”

Okuyasu, that tool!

Chancing what you might have done to wake him up wasn’t worth dealing with these unpleasant plebeians Koichi called friends.

Rohan used the aid of his Stand’s speed to grab Josuke’s wrist before he could possibly react. He stood, the swivel chair rolling back as he did. “Well, I suppose the jig is up. Helping me doesn’t give you permission to snoop.” He snatched the contract from Josuke’s hand. “Heaven’s Door!”

Chapter Text

Rohan ushered out the three intruders in record time, looking visibly less stressed once they were gone.

“I admit, your deescalation tactic was… unorthodox,” he said as soon as the front door was shut and locked. “But you saved my computer, so thank you. I think Okuyasu may have even learned something from the experience, too.”

“You mean other than an entire language?”

Rohan barked out a laugh. “Yes, other than an entire language.” He tapped his chin in thought, then passed by you. “The Speedwagon Foundation will be getting you new IDs, so we need to take some photos for them. Though I doubt it’ll matter much in the long run, you need to change your shirt between photos or put a sweater over top so you’re not wearing the same clothes in all of them. We can change your hair a little bit for each one as well.”

He disappeared into his bedroom, then popped his head out of the doorway after a moment. “Why are you still standing there? The clothes are in here.”

He had an evil look on his face, like he was about to have the time of his life torturing you. Nonetheless, you walked the few strides across the living space and stopped at the doorway.

Somehow… crossing the threshold of his bedroom felt weird.

It’s just where he sleeps, you told yourself. And if he tries anything, The Machine will protect me.

So you entered. Rohan was already holding a cable-knit sweater on one arm, the other arm buried in the closet as he sifted through his clothes. He threw a fashionable overcoat at you which you barely caught. “Try putting that on,” he called before diving back in.

You could hear him muttering to himself. “Ooh, that color would look good… and if we cinch the waist you could probably wear one of my tunics.” He turned back to size you up. “I wonder if I could use one of my belts? They’re technically made for hips, but….”

Oh. Oh no… I’m about to become a human Barbie doll, aren’t I?

Thankfully, Rohan was adept at not wasting time, and twenty minutes later, you had photos for your passport, visa, and any other identification that had your face on it. Each photo had you in a different top with your hair altered slightly so they didn’t look like they’d been taken on the same day. Rohan even insisted on applying a tiny bit of makeup for each look.

No wonder he’s so chill with having a female roommate. He’s gay.

Maybe he and Josuke had a messy break up? you pondered. I didn’t really get that vibe from Josuke, though.

“I’m going to need any cards or documents that have dates on them, and if you’re happy with the contract, can you write out a final copy of it?”

He handed you the work-in-progress contract, fresh paper, and a pen, and went off into the studio with all of your documents.

You read it over one last time. There wasn’t anything you could think of that hadn’t already been covered, so you copied everything—even the blank spaces for your name—and reordered the terms to make the information easier to process.

This contract, although not legally binding, is a physical representation of a verbal agreement made by each party to abide by the terms and conditions stated. Should any term or condition of this contract be breached, Kishibe Rohan has the right to kick __________________ out of his home. Given the nature of __________________’s arrival in Morioh, Kishibe Rohan will contact the Speedwagon Foundation on her behalf and vouch for the solidity of her story, thereby giving her access to funds to continue not being homeless on her own.

From this point forward, Kishibe Rohan will be referred to as Party A and __________________ will be referred to as Party B.

 

The terms and conditions of the agreement made by Party A and Party B are as follows:

Section 1

1. Party A will house, clothe, and provide food for Party B.

2. Party A will not intentionally patronize Party B.

3. Party A will not use his Stand “Heaven’s Door” on Party B without Party B’s permission.

4. Party A will not add, remove, or otherwise alter Party B’s information using his Stand “Heaven’s Door” without Party B’s written consent (see Section 2).

5. Party A will not take more than a maximum of 2 candid photos of Party B per day without her permission.

6. Party A cannot kick out Party B should Party B unintentionally attack Party A, with or without her Stand “The Machine”.

7. Party B will not excessively disturb¹ Party A while Party A is working.

8. Party B will provide Party A with manga material and inspiration.

9. Party B will model for Party A as Party A sees fit.²

10. Party B will complete basic household chores³ to prevent undue stress for Party A.

11. Party B will reveal the ability of her Stand “The Machine” and aid in basic research of it.

12. Party B will not intentionally attack Party A with or without her Stand “The Machine”.

¹Entering Party A’s studio more than three times for non-emergency reasons.

²Party B will be fully clothed at all times during modeling sessions, and no poses will be lewd in any manner.

³Sharing the workload of chores such as taking out trash, preparing meals, and generally cleaning up after oneself.

 

Section 2: What Party A Can Write In Party B

*Each addition, removal, or alteration made to Party B’s information must have individual written consent.

The only thing you didn’t copy was the Japanese Rohan had written beneath Section 2, but that was mainly because you didn’t know what it said. You brought the final draft back to Rohan and handed it to him, and he read it over.

“You reorganized the terms. I didn’t ask you to do that,” he commented.

