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It wasn’t the growing swell of his stomach that tipped Rohan off, but the milk. 

He’d quite forgotten he was even taking a shower when he discovered it. Rohan was mesmerized by his own chest, squeezing his nipple hard and watching milk spray across the glass wall. He’d stepped out of the stream of hot water to watch it, his eyebrow furrowing as it just kept coming. 

It didn’t hurt, nor did he detect any other adverse effects in the five minutes he’d been busy doing this, so he imagined that ruled out any sort of Stand attack. He’d be on guard with Heaven’s Door, but he didn’t feel the same alertness or adrenaline rush when a fight was on, which meant most likely it was his own body doing this. Naturally. For some reason. 

He’d faintly wished he could do this on his own, at one point, since it was a topic nursing parents weren’t often thrilled to have investigated by overzealous artists, but it had been faint. Not a true desire. Yet it had manifested, somehow, as he found out when he swiped his tongue over his thumb. Not poison, not water, not anything else. Just milk. 

Rohan very briefly entertained the thought of lying to himself. He knew there were medical conditions that could cause this, or perhaps the strap of his bag of art supplies had been rubbing against his chest enough to stimulate production, but concealing the truth would be foolish. Time wasting. Embarrassing. 

No, Kishibe Rohan could only face reality as it stood before him: he was pregnant, and the father was undoubtedly the last man on earth he’d ever want to have a child with, considering he was the only person Rohan had ever had sex with. 

And, as ridiculous as it sounded, they’d only fucked twice before Josuke moved to an entirely different country. 

It seemed impossible, but the sudden shot of milk that almost hit his eye said otherwise. If Rohan lowered his hand, which he wouldn’t, he’d feel the new curve of his stomach he’d been more than happy to angrily blame on Tonio foisting dinner on him nearly every night a week when Izumi pointed it out— and that only proved it more, since Tonio’s food was barely enough to keep him sated, and he knew that. Hunger kept him sharp. It was hunger for reality, for experiences, for creating the best he could that drove every aspect of his life. 

It had driven him to bed Josuke, after all. He could remember the first time as clear as anything, since he’d had to commit it to memory for his first try at an adult-oriented romance, a one-off just to test his skills. Rohan’s only creative roadblock was that he couldn’t conceptualize the climactic scene, where the lovers reunited and fell into a true fit of passion. Rohan had never had any reason to love anyone, and sex was a messy distraction that hadn’t served any purpose before then. 

Josuke had been, unfortunately, at the top of his list of candidates for a variety of reasons. He fit the body type of the hero, his weird obsession with “pure love” was just the thing that drove the target character to risk everything to get back to his partner, and he was the easiest to bribe. The promise of three brand-new pairs of designer shoes was enough to buy his silence and his cock for an entire night, as well as the promise that they’d never speak of or do anything of the sort ever again. 

But there had been that other night, right before Josuke left. The rain, Josuke’s mouth buried in his shoulder, telling Rohan he’d stay if only he asked. Rohan still didn’t know why he’d said yes to getting held like that, but he knew why he’d told Josuke to go home after they’d peeled apart, sticky and spent. It didn’t need to be explained. 

His growing problem, however, would. Rohan hissed angrily at the thought and shut the water off, stepping out so he could properly pace in one of his robes. 

Morioh’s Stand users were a tight-knit community. There was no escaping each other, that much was certain, but Rohan could see an opportunity. The four youngest users, including the one he most needed to avoid, were all off studying at their chosen universities. They easily caused the most trouble. As long as they were out of the picture— and of course, Rohan could manage to be conveniently out of town for all their holidays— no one would ever have to know. Not until he was ready, and not until no one else could do anything about it.