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staripheral · 3 years ago

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❛ 𝙨𝙩. 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠'𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙮 ❜

𝙧𝙤𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙚 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘵��𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘹, 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘬𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭; 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗲 / 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮

𝙤 𝙘 𝙩 𝙤 𝙗 𝙚 𝙧 , 1 9 9 9

‘HONESTLY, how can a fabulous mangaka, such as myself, get any inspiration from this lousy place?’ Rohan thought to himself, sitting in one of the most extremely uncomfortable seats that the local Morioh-Cho Cafe had to offer. The cafe was often an attraction for college students in the afternoon to have scrumptious food and drink while they crammed in at the last minute studying for quizzes and completed assignments. Feeling unlike his magnificent self, Rohan had made the questionable choice of visiting the cafe during early hours of the day, in desperate need of inspiration for the future planning of Pink Dark Boy.

When the self-absorbed man approached the cafe, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his baggy pants— which were made of such soft, warm material to protect him from the nippy air —and sketch pad tightly tucked in the crook of his arm, he took note of the fewer number of customers. Rohan figured he would seat himself and wait for his desired muse to appear and send him along on his artistic endeavor. It was also nice to get out of his humongous, empty home and enjoy the weather before the snow was destined to trap people inside; not that he minded either or as long as he could work.

The seat cushion of his wooden chair was intolerable, literally incomparable to the lavish desk chair he sat on whilst drawing in his office. It creaked under his occasional shift to reposition his view of the cafe interior. A few times he had tried to capture the image of the baristas at work, but they seemed so dull and slow-moving. The lack of business was of no help, of course. Most customers sat and stared off into their own dream land, a drab expression on their face as if mourning the regrets they had made to come to this dreary point in life. Amusing, but nothing worthy of his precious time and ink.

As if time couldn’t move any slower, Rohan rolled his eyes in silence. Soft jazz music echoed throughout the quaint spot, providing some entertainment rather than none. Of course, it wasn’t Rohan’s preference of music, but it wasn’t as if anything ever did meet his acquired tastes. And nothing ever would, certainly. Or at least he had thought.

The mangaka was about to give up his mission before a chime rang out in the air, bringing his attention from the brown-tiled floor to a beautiful woman who had decided to wander into the saddest-looking cafe in Morioh. Instantly, the monotonous blend of colors in the cafe seemed to brighten; the neatly-knit sweater dyed a powder blue that matched that of a hydrangea in early spring, complimenting her snow white skirt— curiously worn at the beginning of such a cold season —and her flattering flats that click-clacked on her way to the front brought life to the static coffee shop.

His fingers clenched around the sketching pen that lay in his calloused hand. Someone of notability had finally appeared and Rohan had to make sure that he captured her grace as she guided herself to the ordering station towards the back of the shop. He raced to turn the next page in his sketchbook, glancing back and forth between the female and every other page he turned. By the time he had finally found an empty page in his filled sketchpad, she had ordered quickly and sat herself carefully and placed her chin in her dainty palm, eyes remaining on the pedestrians walking along the sidewalk. In her other hand, she toyed with something in her hand; though Rohan’s eyes were excellent in capturing details, he was not sure what she held with her. It made him want to venture closer.

‘What a stunning pose...I suppose I did make the right choice after all,’ He reasoned to himself, finding another empty seat that was closer to his muse and discretely moving over, continuing his strokes without having to look for just a few moments.

The longer Rohan continued to stare at her, the more he clued in on her story. Glossy, ⌜e/c⌟ irises and her dampened eyelashes signified the great sorrow she must have experiencing. ��Perhaps a heart wrenching breakup?’ Rohan inquired sarcastically in his thoughts, but didn’t dawdle on the matter too heavily. Although he was curious, he didn’t see a need to know everything this instant. It would come in time as he further approached the quiet woman, this time only sitting a table away. He needed his close up face work.

Her hair was tied up intricately, a braid framing her hairline, excluding the loose hairs that framed her face, and the rest cascading down her back like a waterfall. She continued to look at the grey clouds outside the glass front, the same melancholy look written all over her features. Rohan could now see the item she had been playing with in her hand was the charm of a necklace; a golden heart charm to be exact. It rubbed against her fingers continuously, as if she was trying to learn every curve of it through touch.

Just as he was about to begin outlining her nose and lips, a barista from behind the counter came over to personally deliver a cup of piping hot coffee, blocking Rohan’s view with his back. How awful a mistake.

Instantly, Rohan stood from his seat and shoved past the barista, who thankfully no longer held the steaming mug in his hands, and plopped down in the seat opposite of his model.

“Excuse me, sir, if you would like to order something, you have to come to the front of the house.” The worker snarled, obviously not content with being pushed aside by a customer just to obtain a chair.