You weirdly felt like a child getting their homework checked. “I know. I just thought it made it easier to read.”

“I suppose you are correct about that. I’ll make my copy.”

He picked another pen from his pen holder and signed the contract you had written, then set to copying his own contract down. Once that was done, you signed and dated both your copy and his.

“Did I write that?” Rohan asked and pointed to the Japanese in Section 2 of the draft.

“Yeah. Do you not remember? It was when you were concussed.”

He hummed in reply. “I don’t know why I wrote in Japanese…”

He wrote presumably the same thing in English on both contracts.

Can understand, speak, read, and write fluent Japanese.

“I want to test something,” he said. “On multiple occasions, you and The Machine have defied the known logic of Stands. You were unaffected by The Hand’s erasing ability. I wrote a safety lock on you yesterday to prevent you from harming me, but your Stand managed to attack me anyway. Pearl Jam didn’t work on you at all. I want to know to how Stand abilities interact with you. If I write a language learning command, I can see how exactly it affects you and for how long.”

“What will happen if it doesn’t work?”

“I’m not sure. This hasn’t happened before.”

That doesn’t bode well for me. So you put your signature beneath the command, and Rohan summoned Heaven’s Door.

“I’ll ask as a precautionary measure; do I have your permission to use my Stand ability on you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Heaven’s Door!”

Rohan’s manga-styled Stand flew forward and reached out its tiny hand. The little guy was just so cute that you couldn’t help but reach back and high-five it. You felt your body grow heavy just like it did when you first confronted Rohan in front of the Morioh Grand Hotel.

“Catch me, please,” you said as your knees buckled, and you fell forward.

Rohan thankfully stood up and caught you before you fell into his lap. He supported your body weight with one arm while the other hand quickly scrawled in the command. After that, he continued to skim through the copious writings that occupied your exposed pages.

“Hmm. Your life has been mundane mostly, but you have your moments of drama and excitement. It’s a pity you don’t have much world history knowledge, I’d like to know the differences between the Japan of your world and this one.”

You struggled to stand. You felt unbalanced, like the lightest breeze could knock you over. “Let go of me! This isn’t what we agreed to!”

Rohan rolled his eyes. “First you want me to catch you, now you want me to let you go. Make up your mind, woman.”

You glared.

He let out a long, melodramatic sigh. “Very well. I want to know if it worked, anyway.”

He released you, and you crumpled to the floor, the open pages across your body all folding shut. Once you regained control of your limbs, you reached up to your face and felt along the areas where seams had formed just to be positive they were really gone.

“Well? How do you feel?”

Heaven’s Door appeared in front of you again, offering its tiny hand to help you up. You would have thought it was a trap of some sort were it not for the expression of shock on Rohan’s face as he stared at his own Stand. He sputtered wordlessly as you accepted the offered help.

“Aww thank you, Heaven’s Door! Aren’t you just the sweetest!” you cooed, and booped him on the nose.

You didn’t think it was possible for a Stand to blush given that they lacked blood. Nonetheless, a manga-style blush rosied his cartoon cheeks, and he shied away behind Rohan’s shoulder.

How did I ever think he was scary? You wanted to squish his round little cheeks. Hey… he kinda looks like the character on the graphic tee Rohan lent me.

“Did you design a t-shirt of him?”

“Of who?”

“Heaven’s Door. He looks like the character on the shirt you let me borrow.”

Heaven’s Door floated in front of Rohan, and Rohan tapped his chin as he scrutinized him. “I suppose I can see why one might think Heaven’s Door looks like Pink Dark Boy.”

Heaven’s Door isn’t pink or dark. “Who’s that?”

“The lead character of my most well-known manga.” Rohan sifted through the various papers on his desk, picking up a stack of artist’s paper. “I’ll have you know that you’re very lucky to be seeing these panels. They aren’t released yet. Not even my editor has seen them.”

“Cool.”

You assumed Rohan had been expecting something more boisterous or interested. He seemed disappointed by your one-word response.

“I mean…” You cleared your throat. “Cool!”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He flipped through the sheets until he found a particular panel and showed it to you. It was a full-body shot of the same character as on the graphic tee, posing dramatically as he faced off against some unseen villain. He looked exactly like Heaven’s Door, and surrounding him were some Japanese letters saying ‘doki doki doki doki’ to represent the heavy beating of his heart.

You pointed to the letters, careful not to actually touch the paper and risk getting anything on it. Rohan seemed like the type to be a stickler about that sort of thing. “I can read those.”

“The giongo? What does it say?”

“A heartbeat sound, right? In English, I’ve seen ‘thud thud’ or ‘thump thump,’ but that says ‘doki doki’ like the one game title… Wait, nevermind, that probably doesn’t exist yet.”

Rohan gave you a confused look, then showed you another page. “Can you read these?”

You leaned closer to see the text. “Aloud?”

“Preferably so I know how accurate it is.”

