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zeppeli-reelstallbun · 2 days ago

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Did Something Slip Your Mind?

Chapter 2/? <- previous [masterlist]

[PAIRING] Rohan Kishibe x Reader (she/her)

[SUMMARY] Read previous chapter first! After finding out you might be a key witness to a murder investigation, you suck up your nerves to preform your civic duty... but something seems off about the whole thing, and its not just the fact that the sketch artist is absolutely insufferable.

[WC] 4.5k

[!!!] Sfw for now, but will not be in the future. Heaven’s Door is a warning in itself. Memory erasing moments will be entirely excluded from readers perspective so you experience the confusion genuinely, but it will be obvious for the most part WHEN the stand has been used. Same warnings as previous chapter Tiniest bit of Jotaro x reader if you squint.

[an] hey everyone, schools coming into swing so uhhhhhhh taglist information at the bottom of the fic if you read it and enjoy and want more :)

The hotel was unassuming, tucked away in one of Morioh’s quieter corners, clean in a way that let it blend into the surroundings perfectly. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have given the building a second thought without the explicit directions Jotaro had left the night prior. The events of the previous day were still playing through your head, the entire encounter having been such a deviation from your routine that it still felt fresh. First, there was the detective's intimidating presence; then, the unsettling realization that you’d briefly worked with a suspected murderer; and now this, some formal witness interview miles out of your way.

Your intuition was telling you this whole thing was something you weren't supposed to be a part of, that you were in over your head, but curiosity (and a small sense of duty) pushed you forward. You couldn’t just ignore what you’d learned. Someone in Morioh was killing people, and if you had information that could help, you had to try at the very least. Even if you weren't exactly sure how much help you could be…

You took a deep breath after navigating the liminal halls, trying to shake off the nerves as you knocked on the door he had described.

Almost immediately, it swung open, revealing the man you’d met the day before; as imposing as ever, his hat-shadowed eyes meeting yours with intensity. For a moment, you actually felt like you were being sized up by the man in front of you.

But his demeanor softened as soon as recognition fell on his face. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you pass.

The suite was clean and sparsely decorated, about as impersonal as you'd expect of a hotel room, regardless of its size. Jotaro gestured for you to sit at a small table by the window, but your attention was quickly drawn to the other figure in the room.

Your stomach dropped the second you realized who it was.

He was seated casually enough, legs crossed, one elbow propped on the table as he leaned forward, paying little attention to anyone but himself. His hair was unmistakable, though—vivid green and styled in that sharp, angular fashion that somehow suited him perfectly. His clothing was equally flashy, though you expected nothing less from the man, but those bold colors and cutouts were the least of your worries now.

The tension in the room felt suffocating, though likely only for you. Between the stoic wall that was Kujo and the insufferable ego Kishibe wore like a suit, you felt like you were walking to a witness stand instead of an interview. But, Rohan hadn’t recognized you… at least, he didn't act like he did.

Jotaro’s gravelly voice had been calmly explaining the process for nearly five minutes now, but you felt like you were missing most of it. It was straightforward enough though, right? Regardless of the importance of his speech, your attention kept unintentionally drifting to Rohan, who now lounged on the couch as if he owned the room. His posture was relaxed, leaning back, legs apart as he absently flipped through a notebook with one hand, spinning a pen in the other.

You hated how casual he looked... as if this was just another Tuesday for him. But hey, maybe it was. You hadn’t known until today that he worked as a police sketch artist, but the notion made sense, at the very least. Though you’d only seen a handful of examples, you knew the man’s realism was as flawless as the stylized drafts in your inbox; he might be your least favorite person on this planet, but you couldn’t deny that he had an almost unparalleled talent… not that you spent that much time dwelling on it.

Jotaro’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “Are you ready?”

Shit, maybe you should have been listening closer. Still, you nodded while asking for clarification, eyes darting nervously between the two men. “For what?”

“For me to do my job,” The artist said smoothly, finally looking up from his notebook. His green eyes locked onto yours, sharp and glinting with something that made you uneasy. You were allowed to relax for a moment, however. Intense as they might be, there was not an ounce of recognition in those eyes.

“Just try to stay focused,” he said, standing. “This will only take a moment.”

You thought you saw him draw something—which was odd considering the fact you hadn’t described the suspect yet—but that was before the heavy sensation of nausea overtook you. It was difficult to explain, due primarily to the brevity of the feeling. It felt as if you’d sneezed somehow, but your brain completely ignored your action in the moment; it felt as if you’d knocked your head back without even realizing it. Even the ceiling above you felt unfamiliar for a second, but the nerves washed away as you realized that you must have spaced out. Nothing struck you as out of place.

