last flowers | rohan/reader

3。primrose

[name] wasn't greeted by the happy, comforting silence of her hotel room, but instead, by a throbbing pain in her skull and a familiar but strange darkness that seemed once again inescapable.

There were no strangling hands this time. Just a sharp sting to her head that made the situation entirely impossible to process. Candlelight began to glow from a spark in the pitch black environment, but whatever match that'd been striked was nonexistent as well as its holder. She was alone. This wasn't unusual.

"Hey." A voice could be heard, cloudy and out of focus. She tried focusing harder on hearing, but it only made the overwhelming pain in her head flow deeper, into a pain that wasn't just physical. The torment of not knowing how to get rid of the suffering was already getting to her. If she could just end it all... "Hey. [name]."

Hearing the muddled voice steered her clear from dreaming of death any longer. I'm coming, she shouted to what she considered the sky, but there was no answer. The detective opened her eyes to see Rohan, leering over her from the back of a couch she hadn't seen or napped on before. The angry pain in her head finally minimized to a dull, tolerable roar.

"Where the fuck... am I?" She'd hoped to sit up quickly, but exhaustion had taken over her body's energy sources. She dropped her half-lifted head back down again once she saw the raven haired man. Something about him shouted "Safe!" even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it. That was a far cry from how she felt about him earlier in the day.

"My house." The artist stated hastily, and he stood up from resting his arms over the couch. How long had she been asleep here? Why was she here to begin with?

"Did something happen? Oh god, did I get possessed or something?" She wanted to seem serious, but the yawn that prevented her from finishing the sentence completely made her sound just how she felt: drained and uninterested.

"No, you didn't get possessed. You fell and knocked yourself out before I was going to show you that supernatural entity. The ghost. One that's directly connected to the case you're working currently." It wasn't the entire truth, but it'd do for the time being. She didn't have to know everything that transpired, like how he went through her entire life story, and potentially manipulated it drastically, all thanks to this 'ability' that Rohan couldn't explain with his words.

She spotted her borrowed folder resting vulnerably on the coffee table less than a foot away. If she reached for it, [name] could get it and avoid Rohan Kishibe finding out that she'd investigated him prior to their meeting.

[Name] extended her arm to acquire the folder, but Rohan was far more quick-witted and snatched the folder from her fingertips, leaving the detective with grabby—and empty—hands. "Damn you, Rohan. Give that back."

The artist shook his head with a teasing finger pointed in her direction. "I already looked through it. There's nothing special about me in there, really. You could've asked me for those 'fun facts' to my face."

"That's information I obtained from the police department, so it's confidential."

"Oh? I was the one who provided that confidential information when I moved back to Morioh. If I can't have access to my own information, I'd say you're pretty crooked." His voice was taunting, and the detective felt completely powerless under his gaze. There's something about him I'm drawn to. Something I can't explain, like his whole supernatural entities and abilities nonsense...

[Name] flushed a bright, enraged crimson. Partially from being genuinely angry at Rohan for teasing her so heartlessly, and from guilt because she couldn't stop just looking at him. An unstoppable force was driving her to admire his cheekbones and flattering manner of dress, the exposed skin between his loose pants and the beginning of his shirt...