You skimmed the page first, then went back and read it to Rohan. “The first box says, ‘My thoughts are murky… like trying to swim through a bog. I’m not sure which way is up or down even though I’m standing still. What is this ability? It’s nothing that I’ve ever felt before.’ And then the other guy is saying, ‘After all this time, I may have finally met my match. Who would have thought it would in the form of a little boy?’” You pointed to the character that looked like Heaven’s Door. “Is that Pink Dark Boy?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Then, Pink Dark Boy says, ‘He knows I didn’t—’”

“That’s not spoken. A general rule of thumb in manga is that square boxes are internal monologue or narration, and rounded boxes—also known as speech bubbles—are, as the name implies, spoken aloud.”

You scowled at him. “I know that. We have comics and graphic novels in the western world, too, you know.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Rohan asked, parroting your comment from earlier that morning.

You narrowed your eyes. He was in perfect forehead-flicking position.

“Remember, you signed a contract. You can’t hit me anymore.” He reached up and booped you on the nose, and smirked at the expression you made. “Don’t look so shocked; you’re easy to read. Either way, It’s good to know that my language command worked. Now, I need to do some work. I don’t care what you do in the meantime. Though, if you experience any changes in your ability to understand Japanese, write it down.”

Before you forgot, you needed to ask who Keicho Nijimura was, as well as what Rohan’s beef with Josuke was. There was probably other things you couldn’t think of off the top of your head.

“Any questions you have, I can answer later. I need to finish next week’s issue of Pink Dark Boy. I’m already behind schedule as it is.”

You pouted a little. You wanted answers now, while the questions were still fresh in your head. “Fine,” you grumbled, and pulled out your phone.

You made a new note. One benefit to knowing Japanese was that you could figure out how to spell names you otherwise would have likely badly butchered.

