sagittariusly | for asteroidbelt

Tomoko accepted the helmet and nodded her appreciation - though now that her nerves were calming down after her quick admission, she was becoming more aware that something was nagging at her senses - that something was telling her there were small things that were wrong in this situation. While she merely seemed frazzled and nerve-wracked, he, on the other hand, seemed... sad, despite his words. Why would he be sad, though? Was there any reason to be sad?

She stepped closer to him, and tentatively laid a hand on his. "...Ryusei-san, are you all right?" If he wasn't, then it'd be more than all right if they were to postpone this... date of theirs. It would only be right, she thought, to think of him before anything else.

"Of course." He pulled away and put his helmet on and swung his leg over the bike. "W-Why wouldn't I be?" he added in a joking manner.

It was an interesting conundrum, wasn't it—he didn't want to lie but if he wanted to maintain this charade for at least a little while longer, lying was a necessity. Not to speak of what Tomoko would think when she eventually found out he'd been lying all night. He could say it right now and let her decide whether or not to pretend this was a normal date, but that option was dependent on Ryusei's ability to say it.

He couldn't; it meant having to face the truth himself.

"Ready?" He turned around to look at her.

For several moments Tomoko didn't know what to do with herself. She stood there, hands full with the helmet she held. Now that she was aware there was something wrong, it felt as though there was no way for her to ignore these feelings - and the more he denied it, the more she worried why.

She didn't say anything else, but she did place the helmet on her head and slowly climbed behind him on the bike. Riding like this meant she had to wrap her arms around his torso and she did, but now there were a lot of awkward thoughts attached to such a simple act. Tomoko sat closer to him so she could get a secure grip, then laid her head on his back.

"Ready," she said.

"Sorry," he muttered to her. "Please humor me for a little while longer."

He started the engine and eased the bike into traffic.

The ride was without incident. Soon, though, Tomoko noticed that they were cruising on an unfamiliar road, and she looked around them, careful not to loosen her grip. The wind was fierce and cold on her skin, and she wished she brought a jacket or at least a shawl, but there was no time to get one before Ryusei arrived on her doorstep. Silently, she wished the restaurant had a fireplace and that it was warm.

Please humor me a little while longer.

Her instincts were right, then.

She bit her lip, tried to ignore the worry gnawing at her insides, and focused on the scenery as they passed them by.

He'd had the duration of the bike ride to cool his head; by the time they arrived, Ryusei felt almost normal. He found someplace to park not a block away, and as he got off, he pointed out the restaurant. "It's over there."

The frosted glassfront made it hard to spot at first, especially since the store next to it was a jewelry store. The front door was set back a bit from the street, too, but Ryusei thought it gave the place a bit of charm. "It's a little unassuming, but I've heard good things. Well...we all have, from our sempai...." he added, with an embarrassed smile.

"The frosted glass was specially made by the first owner's grandfather some years ago," he said. "Originally, it was a glass shop, but when they were converting it to a restaurant, the original owner made a special request that—" Stop talking. "Uh." He cleared his throat, stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Well. Shall we go?"

"How beautiful!" Tomoko said, smiling as she stared at the restaurant. It was definitely charming, she thought, as it was lit with dozens of bulbs set into candles - from afar it seemed as though real candles were used to illuminate the path leading towards the door. She turned her attention to Ryusei, and felt a bit disappointed that he had stopped telling her about the background of the store.

"Why did they convert it to a restaurant?" She was truly curious, though, especially since now that Ryusei mentioned it, it did look ,ore like a glass shop than a restaurant.

Edited 2012-12-10 02:27 (UTC)

"Money problems, or so I've heard." Tentatively, as they walked to it, he took Tomoko's hand. "This is just a rumor, but it seems like one of the children was a bit of a slob. And none of the children wanted to get into the business and one of them was a chef, I suppose."

That was not a romantic story at all. Way to set the mood. There was a romantic story attached to this place, but he'd forgotten how it went; he'd continued reading the facts and rumors solely out of nerves and his eyes had skipped right over the bits that sounded like fiction. He should have known better, but it was too late to go look it up now.

Inside, there were only two tables that were placed near the glass, and Ryusei had snagged one. It was a bit dangerous, if he thought about it—if something happened to the glass, shattering it inwards, that table was the most dangerous place to sit. But... This once, he'd let aesthetic override safety. He gave his name to the waiting employee; that confirmed, he pulled out the chair with the better view of the glass for Tomoko.

She liked holding his hand. He rarely did, before - it had seemed so, well, obvious and they were anything but. There was also the fact that JK and Yuuki seemed to take great delight in embarrassing Ryusei and Tomoko whenever they could - which, of course, became all the time.

But JK and Yuuki weren't here now, so Tomoko supposed it was all right.

She appreciated that he chose this spot for them, for her. Tomoko bowed at him before taking her seat. The view truly was spectacular; the glass art was anything but common and ordinary, and it felt as though the longer one stared at it, the more intricate details seemed to pop out. "Ryusei-san, this is--" It was breathtaking, but it seemed Tomoko had no words for it right now. Then worry for other things and practicality took over. "But isn't this too much?"

"What do you mean?"

It wasn't too fancy a place, was it? He would have asked JK or Yuuki, but didn't want to have to go through the hassle of their teasing. And by the time he'd made plans, it'd been too late, anyway. His flight left at 2AM. He should have done something sooner, but all week he'd been trying to distance himself from all of them. It hadn't worked; he should have known it wouldn't, but there were things that never seemed logical or reasonable when he was the one who had to do them.

