THUS SPOKE,

“Makes sense,” he acquiesced, feeling just a little dejected. Despite his initial impression, this Rohan fellow seemed easy enough to get along with, for the time being at least. He seemed fairly quick on the uptake, which was always a good sign.

“That’s right!” He exclaimed with a flourish, smiling rather pleasantly, “I’m from Yokohama.” He supposed it didn’t matter much, anyways, considering the circumstances- he hadn’t the slightest clue when he might get to see home again. Oh well. Dazai turned his attention towards the cabinets and began inspecting those as well, although with significantly less interest.

“Can’t say that I do,” which was strange, since Dazai considered himself knowledgeable in terms of Japanese geography. Still, he didn’t think much of it- simply more evidence that they weren’t from the same worlds.

“’Roommate’? So it isn’t just us, then?”

“Oh, is that so?” 

Oh to be pulled from a city historically famous for accepting foreigners, and be dropped back into an ever-growing community of foreigners. The irony isn’t lost on Rohan. 

It peaks Rohan’s interest, though. When he was young, Rohan remembers skipping school to make the nearly 3-hour trip to Yokohama. There were rumors circulating at the time that a certain local figure had gone missing, as sightings of her had come to an abrupt end. That day he’d ventured out with the vain hope that he would be able to see her, to find her where no one else could. As Rohan discussed the matter with locals, he could feel the loss of her in the streets of the city more and more, even though he had never seen a Yokohama with her. It made him think on the effect that a single person can have on a place, on the people in it. The memory feels uncanny, now, as he reflects on it. 

In the end, he left Yokohama with three full reels of film, one for each of Yokohama’s Three Towers, and nothing more. Being an arrogant teen, it still felt like a loss to him. 

So much for those towers being lucky, he remembers thinking cynically to himself on the bullet train home. 

He’ll have to ask Dazai more about his home later. For now, he acknowledges Dazai with a shrug.

“I thought as much. Morioh is a suburb of Sendai, a small one, so I wouldn’t expect anyone to know of it. But I’m wondering more and more now if it simply doesn’t exist in universes that aren’t my own. Stands to reason.” 

He gestures in a flippant wave with his hand. 

Indeed, Dazai takes note of the intricate embroidery on Kishibe Rohan’s clothing, and he wonders for a moment the purpose of displaying one’s own name, before filing it away as inconsequential- most likely relating to the man’s own disposition rather than serving any kind of practical use.

It was clear from the get-go that the man was an eccentric, but judging from his peculiar behavior, Dazai could discern that he was indeed hiding something. Which was just as well, really- those with secrets tended to respect the secrecy of others in turn.

Dazai “ooooh”’d at Rohan’s explanation, moving to inspect the fridge himself. He was slightly disappointed to find it full of typical nutritional staples- albeit from a brand he didn’t recognize- rather than some kind of esoteric space food he had never seen before. He sighed before closing it again and turning back to his companion.

“What’s the point of being in a space city if the food is all the same?” He complained, albeit mostly to himself.

“Ah, excuse me. You’re Japanese, right? Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My assumption is that those who plucked us from our dimension chose food that was familiar to us,” Rohan sets the plate on the counter and folds his arms, watching Dazai rifle through the fridge. “But I thought the same thing as you-- I hope there’s something more interesting out here.”

There’d better be. It’s a good thing to have confirmed edible food on the home front in general but when you have an ability that can determine edibility anyway, something so simple loses its charm. So frankly he is a little annoyed. 

“You are as well, I take it, with a name like that.” A classic-- respectable.

May didn’t take offense to the man’s words. Really, in some ways she agreed with it. None of them had signed up for this.

“I can’t say I recognize the name,” May responded. “Or Morioh. Japan, yes. I’ve spent much of my life around Tokyo.” Famous, had he said? She believed him. Though, she didn’t think that would help him much here. He’d have to build himself back up to something worthwhile, if that’s what he wanted.

Something told her that Rohan had the tenacity to achieve it all over again. He’d be a good ally, if that type of relationship was possible with someone like him.

“If you don’t mind,” she continued, leaving her seat, “I’m going to resume moving in. If anyone else arrives tell them I’ll speak with them later.”

As she closed the door to her room, she paused, her hand resting on the handle.

“…Rohan, let me know if you need any help with anything. We’re roommates, after all.” 

"Of course Tokyo is a universal constant,” He mutters. Of course. Any manga you can think of will attest to that. Rohan rolls his eyes thinking about Tokyo-3. 