Questions about Morioh Cho

• Who is Keicho Nijimura?
• What is a stand arrow and stand awakening?
• Rohan x Josuke beef
• Weird lumpy dude that was at Okuyasu’s house??

~~~

Rohan dragged a hand down his face.

All of his work was finally done, and it was only a little past 2 in the afternoon.

He’d just-shy-of kicked out Koichi, Okuyasu, and the manchild, took a few pictures of you for new IDs, finished negotiating and writing the contract, scanned your various forms of identification as well as the notes he’d taken of you and compiled all of the information into a folder for safekeeping, faxed everything to Jotaro, then completed a day and a half’s worth of work for his manga.

He hadn’t even stopped for lunch like he usually did, instead opting to order take-out that you so kindly went and picked up with your new Japanese skills.

Rohan sighed a long sigh and craned his neck back, granting it a much-needed break after looking down for so long. He stood and stretched, then left his work in his studio. Finally, you were going to go shopping. He couldn’t deny his excitement; he wanted to see just how much better he could make you look.

Sure, plain clothes weren’t bad, but he could make you into so much more with just a bit of effort.

He called your name, but received no reply. You weren’t in the main living space, nor the bathroom.

She’d leave a note if she went out, wouldn’t she? You were in a foreign environment, and Rohan was your only support system.

Then, he felt a breeze across his skin and noticed that the balcony door was cracked open, afternoon sunshine streaming in through the open curtain. The folding chair to his dining table was also conveniently gone.

Rohan opened the door slowly to not risk scaring you. He peeked out to find you sitting on the missing dining chair, lazily sunning yourself like a cat. Light reflected off of your hair and gave your skin a warm glow, and the late summer breeze stirred your hair. Your hands sat in your lap, curled loosely around your iPhone.

Oh, this was definitely an image he wanted to capture. He eased the door shut, turning the knob before it could make any noise against the latch, and hurried to get his camera.

You looked so perfectly content in the sunshine, head tilted back to rest against the building and chest steadily rising and falling. Rohan couldn’t imagine how fast the world you came from had to move in order for you to be bored enough to fall asleep in this one, but he was going to take advantage of it regardless.

Thanks to his failure at negotiation, he could only take two photos at maximum, so he needed to get this right the first time. He slowly opened the door and crept out onto the balcony again, positioning himself so his shadow wasn’t in frame nor was there any glare, and—

“Why are you taking a picture of my master?”

Rohan felt his heart skip a beat and had to take a moment to compose himself. Really, he should have expected this. “I was wondering when you were going to show yourself.”

Your Stand had manifested itself in the form of that strange little flying machine again, this time using its propellers to hovering by the balcony railing.

“If you really must know,” Rohan continued quietly. “Moments of solitude are best for candids like this. People do not feel the need to filter their expressions and actions out of concern for how others might perceive them when they are alone, you see.” He took the perfect photo despite The Machine’s distraction. “And I am in bounds of the contract. You know that.”

The Machine didn’t reply. Rohan crept back inside and put his camera away, then returned to wake you up. Though he would never say such a thing aloud, he had to admit to at least himself that you looked so peaceful he almost didn’t want to.

Almost.

He tapped you on the shoulder and said your name. When that didn’t work, he progressed to nudging, then to gently shaking you.

The Machine watched on in silence as you eventually roused. You breathed in deeply and opened your eyes, squinting from the sunlight and rearing your head back when you saw him.

You covered your mouth as you yawned out a hello, arching your back and stretching your limbs luxuriously in his cheap apartment chair. “I haven’t fallen asleep like that in a while… Do you need something? What time is it?”

Rohan checked his watch as he shifted his weight. “It’s 2:23. I’m done my work for the day, so we can go shopping now. Your Stand was out and about again, by the way.”

You sat up immediately. “She was?” You looked around, eye wide and curious, but your disappointment was evident when you didn’t see The Machine.

“Yes. I’ve never seen a Stand who was shy with its own user before… nor one that was so chatty.”

“She talks to you?“

“Primarily to threaten me.” He held the balcony door open for you as you stood and folded up the chair, and followed you inside. “For shopping, we have two options: stay in town or go into the city. The city will have a wider variety of stores, but we’ll need to take the train to get there, and it will likely end up being more expensive. Staying in town will be a quicker trip, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll find clothes that fit both of our styles.”

“Our styles?”

Rohan crossed the apartment and collected his shoes from the entryway closet. “Of course our styles. What, did you think I was going to have you modeling in those rags?”

“Hey,” you said weakly, and he could tell you didn’t have an argument against him. The staining caused by the marsh still remained in the fabric of your shirt, leaving it dulled with dark splotches. Your jeans at least were made of a decent grade denim and had come clean.

“Why are you even wearing that shirt? It belongs in the trash at this point. I gave you something else; did you already manage to dirty it somehow?” The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t want to be seen out and about with you if you were going to wear something so ratty.

“I put them in the hamper in the powder room.”

“Did you wake up in a cold sweat?”

“What?! No!” you exclaimed overly defensively.

Rohan rolled his eyes. “Then there’s no need to wear that thing. Although… you make a good point. We’ll need somewhere to store your things, won’t we?” He pulled out a pen and the list he’d made during breakfast from his bag, adding ‘clothes storage’ to it. “For now, you can use my closet. I’ll move some of my things into the studio if I have to.”

Instead of putting on his shoes, Rohan went into the powder room and pulled the shirt and pants from the otherwise-empty laundry hamper, and tossed them to you.

“Don’t put something in the hamper unless it’s actually dirty. Washing clothes that don’t need it unnecessarily stresses the fabric fibers and they become worn out sooner. If it’s not spilled on, stained, soaked, nor smells bad, it’s still clean.”

“I’m glad we agree,” you grumbled back at him.

“Good. Now, you’re wearing something stained, so go change.”

You glowered at him but went into the powder room anyway. Good. You both knew he was right, and you weren’t going to fight him on it like some rebellious teenager. Very good.

