Love Like You: Rohan Kishibe and Daughter Reader

Let Me Take You Home Tonight

Everyone in Morioh and beyond knew that once Rohan had his mind fixated on a task, it was just about impossible to tear him away from it; and he himself knew this, as he knew that the Morioh sky blushed gold when happy and furrowed clouds when angry or mellow. Yet distraction did what it does best to Rohan as he drove, for he could feel the gaze of the little girl in the back seat clinging to him like a frightened newborn to her mother.

Rohan made direct eye contact with (Y/n) using the rear view mirror. He did so several times, and every time he did (Y/n) jumped, gasped, and directed her gaze elsewhere in a way that made it look like she had just been scolded.

"(Y/n)? Is there anything you need?" Rohan asked, to which no answer was received.

Rohan sighed and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He thought of ways to ease (Y/n)'s nerves, scanning the passerby-world outside of the car for ideas. He spotted cafés bundled like bouquets and was ready to suggest a bite to eat until checked in on (Y/n) again while mumbling, "right, she's much too sick to be going out."

He saw that she had fallen asleep; but it was barely a long lived slumber, nor a peaceful one. She curled into herself in the backseat, fetal position, and dreamed of a suitable world she had known not of until her eye was pried open by the cold claws of fear.

(Y/n) flinched and whimpered and held a sudden alertness. Memories of the hour prior came flooding back, and fear's companions, confusion and sorrow, too clouded her mind. Afterwards she became hauntingly still, unsure of what to make of herself or her situation.

But that all changed when a herd of cherry blossom petals galloped past (Y/n)'s window; and Rohan, catching it like the wings of a hummingbird, saw a crescent-moon smile welcoming itself onto (Y/n)'s face.

"Morioh's quite the lovely town, isn't it?" He said, his attempt at making (Y/n) feel safe. She turned towards him, intrigued. "I moved here shortly after my manga grew in popularity, when I was able to afford a home more suitable for myself and my work. Why don't you look around, see the things that make me proud to call Morioh my home?"

For the first time (Y/n)'s vision widened like curtains in a castle unveiling the sun of a new day; and the scenery was like the words to start off a spell; and the citizens, even more enchanting, were the spell finally cast, a spell that, later down the road, would make (Y/n) see that Morioh is her true home:

A boy the same age as she weaved through a crowd with a camcorder in hand, occasionally pausing to adjust the yellow hat on his head. Not far ahead of him a man—and the only man like him on earth-–pulled out...ice cream cones from his suitcase? Across the street a woman with flowing black hair greeted another woman holding a book of fairy-tales in front of a beauty salon, while several feet away two short guys were in a heated argument about who spilled juice on a manga. An odd-looking boy counted his yen coins under a tree that was a hop, a skip, and a jump away from a man living in a transmission tower, and further down the road a chef waved goodbye to a family of five leaving his restaurant: a quite intimidating man dressed in white, a young girl with butterfly clips in her green braids and strings wrapping her wrists holding his hand and the hand of a woman dressed in pink, and an elderly man straggling behind with a baby in his arms. And up on a telephone pole was another boy her age with a hole in his cheek reaching for an apple in a tree.

In front of a convenience store called Owson stood three students chatting and laughing with each other. (Y/n) couldn't help but giggle at them for different reasons: one had such a unique hairstyle, the one to the right of him was so short it was nearly comical, and the one to the left had an overall enthusiastic demeanor. Their good-natured spirits rubbed off on the girl, and she shyly waved towards the students before switching between seats to view a whole new world.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her voice sounding the healthiest it's been all day, "what's that over there?"

"(Y/n)," Rohan scolded, "can you please not move around so much? Buckle up and stay put."

Thereupon (Y/n) sulked at his tone of voice and did as she was told. "I-I'm sorry, sir..."

Rohan softened, realizing that he may have sounded too harsh. "It's alright, (Y/n); I understand that this is all so new to you; I just wouldn't want you to get hurt in case of an acci—ngh!"

A powerful roar whizzed by them, and Rohan slammed on the brakes. Luckily his seat was pulled up, so (Y/n) didn't bump her head against it as she had the night prior.

"(Y/n), are you OK?"

She nodded then looked behind her to find the source of the noise. She spotted a man speeding down the road on a motorcycle with three young ladies holding onto him tightly. The quartet screamed and shouted from excitement as he did a wheelie, disappearing behind the hill, his motorcycle echoing through the wind.

"If there is one thing Morioh lacks, its citizens who don't get under my skin," Rohan said, though it sounded like he was speaking more to himself than (Y/n). "There are a few good ones, mind you, but for every good Morioh citizen there are at least two morons..."

He continued to grouse, and to the best of her ability (Y/n) tried to see his point of view; but when she thought back to that specific crowd of people she passed by just moments ago, she felt in her heart that her new home was a wonderful town called Morioh.

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(Y/n) never imagined that architecture could hold a sense of pride, yet there in front of her stood the Kishibe residence, radiating with pride from the inside out. The windows of the other homes always reflected the sun towards the mansion like a sideways glance, jealous of what they could have been: a Queen Anne style home with a balcony to see all of Morioh, individualistic with is asymmetry yet unified with its colors, with corner towers that could create stars by poking the night sky. It was clear to (Y/n) that it was a house suitable for only the wealthy, the robust, and the confident.

And that was exactly why (Y/n) suddenly felt overwhelmed.

She froze at the front steps, feeling the excitement evaporating from her soul; she badly wanted to venture into the house to explore, but her fear of tainting his perfect home held her back.

"The door is open for a reason, you know."

(Y/n) snapped out of her thoughts. "Huh? Oh, I'm sorry! I was...I was just...I don't know; I'm sorry..." Her voice trailed off, and she was about to step inside until Rohan placed a hand on her shoulder. (Y/n) flinched, and recalling what had happened back at the hotel, the mangaka quickly pulled his hand away.

"Are you feeling alright? You were much more bouncy and peppy in the car."

(Y/n) turned to face Rohan, presenting him with a calming yet lying smile. "I'm OK, I guess I shouldn't have moved around so much in the car..."

Rohan folded his arms. "Are you sure it's nothing else?"

"Yes, sir! I'm OK!"

The falseness in her smile grew.

Rohan sighed, "Alright, let's just head inside so I can get everything set up for your stay."

"Yes, sir!"

"And (Y/n)?" Rohan said sternly.

"Oh, yes, sir?"

A pollen-covered bumblebee crawled out of a flower, catching Rohan's attention. He looked back once it flew off. "Don't call me sir; it doesn't feel right."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Um..."

Rohan raised an eyebrow. (Y/n) intertwined her fingers together, licking her lips as she asked, "May...may I call you Papa?"

Rohan bit his bottom lip and looked away once more. The bumblebee had returned, turning over in a patch of woodruff. He observed the shape of its legs and the texture of its fuzz, taking mental notes for future use. When he turned back he saw (Y/n) lean in from anticipation, though he never looked her directly in the eye.

"...Call me Rohan-Sensei."

(Y/n) remained silent. The air had turned its back, pretending to not have seen the awkwardness of the situation. With a heavy head and a shut eye to hold back tears, (Y/n) followed Rohan into the house. He, in contrast, peeped his head out of the door one last time to get one last look at the bumblebee.

It was gone once again.