Love Like You: Rohan Kishibe and Daughter Reader

Hello Old Friend

Rohan scoffed to himself, though if a passerby were to ask why, his pride would never allow him to say that he was intimidated by the door in front of him. The simple slab of wood, one meant to welcome the familiar and keep the strange out, loomed over the mangaka. His eyes locked with the peephole, and unease of the rawest kind frosted over his spine at the thought of someone staring back at him at that very moment. The letter crept up on him like a spider, its ability to speak volumes without a sound tempting Rohan to turn back once again.

But I am The Great Kishibe Rohan, as brave as they come! he thought to himself; and with those words being convincing enough to drive him forward, he raised his hand, took a deep breath in, and...

Knock, knock, knock.

The door creaked open. Rohan could have sworn that he saw a lump of shadows scurrying away from the frame. It was hard to tell, for the curtains greedily claimed the sunlight peeking through the window to warm up their fragile bodies, and a frigid breeze had swaddled his body. A mellow whirring rang inside of his ears, indicating that the A/C was blasting.

"Hello?" Rohan half-whispered as he ventured into the room to search for a light switch. He instead found himself, strangely enough, falling face-first onto the ground! "Damn it," he exclaimed, massaging his now sore nose, "what the hell was that?"

There was a gasp followed by a shuffle. Rohan, his uneasiness swelling like a balloon and his fingers fumbling for a light switch, heard what seemed to be frightened whimpers coming from the corner of the hotel room. He found the light switch and flicked it on, squinting from the sudden light flooding his eyes.

Nothing about the room seemed out of the ordinary: there was a bed made with obvious care, and a television perched on a mahogany table. Above it all was a ceiling fan spinning slowly, and there was even a fish tank that glimmered from the fish swimming around proudly next to the bathroom door.

But none of the other hotel rooms had a trembling pile of filthy blankets in the corner.

"H-Hello?" Rohan stuttered in a whisper, feeling his heart drop once he realized that there were droplets of blood on the blankets. He approached the pile quietly, taking caution not to frighten whomever may be hiding. With bated breath, Rohan tore away the blankets...

Then, for the first time in his life, Rohan felt his heart break.

If there was one word to describe the little girl staring at Rohan with a fearful look, it would be death. With sickly pale skin and a figure so frail that it could shatter like glass, Rohan questioned how the girl was even alive in the first place. Even with these features, as well as her disheveled overalls, matted tresses, and baggy right eye, nothing was as disheartening as the bandage wrapped around her left eye. It broke his heart even further to see the girl attempt to cover it with both of her hands.

And this girl was his supposed daughter.

"Are...are you (Y/n)?"

Her lips, the blue of a bruise, parted slightly, though not a sound was made. Her trembles worsened, a dreaded combination of the gelid air nipping at her skin and fear taking over. She grasped the blanket tighter, then eventually answered, "How do you know my name?"

Rohan's face softened upon hearing her raspy voice. "Well," he began tenderly, pulling out the letter from his pocket, "this morning I got a letter sent by a woman named (M/n). She is your mother, I presume?"

Subtle as snowfall, (Y/n) loosened up. "Mama sent that to you?"

"She did," Rohan replied, relaxed that one of his many questions had been answered. Then he looked around, puzzled. "Where is she, anyway?"