When you came back out, Rohan decided the shirt’s particular shade of pink suited you well. It even went with the blush he’d picked for you while taking photos for your IDs.

“Throw that thing out while you’re at it,” he said as you tossed the pants over to the couch.

You looked hurt and held the stained shirt closer to you. “I wanna keep it.”

It’s just a shirt, he thought.

Then again, all the belongings he’d had to sell to avoid debt were just things, too; arbitrary though they may be, they’d made his house a home. Perhaps that shirt had sentimental value to you.

“Very well, do what you want. Just hurry up with it.” He wasn’t going to let you put a damper on his mood.

Rohan closed an eye and extended his arms. Using his fingers to emulate two corners, he—from his perspective, at least—create a frame around your person. “I can’t wait to see what I can do with you! You’re like a canvas primed for painting. Woefully blank, yet chock-full of endless possibilities.”

He smirked when you blushed. The makeup he’d applied to your cheeks couldn’t hide it, either. You turned away and tossed the shirt over to the couch.

Rohan briefly wondered if you’d ever been praised before. As a famous mangaka, he knew telling someone whether they were worthy of being his muse or not had its consequences. Doing so had ended in a lasting bond with his friend Koichi. Coincidentally in the same interaction, he’d utterly shattered a greasy-haired boy’s self esteem when he deemed him unfit.

“So, which would you prefer? Morioh or the city?”

Chapter Text

You willed the awkward flush heating your face to go away. At least the makeup Rohan had applied earlier was hopefully helping to hide it some.

He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay, you told yourself.

Probably, you very unhelpfully argued back.

Unconfirmed but no straight man owns that much makeup.

Maybe he’s bi.

Stop it! No catching feelings for the guy from an alternate universe!

Technically, you’re the one from an alternate universe.

Point still stands!

You tossed your shirt over to the couch, then flicked your head so your hair covered your cheek from his view.

“So, which would you prefer? Morioh or the city?” Rohan continued on casually, as if he hadn’t just given you the most exquisite compliment you’d ever received.

You sighed. “City, I guess…?”

“Splendid! I was hoping you’d say that. I haven’t had some quality retail therapy in a while.” He put on a pair of sneakers with a wooden tool you were pretty sure was called a shoehorn, then grabbed a jacket. “You know what, since we’ll probably end up with a lot of bags, we’ll take my car instead of the train. It won’t be as fast, but it has storage space.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze as you put on your own boots. As you tied the laces, you took a deep breath to collect yourself.

“What style do you prefer?” Rohan asked. “What you arrived in leans toward mori gāru, although with the right posture and pose, you could wear any Harajuku style you want—you are wearing something Harajuku, by the way. I’m not spending designer prices on you until I know I can trust you not to ruin it, but I won’t put you into something basic, either.”

You were confused by why he sounded so offended by the mere thought of simple clothes. What did The Great Manga Artist, Rohan Kishibe, have against jeans and a t-shirt? Sure, yours had seen a good few wears and washes, but it didn’t have any holes in it. Until he chased you into a marsh, it looked perfectly fine.

“Wait, what am I saying?” Rohan continued. “You probably don’t know what half of those words mean.”

You understood the Japanese he was saying, but he was correct in that you didn’t understand the context. You knew modern western styles—cottagecore, athleisure, boho, punk, goth, academia, haute couture, the list went on—but you were by no means up-to-date on the trends of mid-2000s Japan.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

“Why are you laughing?” Rohan asked as you left the apartment.

“Nothing. You wouldn’t get it.” You shook your head as you walked toward the stairwell.

Rohan caught up with you after he locked the apartment door. “Well, now I’m even more curious. What’s a modern woman’s humor like?”

You slowly turned your head, staring up at him as he crowded your personal space. You then noticed that Heaven’s Door was floating behind his shoulder, a notepad and pen at the ready.

You pointed at Heaven’s Door. “Are those real?”

“Hm?” He glanced back, then frowned. “Why did you come out? No need to give me away like that.”

Rohan took the notepad and pen and shoved them back in his bag. Heaven’s Door seemed disappointed.

So Stands can interact with real objects. I need to remember to write that down. “I just think it’s funny that I’m not knowledgeable about the current trends because I’m from the future. Whatever is popular right now isn’t popular anymore where I’m from—or when I’m from, I guess. People may think I’m dressed weirdly, but technically speaking, I’m extremely fashion forward.”

“Wearing the trends before they’ve even been set and putting yourself a league ahead of the real trendsetters.” Rohan took out the notepad and started writing. “Perhaps I could make something out of that…” he said mostly to himself.

You gave him a flat look that he didn’t see, then sighed. “How about you give me a fashion rundown? There’s probably a western equivalent to at least some styles.”

He shoved the notepad into his bag again. “Well, as you very well now know, mori gāru means ‘forest girl’ in Japanese. The style is centered around the idea of living in and being a part of nature. It’s only just recently become popular, but denim isn’t really part of the fabrics you’d see on those wearing it.”

“Oh! That’s called cottagecore in America. It’s a newer style there, too.”

Rohan held his chin high, looking down his nose at you. “We did it first.”

“We westernized you,” you quipped back. You’d had that insult in your back pocket ever since you first planned this trip.

He looked horribly offended. “Do you mean the Meiji Restoration?”

“I mean the time when Japan copied western industrialism because you thought our tech was cool.”

He scoffed. “Whatever.” Neither of you knew enough about Japanese history to be able to go into an off-track debate. “There’s also kawaii, lolita, decora, gyaru, visual, punk, cyber, cosplay, and probably others I can’t think of off the top of my head.“ Rohan counted each style on slender fingers.

“Lolita?!” Surely that didn’t have the same meaning as it did in the west, right?

“Yes.” Rohan led you out of the apartment building and over to his car. “It has nothing to do with the Russian-American novel, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure about that?” you said in a tone meant to imitate John Cena, but belatedly realizes he wouldn’t get the reference.

“Have you read it?”