You turned your head to Jotaro, who had moved across the room without you noticing, looming by the window like a marble statue.

“What will only take a moment?” You asked for clarification.

Rohan smirked, causing your heart to falter. What was that look in his eyes?

“Just a few descriptions of the man as far as you can recall. You weren't daydreaming, were you?” Oh, this was just his ego on full display, he was just a man pretending to be an entitled god.

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” you said defensively, forcing yourself to sit up straighter in the chair. “I’m fine.”

“Of course,” Rohan said smoothly, snapping his notebook into a comfortable position. “You seem very… composed.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist, as if he were daring you to prove otherwise.

“Can we just get started?” you scoffed, turning your attention back to Jotaro. He cleared his throat with a small nod, something about his demeanor feeling much smaller than it had moments ago.

You sat in the uncomfortable spotlight, trying your best to recall the details lost to time. In between the generic questions—prompting things like the man's eye spacing, nose angle, and ear size—the artist continued to ramble.

“I want- no. I need context.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Remind me, how did you meet the suspect?”

You furrowed your brows. “I designed a business card for him, I don’t see how that impacts the drawing, though.”

“Just for the sake of my mental process, helps immersion…authenticity… whatnot.” He spoke as if his explanation made perfect sense, waving his hand absentmindedly.

Who were you to judge his creative process, though? If the rest of the man had to be maddeningly frustrating, why shouldn't his artistic preferences be the same? You were willing to sit here and stonewall until he had what he needed for the sketch, surely he couldn't get that much worse. It was a good plan.

Well, it was a good plan until Rohan broke the uncomfortable silence once more, speaking in a tone you had no possible way of deciphering. “So, you’re a graphic designer? Tell me, what have you worked on recently?”

The question caught you off guard, and your brain stuttered over how to respond. You blinked, unsure if he was genuinely curious or baiting you.

“I—uh…” You scrambled for something neutral. “Mostly cover designs. I’ve worked with a few smaller mangaka.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I'm sure your clients would be insulted to hear you think so little of them.” He quipped back almost instantly, still focused on the page.

You didn't know what to say, but thankfully, Rohan and his big mouth continued to do the talking for you.

“I'm intrigued, I must admit. Anyone I might know?” He mused, finally looking up from his sketchbook and straight into your eyes, expression unreadable, tone short.

Your stomach twisted again, but you somehow maintained composure. You were starting to second guess your judgment, however… unless this was how Rohan usually treated strangers.

“Probably not,” you said bluntly, keeping your voice polite but unattached as you held intense eye contact. You didn’t want to face the possibility that something was off, that you didn’t have control of the situation. There was no way he could have recognized you... right?

Jotaro cleared his throat again, clearly uninterested in whatever game Rohan was initiating. “We’re not here to talk about her career,” he said, his tone firm enough to steal Rohan's gaze.

The artist simply waved his hand dismissively. “It’s relevant, isn't it? Context is everything, Kujo. Besides, I’m just trying to understand her perspective...You can't rush art.”

You gritted your teeth, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted by the attention. Something was unnerving about the way Rohan spoke, as if he already knew the answers to his questions but enjoyed watching you squirm anyway. He had to know, right? No, if he had recognized you, why wouldn’t he bring it up?

If it were anyone but Rohan Kishibe, you might have had more lenience, but you weren't willing to put anything past the man you’d grown to despise.

“You said you worked with smaller mangaka,” he continued, his tone light but probing. “You must have an eye for detail. It’s no wonder Kujo hand-selected you, must have thought you’d be useful for this case.”

The casual banter made Jotaro’s brow twitch, though he said nothing. You felt trapped between them, caught in this strange and unspoken crossfire of disdain.

“I just do my job,” you said curtly, hoping to steer the conversation back on track.

Rohan chuckled softly. “Humble. I like that. Though, you must find it strange- working with someone like me.”

Your stomach flipped. The way he spoke felt pointed, as if he were daring you to acknowledge the unspoken.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the panic creeping up your spine. Fine then. If he was going to dance around it, why shouldn’t you? At absolute best, he truly hadn’t recognized you, and he was still treating you like some puny little plaything, just here to amuse him with your reactions.

“No?” Rohan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “How fascinating. You don’t seem the type to overlook details.”

