Work Text:
Rohan first heard of you at a bookshop.
Two teenagers (siblings, he assumed) were at a shelf with a bunch of tankōbon volumes.
The two were in a voracious debate, and Rohan couldn’t help but overhear when they mentioned him.
“Come on!” The younger one whined. “I don’t want this stupid girly manga! I want Pink Dark Boy!”
“Shut up!” the older one replied. “It’s my money and we’re getting Happy Happy Jump!”
“Oh, come on! What’s so good about it anyway? You’ve already collected all the issues from Margaret! This is the latest tankōbon of Pink Dark Boy, and it has character data and extras!”
“Well,” the older one beamed with a smug smirk that made Rohan seethe.
“It’s mature. It’s about the real experiences of a real person. It’s introspective. It’s literary. It’s art. It isn’t some fantasy garbage. You know it’s won an Araki Prize, right?”
“So has Pink Dark Boy! And if you don’t buy it for me, I’ll tell Mom about your boyfriend,” the younger one threatened. The older one bristled before sighing and picking up the Pink Dark Boy tankōbon.
Rohan went home that day in a truly awful mood.
That girl dared to insult him, the great mangaka Rohan Kishibe, and call his work ‘fantasy garbage.’
Fantasy garbage! He put his soul in Pink Dark Boy. It had a loyal base of readers for a reason. It was art. True, visionary art!
When he reached home, he was fuming. How could that insolent girl insult him? If she just picked up a volume of his work and read it, she’d see that it was clearly superior to whatever garbage you put out.
He was still angry as he began to sketch. He just couldn’t let it go.
What was so great about your work that it outweighed his in that girl’s mind? What about your work was so interesting, so visionary, that it was better than his? It couldn’t be. It truly could not be.
He mulled over it. All through the week, he can’t stop thinking about it. How could someone choose you over him?
That Sunday evening, he bought a volume of your manga.
At first, he flips through to find some flaws. There must be, right? Something that could prove that he was the superior mangaka.
He couldn’t find a single one.
He goes through your manga again and again and again.
And the only thing he could think was just how interesting the story was, how pretty your art was, and how well-written each chapter was.
Not to mention your author’s notes and extras, which were surprisingly charming.
He returns to the bookshop and buys volume two. And three. And four. And the latest edition of Margaret Magazine.
He reads through each chapter voraciously, as if he’s in a trance. He admires each and every panel, every single detail.
He tries to rationalise it; he’s just trying to find something that can prove that your manga is superior to his. But it’s when he goes to buy volume 5, he realises that he’s finally found a muse.
On Tuesday, he managed to get some information about you.
He hadn’t seen you at Shueisha’s annual end-of-year party. When he asked Izumi about you, she shrugged. You were distant with your editor and rarely attended events.
‘Sort of like you, Rohan-sensei!’ Izumi added, and he didn’t know why that made his cheeks heat up.
Eventually, he managed to find some old interviews and a fansite with a biography. The internet, which he normally disdains, could be a useful resource, it seemed.
Your full name is [Name] [Surname]. You’re about a year his junior. You went to K High School and a foreign university, studying Literature at the behest of your family. After graduation, you moved back to Japan and published a couple of one-shots before your first serial. After that series ended, you began your current series to critical acclaim
.
There was only one photo of you he could find. You were smiling at the camera in a bookstore, dressed nicely, the first tankōbon of your manga beside you.
He could imagine touching the contours of your face, the softness of your lips, the heat in the crook of your neck.
(Several sketches of you were strewn across his desk, along with pencils of the next Pink Dark Boy chapter).
However, the most important piece of information he could find for his purposes is this: you live in Morioh, same as him.
So begins Rohan’s quest to find you. He roams the streets of Morioh for any glimpse of you. Anything, absolutely anything that could lead him to you.
He’s out of luck. You must be a recluse of some sort. None of the grocery stores, libraries, parks, gardens, temples, restaurants, and cafes had any sight of you. Not even a slight trace. He looked absolutely everywhere, even driving out to the edges bordering the next town over, just to make sure. From Wednesday to Friday, he continued this futile search.
Eventually, on Saturday morning, he overheard some liquid gold: a realtor mentioning your address to a prospective buyer.
That afternoon, he scouts out your house.
It’s small; what sort of successful author lives in such a humble home? His own was far more fit for someone of your ability and credibility, was it not?
But now wasn’t the time for judgment. He needed to observe.