“The novel about a pedophile? No, I haven’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s actually quite interesting. I haven’t encountered any other books that utilizes an unreliable narrator to the extent it does. I recall reading that the author was a victim of sexual abuse as a child; perhaps he wrote Lolita in an attempt to understand the perspective of his abuser.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The way he’d said it, Rohan sounded like he considered such a thing deep and profound.

“I’m surprised you’ve read it,” you said as you got into the car, resting your bag on your lap. “I know it’s a required reading for some college classes in America, but that’s about it.”

“It’s called being cultured.” Rohan put his bag and jacket into the back seat, looking at you pointedly as he buckled his seatbelt. “You should try it some time.”

You gaped. “I am cultured!”

“How many countries have you visited?” he asked as he turned on the car and backed out of his parking spot.

“How many countries have you visited?” you mocked back. “Do you know how big America is?! We’re literally the most diverse country in the world, even moreso than in 2007! Traveling basically anywhere that isn’t Mexico or Canada requires paying for crazy expensive plane tickets.” A stark realization hit you like a sledgehammer. “Oh shit, my visa!”

Rohan pulled out onto the main road, glancing at your face when he looked to the right. “What about it?”

“It only lasts 90 days.”

“The Speedwagon Foundation is taking care of all the legal issues.”

“No, I mean my visa for, like, my timeline. It’s only valid for 90 days. Any time past that I’ll be an undocumented immigrant and-or missing.” Worry swelled in your chest and you began to rapidly heat up, breath coming short.

Missing. You hadn’t even thought about that. Should you contact your friends and family and tell them you’ll stay in Japan for longer? You took the fall semester off, but you were supposed to come back in the spring to continue college. Hell, you didn’t even plan on staying in Japan for the full 90 days.

“We can figure out the logistics of that later,” Rohan attempted to soothe. Then he did a double take at you. “Are you having a panic attack now? When I can’t observe it?!”

You were so dumbstruck by the sheer audacity of this man that your brain stopped mid-spiral to fully process what he’d said.

Wow. Asshole. “You need therapy,” you half-wheezed.

He tilted his head in thought. “A therapist would be a great source of material… though, now that you mention it, I may have some repressed memories.”

In your peripheral vision, you saw Heaven’s Door retrieve the notepad and pen from Rohan’s bag once more and begin to jot something down.

“May?”

“It’s not like I know if I have them or not. I can’t remember.”

“Touché.” Your heartrate was still quicker than normal, but remarkably, it didn’t feel like it was about to pound out of your chest anymore.

Rohan glanced at you while at a stoplight. “Did you stop panicking? I can’t believe that actually worked. Heaven’s Door, write that down.”

Heaven’s Door wrote it down.

You glanced between them like they were a couple of conspirators. “Did what work?”

“Nothing of concern, just a little experiment. Anyway, back to fashion. We need to know what would be best for you so we don’t waste time. Kawaii fashion is, as the name implies, all about cute things. It consists of bright colors, bows, rainbows, sparkles, that sort of thing. Have you ever heard of Hello Kitty?”

“Of course.”

“She and the rest of the brand are considered staples of the kawaii look. Decora also falls under the subgenre. It uses—or overuses, if you ask me—accessories and decorations, hence the name. Lolita takes inspiration from the Rococo era of European fashion. Frills, lace, and pastels are common. Gyaru is  the Japanese transliteration for ‘gal’ and is inspired by American fashion, particularly the 90s and early 2000s; think big hair, big nails, heavy makeup, and fake tans. Visual comes from the phrase “visual shock”, which was used by a Japanese rock band to describe their style. It’s the more androgynous clothing you’d see metal bands wear. Punk and cyber both come from the west so I assume you know what those are—oh! Goth does as well, but that’s a subgenre of fashion here in Japan. Did I miss any?”

“Cosplay, but I know what that is.”

As you approached another red light, Rohan turned to you and gave you a once-over. “You’d make a cute Sailor Mars… and with knowledge of the future, you are technically psychic. You’re not enough of a hothead, though. Maybe Sailor Mercury or Sailor Jupiter?”

Heaven’s Door wrote it down.

“Who’re they?”

His eyes went wide as he gasped and put a hand to his chest. “You don’t know Sailor Moon?!”

Apparently you’d offended his very existence. Pearl clutcher, you thought. “I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t watched it. When I was little, I had Winx.”

“What the fuck is Winks —I’m going, I’m going!” Rohan hit the gas a little harder than necessary in response to an impatient taxi driver’s honking behind you.

“Its another magical girl show. It’s originally from Italy, I think.”

He scoffed. “Paltry in comparison. Sailor Moon can’t be topped. Ugh, and I can’t even show it to you! I used to own the full set of DVDs, but I sold them a few months ago so I could purchase a mountain.”

Didn’t he say he was broke recently? “A mountain of what?”

He hadn’t specified what he purchased the first time he’d said it, either.

Based on the expression on his profile, he thought you were stupid. “Rock, I would imagine. What else would it be made of?” he said as if it were the most obvious thing ever. “There’s trees, too, I suppose, dirt, nature, and wildlife. It’s forested land with only a few human inhabitants nearby—not of very high value now since I stopped some developers who wanted to build on it.”

“Wait– you… what?” It took you a bit to put two and two together. He wasn’t exaggerating the quantity of a purchase; the man meant an actual mountain.

Holy crap, this guy’s loaded!

“Oh, you finally figured out just how famous I am. Congratulations. Now close your mouth, it’s obvious you haven’t brushed your teeth in a few days.”

Your teeth clacked together as you shut your open jaw. You hadn’t even been aware you were gaping at him.

You cupped your palm over your mouth and huffed out a breath, then sniffed it to see how bad it was. You cringed. You hadn’t exactly had access to a toothbrush since you washed up on Morioh’s beach, but you’d been trying to keep your teeth clean as best you could.

“Why didn’t you say anything until after we were already on our way into the city?” you asked from behind your hand.

“Because you weren’t breathing directly on me until just now. Don’t worry, we’ll get you a toothbrush on the way back. It’s on my list of things you need.”

That was… you weren’t sure whether it was unexpected or not, but it was considerate of him to have a list. You’d also prepared one while Rohan was working, so you could always pull from that if there was something he missed. He knew what was needed for everyday life in Morioh, and you knew your personal needs.