Jotaro let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kishibe,” he said, his voice coiled with irritation. “Stop wasting time.”

“I’m not wasting time,” Rohan said innocently, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. He turned back to you, his smirk softening. “I’m just trying to make her feel comfortable. Isn’t that what good artists do?”

Your jaw clenched for what felt like the hundredth time, and you forced yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the table in front of you.

“You've got enough detail to wrap up the damn sketch. Let’s move on,” Jotaro said sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin as he came to your rescue.

“Fine,” Rohan said with a theatrical sigh, leaning back in his seat while flashing the detective a pouting frown. “But don’t say I didn’t try to make this more enjoyable.”

The rest of the so-called interview was a blur. Jotaro asked a series of questions about Kira—about his clothing, the way he shook your hand, his mannerisms—anything that might be useful for their investigation. You answered as best you could, though your mind was still reeling from Rohan’s earlier comments.

That being said, something still felt… off, like the fact you hadn’t actually given them anything of value. Or the fact that Jotaro's questions seemed to take just a few minutes. Or the fact that Rohan hadn’t even asked you to verify the accuracy of the sketch.

Before you could dwell on it further, Jotaro stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the room. “Thank you for your time,” he said, his voice brisk.

You nodded, relieved to be leaving. Before you could make your way to the door, however, Rohan stood with his usual 'look at me' attitude.

“I’ll walk her out,” he said casually, in a tone you wouldn't have second-guessed from anyone else.

You hesitated, glancing at Jotaro, who frowned slightly upon noticing your expression. “Rohan, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Relax Kujo. I’m not an idiot. Besides, it’s the least I can do,” He added, his tone light but insistent.

There was no question in his voice, no space for refusal. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, brushing past with an air of indifference that only made you more uneasy. With no polite way to refuse, you nodded, heart sinking as he gestured for you to follow him.

You swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to argue. Instead, you gave a polite nod, keeping your expression neutral as you fell into step beside him. His presence was commanding, the kind of energy that seemed to shrink the hallway around him, even if he wasn’t saying a word.

As you continued further into the hall, Rohan fell into step beside you, his presence unnervingly close.

When he chose to speak again, his tone of voice surprised you, now absurdly casual instead of biting. “Hope you don’t mind, I just wanted an excuse to get away from that dreadful room.”

You didn't reply. He worked here; you didn't give a shit how comfortable it was for him.

“But alas,” he persisted with a sigh. “Duty calls. Just need a change of scenery to keep me sane, you know?”

“Sure.” You nodded, coming to a stop at the elevator doors as you extended your hand to press the button. Thankfully, he got the hint this time.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting in silence—juxtaposed by Rohan leaning against the wall dramatically—the faint ring of a bell snapped your attention.

The elevator doors slid open, and you wasted no time stepping inside, choosing to stand near the back corner. Annoyingly, Rohan followed, choosing again to lean lazily against the wall opposite you, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed relaxed, almost bored, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something calculating.

The doors closed with a soft chime before you could voice any objections, and the elevator hummed to life, beginning its slow descent as your stomach dropped with it.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Rohan finally snapped.

“So,” he began, his tone light, conversational, the floors ticking by painfully slow. “You never really answered my question. What other kinds of work do you do? Or is designing boring business cards and derivative manga covers your specialty?”

The jab landed squarely, and you stiffened, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He was watching you, his expression unreadable but distinctly amused.

“I freelance,” you replied dryly, you just had to make it through this decent, and then you were free to go. Perhaps you could bore him into silence. “Covers, layouts, branding—whatever pays the bills.”

He hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Freelance can be brutal. It must be hard to find consistent work. Or do you mostly cater to small-time authors?”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain neutral, it wasn’t like he knew that he knew you. “It depends on the project. I’ve worked with a variety of clients.”

Rohan’s lips quirked upward. “A variety, you say? And yet, you don’t seem to recognize me.”

You felt like you’d been shot.

He was testing you. You could feel it in the way his words hung in the air, in the way his eyes gleamed with power.

“I’m sorry,” you said, feigning ignorance. “Should I?”

Rohan chuckled, the sound low and far too amused for your liking. “You know, it’s funny,” he said, straightening from his slouched position. “You’ve worked with smaller mangaka, but you have no clue who I am?”

So he just wanted recognition then? From someone who should have known him???

Before you could respond, however, he reached forward and smacked the red stop button on the panel. The car jolted to a halt, the hum of motion replaced by silence as you stumbled to find your footing.