“Quiet, you’re ruining my concentration. You can go along now; you’ve already served this customer and I’m not in any mood to have one of your store’s overly sweet treats.” Rohan replied without making eye contact with the worker, completely attentive to the close up details he was now aware of from the woman, who appeared startled at the situation. “Yes, keep that expression; I have to make a separate sketch of it quickly. No, no, don’t open your mouth like a whale, wait until I’m finished.” The mangaka’s rash comments confused the female further, but she complied with his wishes, surprisingly, stilling her motions reluctantly.

“Ma’am, this… man isn’t bothering you now, is he?” The barista asked rather loudly, trying to bring Rohan’s attention to his appalling behavior. Unfortunately for him, the great artist had no such care for his actions in public, only conscious of the fact that he wanted— no, needed this sketch for future reference.

The woman hesitated, but still shook her head ‘no’. She feigned a small smile— something that terribly irked Rohan —and told the worker kindly, “Oh, not at all... See, he’s actually with me, I just… He went to the restroom and came back to find you here, that’s all. I’m sorry, he’s a bit unaware of his surroundings sometimes.”

Rohan snorted at the woman’s fib, figuring that she had it covered from there. He blocked out the rest of their small talk as he finished the final details of his initial sketch, picturing the young female’s initial pose with her chin laying in her palm. Now that he was much closer, he could focus on the way her eyelashes could be illustrated in his unique style and how to incorporate the few dewdrops of tears that remained on them.

When he was least expecting it, a tranquil voice called out to him. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

Rohan grunted an inaudible answer, incredibly focused on the individual lashes he was trying to replicate. It was something new he had been trying to incorporate into his style, and it was extremely different from a few simple strokes of his pen, but no such thing could best Kishibe Rohan and his skills.

“Would you like me to go back to posing the way you told me to before?” She questioned him, but Rohan shook his head (although he had to conceal his surprise at her willingness to cooperate with him after having no introduction whatsoever).

“No, it would be bothersome to try and recreate a natural expression with the unnatural. You should have held your tongue against that man and stayed put. But, no matter, I simply cannot work with unnatural countenance.” He replied curtly. This time, the woman did not seem as alarmed by his sharp tone, and instead huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly find it in myself to leave you to deal with the man’s questions. You looked very focused and I figured you would like peace with… whatever you’re doing--“

“Sketching.”

“Yes, with whatever you’re sketching behind me.” Her eyes scanned over him, he could feel the trail they left against his skin. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. “Are you practicing drawing silhouettes? I imagine my moving is what ruined the image you were trying to illustrate.”

“You. I am sketching you, miss.” Rohan said, repeatedly glancing up and down and up and down, trying to figure out what other things he could add or notice about this woman to his portrait.

The surprise on her face came back. “Me? You’re sketching me, sir? Why, I’m… maybe a tad cautious of this situation, but what do you intend to make out of me with your art?”

Rohan fought the urge to smirk and mess around with the lady, but the accommodating side of himself, which he refused to acknowledge, came out of his shell to answer her respectfully. “You are simply an example of reality that stands out among others. What I intend to make of you is inspiration for my work.”

The glossiness in her eyes dissipated, but they still harbored such dejection that he couldn’t help but still his pen and prioritize the experiences he could possibly pry out of this woman.

“What do you do for a living, Mr…?” She paused in order to hear his name.

“Kishibe. Kishibe Rohan, that is. I am a mangaka, the creator of ‘Pink Dark Boy’, who lives in this area. I often come here for reference, but it seems today has been a bit of a drag.” He responded, trying to slightly boast his success in the process.

“Ah, yes, I know who you are, Mr. Kishibe. I’m sorry for not recognizing you earlier. I don’t have as much time to read manga as I used to nowadays, but I believe I’ve heard yours and your manga’s name more than a time or two. I’m sure you’re very proud of your accomplishments.” Her well-spoken, calm nature began to draw him closer to the conversation than he would like to have admitted. There was something majorly intriguing about her, and in order to obtain her experiences, he needed to dig deeper. Only then could he generate the most perfect scenarios for his precious manga. He did have the chance to use Heaven’s Door, but it would look majorly suspicious in front of the few customers that were there. Not to mention… he couldn’t help but want to learn about her life as humanly as possible. But you couldn’t have pried that truth from his soul, even if you had wanted to.

“Accomplishments mean nothing as much as the ability to work on my manga. It fulfills me in every way possible, and that is all I will ever need. I must say, you ask a lot of questions, miss.” His hands scribbled fluidly while responses flew from his mouth, but at a much slower pace. The way her lips moved as she spoke allowed him to get a much better perspective on their anatomy and how to draw them moving— they were an exquisite reference he needed to make use of, after all.