The guilt from earlier in the morning came back full force and left a heavy stone weighing down your chest. Sure, your requests were raitional, but assuming Rohan had malicious intentions wasn’t. Regardless of your excuse, you had no reason to believe he would do anything criminal to you.

Then again, you thought, he did attack me with Heaven’s Door.

Nothing that would get him put on a sex offenders registry, anyway.

You watched the world beyond the car window pass by as you sighed at your own disoriented feelings. This was part of what your trip to Japan was about in the first place; you wanted to get off the internet and experience reality. An alternate reality wasn’t exactly what you had planned, but the point still stood. Letting your brain rot out of your skull wasn’t healthy, and the toxicity of certain aspects of internet culture had been getting to you.

You absently lifted your phone to check for notifications, but there were none.

You were shocked that your friends and family weren’t contacting you too much. You’d requested them not to, but you’d still expected to receive more than a quick check-in text from your bestie since arriving.

I wonder how things are going at home.

“Hey, um–” you started just as Rohan turned on the radio.

He turned it back off. “You were about to say something?”

“Yeah.” You picked at your nails nervously. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for kinda unintentionally accusing you of being a creepy stalker who’d only let me crash on your couch for predatory reasons, and then doubling down and getting defensive when you called me out on it. That was wrong of me.”

Rohan breathed in a deep breath, then sighed through his nose. “It’s part of the reason you’re in Japan, right?” he asked despite sounding like he already knew the answer. “To better ground yourself in the real world?”

“Yeah. I even took the semester off. My original plan was to keep working, but a few weeks ago, I was at a gas station and decided to purchase a scratch-off ticket because why not, yknow? I ended up winning $9,000 in cash, which is what paid for this trip.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this, but it was too late to stop rambling now. “I’ve literally never purchased a lottery ticket before, and I don’t plan to ever again.”

Rohan’s brow furrowed. “You’ve never purchased a lottery ticket before or since?”

“Nope. No way I’m gonna chance my luck and end up with a gambling addiction.”

You could hear Heaven’s Door scribbling on the notepad.

“Our meeting may just be a matter of fate, then,” Rohan said absently.

Fate? “I don’t believe in fate.”

“Just a few days ago you didn’t believe in Stands either, did you?”

“Stands are different!”

Rohan looked like he wanted to say something, then changed his mind. “Your lack of belief doesn’t make it any less true. Regardless, making mistakes and learning from them is a part of life.“

That wasn’t the answer you were hoping for. “So… you forgive me?” you asked hopefully.

Rohan put on a pair on sunglasses that were sitting in a cup holder. “Ugh, I suppose,” he said facetiously.

The stone in your chest lifted a bit. One less thing to worry about.

***

Rohan parked along a busy street in inner-city Sendai about a half an hour later.

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” he informed you as he twisted around to collect his things.

He paused as he picked up the notepad and pen, long-since abandoned by Heaven’s Door. You managed to get a peek of it, and saw that the bottom half of the page was occupied by a detailed sketch of what looked suspiciously similar to a drone.

“What is that?” you asked, gesturing to the notepad. “The sketch?”

Rohan showed it to you. “This is the smaller form your Stand takes on when you’re asleep. Any idea what it is?”

“Yeah. It’s a drone. They became available to the public around 2018-ish if I remember correctly, but the military has been using them for a lot longer.”

Rohan hummed in acknowledgment. “How do you spell that?”

“Drone?”

“Yes.”

“D-R-O-N-E.”

He wrote it next to the sketch, then put the notepad away. As you were about to get out of the car, he stopped you.

“Hold on a moment, you need to wear this.” He opened the glove compartment and pulled a disposable mask from a box.

You felt the blood drain from your face as you stared at it in horror, your soul sinking into a pit of despair. The pandemic is already happening here?! But it shouldn’t be for another thirteen years!

This universe was so similar to yours. You’d briefly forgotten that it wasn’t your reality just some years in the past. Distress started to well up in your chest again. You didn’t want to repeat everything you’d gone through during those years; the isolation took such a toll on your body and mind. For the sake of your sanity, you fucking couldn’t—

“Do you have a phobia of masks?” Rohan asked, having taken your hesitation for fear. “It’s considered polite to wear one when you’re sick here in Japan. Even if you’re not showing symptoms, walking pneumonia is still contagious.”

Walking pneumonia?

Walking pneumonia.

Right. You had walking pneumonia. You’d totally forgotten.

You barely contained your sigh of relief as you took the mask from his hand. The rest of your body relaxed, your limbs sagging in the stead of your lungs.

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait, do you actually have a phobia of surgical masks?” Rohan asked, curiosity piqued. You could already tell from his tone of voice he was about to snowball into a mini-investigation. “Or would it be a fear of suffocation? Wearing a mask makes the air you breathe in warmer, which I could see creating the illusion of suffocation—”

“No, it just reminded me of something from my world,” you said as you tucked the loops behind your ears just like you did all those times you dared to take a step into public. “Assuming this universe takes roughly the same path as mine, in 2020, there will be global pandemic. Literally millions of people will die from it. Everyone will have to wear masks and stay home and isolate themselves. Schools close, businesses close, the economy crashes, there’s supply chain issues, the media is divisive, everyone is miserable,” you rambled. “And then, depending on who you ask, it turns out the people in power might’ve lied and we didn’t necessarily have to put our lives on hold—”

Rohan put his hand over your masked mouth, his face deadly serious. “That is far too good of a plot line for you to tell me when I can’t record it.”

You sat frozen, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

“I knew I should have read more than your summary. How did I manage to miss something so riveting?!”

The world fell apart for three years, and he considered it a riveting narrative.

You scowled.

“Don’t give me that look. You’d agree if you saw it from my perspective.”

You scowled harder.

“I can make that face, too, see?” Rohan scowled back at you. “It doesn’t change the fact that a pandemic, similar to war, is an intriguing choice in setting and captures readers’ attention. Now, let’s go shopping.”

He got out of the car, an eager pep in his step, and you sighed as you followed.

This is going to be a long shopping trip, isn’t it?