Your breath hitched. “What are you doing?”

He turned to face you fully, arms still crossed, his expression smug. “I just thought we could take a moment to clear the air.”

“Clear the air about what?” you practically shouted, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You’re playing coy. I don’t dislike that, but let’s not pretend.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He laughed, the sound rich with mockery. “Oh, come on. You send me emails—lengthy, passionate emails—full of thinly veiled contempt. You’ve practically made a second career out of critiquing my artistic choices. And now you want me to believe you don’t know who I am?”

Your mouth went dry.

“I… I work with a lot of people,” you stammered, the words hollow even to your own ears.

His grin turned predatory. “Of course you do. But tell me, how many of them have the name Rohan Kishibe written at the top of their contracts?”

You flinched, your composure beginning to crack under his scrutiny. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Every time you hit send on one of those delightful little emails, you see my name. I know you know exactly who I am.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you admitted, the words clipped, escaping your mouth faster than intended.

“Oh, how noble of you,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know I was here, hm? Surely you had to have known we shared a town, or are you so wrapped up in your work that you don’t spend any time in Morioh?”

“I didn’t want to make things awkward,” you shot back, your frustration finally breaking through.

Rohan’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with something that made your skin crawl. “Awkward? Or were you afraid of what I might say?”

The elevator suddenly felt far too small, the air too thick. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as every instinct screamed at you to look away.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to bother you,” you spat. “You seem like a busy man. Hm? Balancing your job as an artist with what- police volunteer work?”

He laughed again, the sound sharp and biting. “Oh, I’m always busy. But for someone as outspoken against me as you are in writing, you were surprisingly quiet in person.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to stay calm. “Is there a point to this?”

His grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, his expression flickering with something almost imperceptible. Annoyance? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual practiced indifference.

“The point,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “is that I don’t like being underestimated. And I certainly don’t like being ignored.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone.

“You weren’t ignored,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I just… didn’t think it mattered.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “It mattered,” he said simply.

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with unspoken tension. You wanted to say something, anything, to break it, but you had nothing left to say to the man. He could talk himself to hell, for all you cared.

After a long moment, Rohan sighed dramatically, reaching out to press the button to restart the elevator. The car jolted back to life, resuming its descent.

“Well,” he said, his tone light again. “This has been enlightening.”

You didn’t respond, your mind racing once the elevator doors finally opened to the lobby.

“After you,” Rohan said, gesturing for you to exit.

You stepped out, your legs feeling unsteady as you took a second to compose yourself. After a moment, you glanced back to see him watching with that same infuriating grin.

“Good luck with this week's drafts,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, arms crossed once again. “I look forward to your feedback.”

And with that, the doors closed slowly as he held his gaze; out of sheer stubbornness, you stared him down in return.

Was that supposed to be some form of intimidation? Or had Rohan found some form of sadistic satisfaction in leaving you in the lobby like this, equal parts confused, annoyed, and unnerved?

Whatever his reasoning might have been, it confirmed every single negative thought you'd ever had towards the man. Fuck him, you thought, baffled by the encounter all together. Honestly, the walk home felt like a daze itself, leaving you more confused than you had been on the trip over.

One thing was certain, however: if this was a game to Rohan, you sure as hell weren't about to let him win that easy. Besides, your contract clearly outlined another six months of payroll benefits. If he terminated it, you'd be rolling in money with no worries or complaints. But if you chose to end the agreement...

Fine, it was mostly because you depended on him. There was something nice about not living paycheck to paycheck, even if it meant putting up with the occasional jab or insult.

But was it really worth whatever that was?

[optional read: rohan pov]

Rohan Kishibe prided himself on being a man of precision and discipline; his craft demanded it, after all. He could spend hours—days, even—perfecting a single panel of his manga without once questioning his own judgment. Not that he needed to, of course. He also found satisfaction in the consistency of his work; that is to say, he could churn out projects like it was nothing… Yet now, as he sat at his desk, pen hovering over a blank page, his mind refused to focus. Instead, it spiraled relentlessly, replaying the events of the day and the memories he’d sifted through with Heaven’s Door.

Guilt wasn’t an emotion Rohan often entertained. It served no purpose, a distraction at best and a hindrance at worst. But as he thought about what he’d done—about how much he had seen—a strange tightness settled in his chest. It wasn’t that he regretted using Heaven’s Door; it had been necessary for the Kira investigation. No, what gnawed at him was the sheer depth of what he’d uncovered.