He sketches the place out, maps out every little aspect. He even draws the garden.
What about the home that attracted you to it? Was it the location? The isolation? The aesthetic?
He wonders about the inside of your house. What sort of furniture do you prefer? Do you keep mementos? He could imagine photos of you with your family and whatever boring friends you had hanging on the walls. What sort of music did you listen to? Were your hangers wire or plastic?
He itched to use Heaven’s Door and read through your mind, scour every inch of you.
He goes home that night and inks Pink Dark Boy’s next chapter.
His thoughts never leave you. He wonders if you’re inking too, or if you’re still pencilling. Of course, you would be; there’s no way you could draw as fast as him.
He places his pen down and begins to rub his temples. Never once, since he began drawing, has his thoughts drifted to anything outside his art.
A new character debuts in that issue of Pink Dark Boy– a new love interest for the titular protagonist, who ran a bookshop across the street from his detective agency.
He sees you at a cafe on Sunday.
You’re sitting in a corner, a sketchbook in front of you. You have a coffee and a strawberry shortcake beside you.
He decides to sit in front of you with his coffee and sketchbook.
He wasn’t planning on doing much. Just hoping you get distracted so he could use Heaven’s Door on you and—
“Sorry, but are you Kishibe-sensei? The author of Pink Dark Boy?”
Your voice is even more delectable than he predicted it to be. He could hear it over and over and over again and never get sick of it. It was addictive.
“Yes. And what of it?”
“Oh, nothing..it’s just..” You pause, biting your lip in this oh-so-cute manner.
“I’m a fan. I’ve been reading your manga since publication. I really, really love it.”
His heart skips a beat. To hear words of praise about him from you..
No. It’s what he deserved. Acknowledgment of his obvious superiority as a mangaka and an artist. This was utterly expected.
“Is that so?”
You nod.
“It was reading your manga that convinced me to become a mangaka, Sensei! I’ve read every single part, watched the anime and the OVA..I even cosplayed Hot Summer Martha!”
Adorable. Utterly adorable. He wishes he could photograph this expression and keep it forever, where no one else could see it. Knowing he elicited these feelings in you, it was a feeling he could never describe with words alone.
However, he couldn’t help but fume at the idea of someone else seeing this smile of yours that he adores so much.
Things were going exactly how he wanted them to. And yet, he could’ve never predicted his sheer joy at your next words.
“Could I please have your autograph?”
“Of course,” he beams, as you tear out a piece of paper from your sketchbook.
When you reach for your pen, that’s when he activates Heaven’s Door.
Your book unfurls, and almost immediately, Rohan’s reading through almost every detail.
Your parents are on the older side, and you’re worried you don’t have enough time with them. You hate living alone in an empty house, so you purposely bought a smaller house so you’d feel less alone. You maintain a flower garden and a bonsai to deal with loneliness. You’re considering switching from a weekly format to a monthly format to make more detailed art, but you can’t imagine life without the busyness of a weekly schedule.
He eats up every single detail: childhood pets, high school bullies, celebrity crushes, everything.
That’s when he reaches the section on him. Rohan Kishibe.
You’ve admired him since Pink Dark Boy’s publication. You wish you could be as dedicated as he is. You love his art style and wish to emulate it, but aren’t sure where to begin. You wonder how he manages to capture every single expression and feeling on Pink Dark Boy’s face as if he’s a real person.
Now that you’ve seen him in real life, you’re absolutely delighted. You think he’s handsome. You wonder if he recognises you, but you think he wouldn’t.
Oh, how little you know. This is why you need him.
You wanted to emulate his art style? You would. He’d make sure to discipline your art, to make sure your potential would be met. You wouldn’t feel lonely anymore, living with someone as great as him. He wouldn’t mind having some flowers and bonsai in his house, anyway. They’d make good references.
The anticipation of the future he’d create shoots adrenaline through him. It was the sort of rush he got after finishing an arc or planning a new one.
You were special. You were meant for him. He’d make sure of it.
He grabs your pen.
In big, black kanji, he writes—
“In love with Rohan Kishibe. Would never dare to look at someone else. Does not remember Heaven’s Door being used on them.”
He places the pen down and unfurls the book. Your face returns. You rub your eyes, a flicker of confusion coursing through you before a slight blush appears on your face.
You hand him your pen.
He smiles before signing your autograph and adding his phone number beneath it.
With this signature, he's sealed your fate as his muse. [Name] Kishibe has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?