~~~

Rohan locked the car once you were on the sidewalk. It wasn’t super crowded, given that it was still mid-workday, but people still passed at a regular rate. You received a few glances when strangers registered you as a foreigner, but other than that, it was quiet.

“Where are we going fir–”

“Excuse me!” an masculine voice called as they caught up to him.

Rohan was shocked by how timid you turned, moving closer to him when accosted by a stranger—although ‘accosted’ was a bit of a stretch. Japanese society was far more polite than America, exchanging genuine friendliness—or agitation, depending on where you went—for well-mannered distance.

“Are you Kishibe Rohan?”

It’d been a while since he was approached in the wild. It rarely ever happened in Morioh, and if it did, it was during tourist season.

“Yes, I am. Are you a fan of my work?”

The man lit up. “Yes, I have all of the available colored editions of Pink Dark Boy, and I read each new part when it comes out! Could I get a photo of us together?” The man pulled a BlackBerry Pearl from his pocket.

Rohan glanced at you to find your brow raised and eyes wide. You probably thought a BlackBerry was old fashioned with its physical keypad and tiny screen, didn’t you?

“Of course,” Rohan said smoothly. He separated himself from you by a step. “Unlike some mangakas, I always make time for my fans.”

After posing for a few photos, the man thanked him sincerely and showered him with compliments, entirely ignoring you waiting nearby until he noticed you were wearing official Pink Dark Boy merch. “Are you also a fan of Kishibe-sensei?” he asked.

You shook your head shyly. “I borrowed this shirt from a friend…”

“Oh,” the man nodded with likely-misplaced knowing. “The mangaka who made that character is this man.”

You stared at him, blinking your doe eyes with your brow scrunched. The mask covering half your face made it difficult to read your expression, but you looked offended and perhaps a touch bewildered. “I know,” you said, voice curt and without intent of elaboration.

He seemed confused that you weren’t in any way awestruck, but thanked Rohan once more before continuing on his way.

“I thought Japanese people kept to themselves? The trains are dead silent,” you commented, brow still furrowed.

“Usually, but I’m a unique exception.”

You snorted. “What, like a celebrity?”

“Yes, like a celebrity. Think of me as the Japanese Stan Lee.”

Within that brief interaction, your body language and voice had changed so much. When a stranger approached you were on high alert, but as soon as he was gone, you’d relaxed again. Your eyes had flitted from concern, to fear, to annoyance, and now they’d settled on disbelief. He wished he’d made the social faux pas of not asking you to wear a mask so he could properly see your facial expressions.

“You’re that popular?“

Even Rohan had to admit that was a stretch. “Perhaps if I extended into more subgenres. Shonen in and of itself is fairly generalized, but suspense horror isn’t for everyone,” he elaborated as you short-stopped in front of a convenience store. “I’ve dabbled in mystery a few times, and it was received well. I might try releasing Pink Dark Boy three weeks of the month then a shorter spy thriller story arc the fourth week, but that’s still only the glimmer of a concept at the moment. I haven’t even spoken to my editor about it.”

He was of course referring to the spy thriller you’d inspired while he awaited your exit from the Morioh Grand Hotel yesterday, but you didn’t need to know that. He hadn’t considered altering his release schedule until just that moment, anyway.

Perhaps her spontaneity is rubbing off on me.

“Why did you stop?” Rohan asked. “We have no need to go in here.”

“I want a toothbrush.”

He sighed. “We’ll purchase necessities in Morioh on the way back. I’m not spending city prices when I can get the exact same products at Owson’s.”

“Why didn’t we go to Owson’s first?”

“Because it’s open 24 hours a days. Clothing stores aren’t.”

He had priorities. Seeing you dressed up like an enemy stand user for his own entertainment was one of them. Selfish, perhaps, but worthwhile. You could get a toothbrush later.

Rohan wondered if he should introduce you to his editor, Kyoka. You were a new muse, after all. You probably wouldn’t mind having a girl friend to talk to, either. Kyoka was in-the-know about Stands, as well as his encounters with the supernatural. Someone who claimed, palpable evidence to prove it included, to be from an alternate reality was just par for the course, really.

You sulked for a moment, then seemed to consider his reasoning. “You got any gum?”

Finally, a reasonable request. He pulled out a pack and offered you a piece.

You took it and unwrapped it, slipped it into your mouth from under your mask, and continued walking. “What’s the budget?” you asked as you chewed.

“Hmm?”

“The budget for shopping. What is it?”

You needed basic necessities, an entire wardrobe for everyday life, and a separate modeling wardrobe. You were free to pinch your little American pennies to your heart’s content if you so desired, but he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort while deciding what you modeled. “There isn’t one. By the way, what are your measurements?”