It makes him wonder more, though, what’s different about her Tokyo versus his own. He’s sure he’ll find out soon enough, whether they compare notes or he reads off of hers, so he doesn’t press it too much.

She seems to be moving on, anyway. He watches her stand and move along to her room-- moreso taking stock of his remaining options than anything else.

But first, he has to address something important--

“I’ll be doing no such thing,” Rohan cuts in. "I won’t indulge a teenager thinking they’re an authority in this place or with me. We may be roommates but that doesn’t change how you should address me-- it’s KIshibe-san.” 

He pauses, taking the time to cross the room and peek his head in the remaining doors and see which one is best.

Dazai returned the other man’s scrutiny, although not nearly as harshly, plastering a friendly smile upon his lips despite his exhaustion. They appeared to be similar in age, if nothing else- he would be blind if he failed to notice the other’s interesting fashion choices. Well, for all he knew, that could be how everybody around here dressed.

The man’s obvious annoyance was not lost on him, either, but he opted to ignore it. “I was told this was where I could go to get some rest,” Dazai drawled, punctuating his sentence with a theatrical yawn, “Are you my roommate? I’ve never had roommates before, that’s exciting.”

“Ah, how rude of me. You can call me Dazai, by the way. It looks like you may be eating paper,” he gestured towards the man’s plate, “Unless you already knew that.”

“...It would seem that way.”

Well there are a few commonalities between them, at least, being Japanese recluses of some garden variety or another. With the obvious out of the way, he notes Dazai’s particular energy. There’s a sort of detached quality about him that Rohan can’t quite pin down yet. Without all the pieces in place, it’s not something he makes a judgement on for now, but it becomes the lens through which Rohan views him. 

“Kishibe,” Rohan offers in return with a nod. But Dazai can probably gather that from the embroidered lettering on the chest pocket of his button-down; 露伴 . Vain? Perhaps. Stylish? Of course. If Dazai was ever curious about how to write his name, be curious no longer. 

“Oh.”

Rohan looks down at the plate in his hand. What an oversight. It’s probably not good to show his hand too early-- risky business for others to know about his abilities too soon. So instead he mimes picking the piece of “paper” from the drumstick and tucking it away in his pocket while he de-activates Heavens Door’s ability-- that is, the ability to read the experience and qualities of living (or once-living, for a small window of time) things by turning them into books. But no one has to know that. It’s all clear now-- just a normal chicken. 

Still, he feels a sense of obligation to tell the truth. A half-truth, at least. 

“The kitchen is fully stocked. I just got here myself, so I’m taking inventory. Seeing what’s expired. It’s all edible on paper, at least.” 

“About an hour.” May replied, keeping her gaze on the visitor. His personality was palpable - strong, confident, and … well, at the moment, he seemed irritated. 

May felt just a bit nervous with the man’s entry - on the colony, she wasn’t sure what others were capable of. And she was unarmed, with no information on where her own strengths placed her compared to others in combat. 

“Are you also slated to room here? I’ve just moved in.” May extended her hand, holding eye contact. “My name is May. It’s nice to meet you.” 

As she leaned back into her chair, May made sure to adjust the position of the seat out just slightly, trying to remain casual in demeanor. If she needed to get up to attack in a hurry, she wanted to be ready; but, she didn’t want to provoke, either.

“Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He hums affirmatively, respecting her commitment to remaining in one place for so long. If there’s one thing he can get behind, it’s sticktoitiveness. 

In the quiet distance between him, they utilize the time and space to size each other up. Rohan jots down the surface details-- self-conscious (with that particularly teenage flavor of anxiety), analytical, guarded -- and files that information away for later scrutiny. For now, though, he’s content with existing in the present tense.

“Looks to be that way, though I can’t say I’m exactly a fan of the arrangement,” Rohan says, tucking the key card to the dorm in his breast pocket (embroidered with  露伴 on the front). The statement here is less of an ‘I don’t like my present company’ so much as an ‘I don’t like being told what to do and where to go and nearly slept on the side of the road instead out of spite’. 

The girl-- May-- isn’t altogether unpleasant. Her being a teenager and all, he expected far worse. So far the only debit in her column is just being there, but he finds her respectable because she seems to be showing respect for him. And that will get you everywhere.

“Likewise.” 

“Kishibe Rohan,” he offers in response, still standing beside the table, having not committed to the idea of staying or going. “Though I don’t know whether the name will be familiar to you or not. I’m famous, but probably not between dimensions.”

Secretly he’s really hoping that Pink Dark Boy is being read in another universe.