Love Like You: Rohan Kishibe and Daughter Reader

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A/N: I was pretty excited to get to this chapter in the original version of the fic, though it wasn't going to show up for another four chapters from where I originally left off in the first draft; I thought writing it sooner would work better for the story, and the song above is what the chapter is named after! As always, feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy it!

Earlier in the day, Toyohiro Kanedaichi lazed about in the hammock tied between two metal beams of the pylon he called his home. One arm dangled loose like the paw of a leopard resting in the heights of trees, and his army-green cap covered his upper face, exposing only his mouth. He was dreaming of great fields with hills for cheekbones, baby blue ponds for eyes, grassy trenches for lips, and red apple trees for freckles. Sunrays tucked him further into his hammock, and he snoozed and snored until the ground below him yelped from being stabbed.

"Oh dear," Toyohiro called down, knowing who was on his property. He chuckled good-heartedly, rare considering that he hated being woken up from naps after long mornings of tending to his gardens and pylon. "What vegetable did Jotaro make you eat this time?"

"Spinach! He tried sneaking it into my breakfast smoothie this morning, but nothing gets past the eyes of Jolyne Kujoh!" She impaled the ground with a rusty pole, dangerously close to the head of the vegetable she oh-so despised. "I've had it with 'eating my veggies!' That's why I'm moving in with you and Mikitaka!"

Toyohiro, agile as a renegade ribbon in the wind, swung down from the metallic branches of his steel treehouse and retrieved his fishing-frying pan to catch his breakfast. "Jolyne, you do realize that you're standing in my vegetable garden, right?"

"W-Well," Jolyne stumbled, throwing a butterfly blanket over the poles leaning this way and that, but a gust of wind slapped it back into her face. "That's why I'm going to live off of rabbit jerky and fish and fruit and sunflower seeds! I'll live off of anything that isn't grown under the dirt or is green or is soulless!"

"Hush now." Toyohiro brought a finger to his lips. He reeled in quite a fatty fish thereupon, listened to the satisfying cracks and pops of the meat, and snuck in a handful of spinach leaves while the blanket was still draped over Jolyne's head. "My vegetable plants can hear you, and you're hurting their feelings."

"You must be out of your gourd, Toyohiro! Plants don't—" Then she halted, as though every flower within earshot would wilt at the impending cruel words. After all, when her household was asleep alongside the rest of the world, she would tell the sprouts in her window garden of all the beautiful things in the world, and how they were going to be a part of them.

"Mind the pan, it's very hot," Toyohiro warned, placing the dish by her feet. With gratitude Jolyne stuffed the fish into her mouth; she didn't even taste the spinach, for the flavor of her ramblings was more potent: a complaint about why cakes and pies couldn't hold the nutritious value of vegetables, a remark about Jotaro's stern and stoic nature, and an unexpected jump to her favorite tablet game called Hello Kitty Island Adventure, admitting that she occasionally snuck onto her father's tablet at night to play, even though the Kujo household rule was no more than one hour of electronics per day, as well as the fact that she was grounded last month because she used Joseph's credit card to spend 14,543 yen on the game; and she spoke nonstop for at least another three minutes, leafing through various topics.

"So I tell Grunkle Josuke, 'Oh, for goodness sake! You want the mashed potatoes but you won't eat them because they're touching your peas, and you want the peas but you won't eat those either because they're not round enough—stop overthinking it and just buy the stupid milkshake!'"

The following silence didn't know what to do with itself. Jolyne picked at her teeth with a fish bone and Toyohiro continued to patiently fetch his breakfast with his second pan. The butterfly-adorned girl let out a pathetic imitation of a percussion sting.