He had been efficient at first, methodical, filtering through her memories for anything useful about Kira. But then, inevitably, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had ventured deeper, into places he had no right to go, uncovering thoughts and feelings that were as private as they were unexpected.

Her thoughts about Jotaro, for instance.

Rohan scowled, his grip on the pen tightening. He hadn’t meant to linger there, but the way she thought about the man had been so vivid, so annoyingly warm. Admiration was one thing, but the subtle attraction she felt for a stranger had grated on him in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

Why did it bother him so much?

Jotaro Kujo was… Jotaro Kujo. Intimidating, stoic, perpetually grim. Hardly the kind of person who inspired affection. And yet, she had looked at him with admiration, even a hint of longing. Rohan had practically heard the unspoken 'what ifs' in her mind, and they’d clung to him like burrs ever since.

It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. Rohan Kishibe was above such petty emotions.

And yet…

He stood abruptly, pushing away from his desk. Crossing the room, he stared out the window at Morioh’s quiet streets, his reflection faintly visible in the glass. He didn’t like being ignored. That much he knew about himself. Whether it was his work, his reputation, or his presence in someone’s life, Rohan demanded acknowledgment. He thrived on it.

But she had ignored him.

Well, not entirely. She had recognized him, yes, but she hadn’t approached him. She hadn’t fawned over him, hadn’t stammered or blushed or tried to impress him like so many others did. Instead, she had decided he wasn’t worth her time.

Rohan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t shake the irritation—and the hurt—that came with that realization. She didn’t like him. It wasn’t just indifference; it was outright disdain. He had seen it in her thoughts, in the biting way she described him in her head. Arrogant. Pretentious. Difficult to work with.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard similar criticisms before. But hearing them from her—seeing them spelled out so clearly in her mind—felt different.

And then there was the other part. The part that made his stomach twist uncomfortably whenever he thought about it. The part he didn't even want to name.

It had been a passing thought, buried under layers of annoyance and frustration, but it had been there. He’d seen it, clear as day, and it had ignited something within him that he was now struggling to suppress.

Why did he care so much about what she thought of him?

Rohan dragged a hand through his hair, letting out an irritated sigh.

It wasn’t intentional, of course. He hadn’t planned to let her torment him in this way. But there was something about her that intrigued him, perhaps the way she stayed unflinchingly professional, even when she had every reason not to be. And she hated him.

Fuck.

He needed her to like him. Needed her to fawn over him like everyone else did.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. Rohan Kishibe, a man who had always valued his independence, now found himself caring far too much about the opinion of someone who thought he was an insufferable jerk.

The guilt returned, heavier this time. She didn’t know how much he had seen. She didn’t know the full extent of how he had violated her thoughts.

Should he tell her?

The idea made his stomach churn. It wasn't something he could even consider. What would he say? Hello, I just wanted you to know that I read your mind and discovered all your innermost thoughts. Also, I’m sorry for being a bit of an ass about it.

No. That wouldn’t work. She’d never forgive him.

But could he really move forward without saying anything?

Rohan sighed again, pacing back to his desk. He needed her to keep working with him. More than that, he needed her to see him as more than just the arrogant artist she so clearly despised.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to bridge that gap. His usual charm—if it could even be called that—had little effect on her. If anything, his teasing seemed to irritate her. He hadn't cared at all a mere twelve hours ago, so why was it so important now?

He had to do something, though.

Sitting down, he grabbed his keyboard and opened his email. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before he began typing, the words coming slowly at first, then faster as he found a satisfactory rhythm.

Subject: Upcoming Cover Design

I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to touch base regarding the progress on the cover for the upcoming volume. While your initial concepts are strong, I’d like to see a version that incorporates more dynamic elements—perhaps something that better captures the intensity of the narrative.

Additionally, your attention to detail is always appreciated. I trust you’ll bring your usual level of creativity to this project.

Let me know if you have any questions.

Rohan Kishibe

He stared at the email for far too long before hitting send. It was professional, as always, but he’d chosen his words carefully this time, softening his tone just enough to leave room for interpretation.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

comment or dm to be added to my taglists. more info on my masterlist below :)

also, if you’re reading this. i have already written the scene where heavens door is used… teeheehee. i definitely want to keep it vague for now but 😃 holy moly it’s very fun. if only you had those memories mwahahaha

-> read other works and progress announcements on my masterlist !!