“Well, I do consider myself to be a curious person, but to have a passion such as your own is very admirable, Mr. Kishibe. Your dedication speaks for itself.” She pulled on the sleeves of her sweater to cover her palms as she set her hands on both sides of the mug, slowly bringing it to her lips and softly blowing at it before taking a sip. The warm liquid glistened on her top lip and she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser at her table, dabbing at the excess. How wonderful a picture it would have been for Rohan to capture, if only his camera would’ve been by his side.

“Mm…” Rohan didn’t completely reply, stuck on adjusting the position of her nose. He could not put such remarkable features to waste. Certainly the next arc of his manga would be the best of the best with newfound ideas popping into his head left and right.

The woman became utterly quiet, either from a lack of knowledge on how to reapproach the conversation or simply a lack of wanting to. One way or another, it wasn’t significant to Rohan. He could stand in silence, but he could never stand for sitting around without a pen in his hand. Without it, he felt entirely out of place, almost void. People like her were the drive that kept ‘Pink Dark Boy’ in continuation. There is nothing achieved from never allowing yourself to experience anything or taking someone else’s experiences into account. This woman had life changing experiences, he could feel it in the marrow of his bones, and he wouldn’t dare lose his clutch on her if she were to ever leave.

She sat there idly for an eternity. She did not stir from her position, nor did she choose to question Rohan’s unusual actions. In fact, she seemed to welcome it as a needed distraction, although he was entirely sure that he was far more infatuated with her than she was with him. He couldn’t help but speak up to break the comfortable silence.

“Your name.” He stated rather than questioned. He found that the context of his words would suffice as enough of a clue to what he wanted.

Her eyes merely glanced toward him, a darker shade than they had appeared before. Was this a trick of the light or the angle she chose to look at him through? He tilted his head like a confused puppy as she took her sweet time to put a smile on her face and answer him,

“⌜l/n⌟. ⌜l/n⌟ ⌜f/n⌟, Mr. Kishibe. You can just call me ⌜f/n⌟, if it makes it easier for you and if you’re comfortable with that.” Her name practically screamed beauty and spirit to him. There wasn’t a quality or aspect of this woman that he couldn’t get enough of. The very thought sparked a fabulous idea in the great mangaka’s head.

“Well, ⌜f/n⌟, if I am to call you by your first name, I should offer you the same proposition. Rohan will do just fine from now on. After all, if you agree to model for me from this point forward, I would like our interaction to be as natural as it is now.” He spouted the offer without a second thought, taking a break from sketching his current doodle of her to look upon her reaction.

Needless to point out, her face contorted into a look of shock. Her mouth slightly agape, eyes quivering, and fist locked around the heart shaped charm of her necklace. She did not meet his eyes for some time, looking off to the side in embarrassment. Her gaze switched from left to right, avoiding his face entirely, like a massive pendulum.

He continued to stare at her, unintentionally intimidating her further into her shell. He was the equilibrium of this pendulum she had set off and even he couldn’t help but hope that at some point in time, the wandering of her eyes would be interrupted by some invisible force to coerce her eyes into finally looking back at him. There was nothing wrong with what he had offered, although rather abruptly, in his mind. Questions like these did not require indecisiveness, but Rohan bit his tongue and remained patient. If there was anything he had realized over his encounters with that idiot Josuke and his friend Okuyasu, it had been that his sharp tongue caused him more excruciating failure than success.

And then her lips quirked upwards. The ghost of a smile, something that made his stomach oddly tickle. She reached over the table and carefully pried Rohan’s favorite pen from his hand, somehow without any trouble from the mangaka himself. As he stared in awe, ⌜f/n⌟ plucked another napkin from the dispenser and began to scribble on the rough material. Her eyebrows knitted in frustration when she accidentally tore said material with the tip of Rohan’s pen. Eventually she was able to get her message written out to her satisfaction, and slid the napkin in front of him, placing his pen right atop the corner so as to not block what she had written. He didn’t have to look to know it was her telephone number, jotted in her carefully penned handwriting.

Before he could remove his curious gaze from this beautiful female, Rohan found that she had already packed up her belongings. Swiftly, she scooted in her chair, only glancing at Rohan once more before raising her hand and giving him a shy wave, her face lined with a ruddy shade of pink. ⌜f/n⌟ turned gracefully and walked towards the front of the house, digging into her wallet and depositing a generous tip into the tip jar stationed by the cashier box before finding her way out of Morioh Cho Cafe.

Rohan continued to watch the woman with his intense stare. Customers around him gave him suspicious looks and whispered to their dear friends sitting next to them, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was fascinated. There was nothing special to her. Nothing out of the ordinary to explain his curiosity. Only this sorrowful, contemplative glimmer in her eyes. The only clue he could act on from that moment forward. The one clue that led to the opening of his heart to this woman in the most unusual of ways.

𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟭 ✒

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