"Is there anything I can do, make you more comfortable?" he continued. Should he imply he knew someone here, who owed him a favor? No, he didn't want to lie. It wouldn't have been a lie to say that he'd do anything for her right now, but he...couldn't say that. Not right now. Maybe one day, when she couldn't ask him not to leave.

She shook her head fervently, then instinctively curled her palms together and drew them under her chin. Tomoko stared at the folded tablecloth in front of her. "I'm fine." More than fine, really. "It's just--" Here, she glanced at him, then took a deep breath.

"It's not your birthday nor mine. We're not celebrating anything." It wasn't the anniversary of their first meeting or their first unofficial date or the day he met her mother. To her, it was just an ordinary day made extraordinary by him asking to take her out for a fancy dinner. But that and the fact that her intuition was practically screaming at her, well...

"Ryusei-san, I would like to know if--" Pause. She knew she should humor him a bit longer, but even her patience had limits and she wasn't liking what she was feeling. "Is there something I should know?"

And there it was. He couldn't delay it any longer, it seemed. "We're not.... It's not...a celebration," he said slowly. He looked down at his lap, where his hands had balled into fists.

Would she leave right now, upon hearing the news? He'd hoped they could go a little longer like this. For a moment there, it had almost seemed normal. Would there have been more 'moments' if he'd done something sooner? ... He couldn't think about that right now.

"I..." Now, the present. Concentrate on the now. "I have to...."

How could he concentrate on the now when he had to give it up for the future? He could say right now that he wanted to give her the bracelet sitting in his pocket tonight, and stay here deliberately overlong so as to miss his flight. He could do that. There were other chances. It wasn't like he was going to die—

Unfortunately he knew full well that that argument could cut both ways. "... I have to leave," he said softly.

"...Eh?"

That was the only thing she could say as she stared at him. Leave? Him? Why? Where was he going? When was he leaving? Why? Why? Why?

Was Meteor needed somewhere else? Her mind automatically jumped at that possibility. Some of the Kamen Riders must have, could have been wanderers, going where the people needed them and their powers. Maybe Ryusei had gotten word that some other place was in trouble and he was needed there.

But why him? Why not Gentarou? It was an unkind thought - Gentarou pretty much had shaped his whole life here, though Tomoko supposed he could go anywhere and shape his life there. Gentarou could do it. Gentarou should be the one to leave if a Kamen Rider was needed. Not him. Not Ryusei.

She rested her chin on her curled palms and seemed to shrink away from him. "I-- I see." No, no she didn't - but what else was she supposed to say?

Except: "Why?"

"I have to. I need to go or they'll consider me compromised. I won't be allowed anywhere near their organization ever again." He said it mechanically, without looking up.

"I won't be allowed to make contact. Even after I finish, I might not be allowed to make contact. It might be years, they said, depending on how I do. It's their rule. I'm only allowed to bring a carry-on. I can't disclose when I'm going, or what my flight number is. I can't bring anyone with me to the airport. I can't have anyone drive me. I've already done the preliminaries. If I don't go now, they'll have to...."

He slowed, and stopped altogether for breath, and then bit his lip so his juddery inhale wouldn't be noticed. "It's decided," he continued, in the same voice as before. "It can't be changed."

"...Decided by whom?"

Her voice was so soft she wasn't certain he could even hear it. But there was a painful gurgling at the back of her throat and her mouth was suddenly dry and her hands were inching upwards until Tomoko was hiding behind them, as if the simple act could shield her from what he was saying. What was he saying? Why was he even doing this?

"Ryusei-san..."

Then she diverted her eyes and focused on something else, anywhere else but at him. "You're going to leave?" Me, she almost added, but found out she couldn't. It was starting to hurt to speak.

Ryusei had to pause, and had to alternate between biting his lip and forcefully swallowing so he could speak without gasping.

"By me. Decided by me."

He couldn't keep staring at his fists forever. He needed to look up at her. It was the least he could do. But not right now. His resolve would break; he couldn't afford that. "Please understand," he meant to say normally, but came out as a whisper.

"...You? Y-You want to leave?"

It was such a startling, alarming thought - one that just jumped at her out of nowhere. She was certain she couldn't remember getting this feeling from him before. Tomoko was certain he was happy with the way things were; sure they weren't as active and, well, adventurous as the days with the Horoscopes and the Zodiarts but--

And now he was asking her to understand. Understand that he was leaving for a long time - years, according to him - without any sort of contact with anyone else. There was an organization involved but he wasn't allowed to divulge anything about it. That he was essentially stripping her of the chance to ask and find out more about his situation. And now he was asking her to understand?

Tomoko's hands fell from their place, but she couldn't look at him yet. Suddenly, the tablecloth was so entrancing because she couldn't keep her eyes of its lacy trimmings. "Gentarou-san, Kengo-san... do-- do they know?"

He'd expected that reaction, but no amount of expectation was comparable to how much it hurt when she said it. It's— It's not that I want to— But he did want to. And he couldn't explain that.

He should have asked her to wait before he told her. They were making a scene. But he couldn't leave now. If he got up, if they moved even an inch, she might just walk away. She might do that anyway. He understood that. But as long as he stayed sitting here maybe she wouldn't get up and nothing would ever change.

And he knew how ironic that was, that he was afraid that she'd leave, when he was the one who was leaving. And he knew how terrible that was, because he was the one who was responsible for this. But he couldn't say that.

"Th-they don't." Control yourself. "I sent them letters. In the mail." I wanted to see you personally, he wanted to add, but he didn't deserve to say it.

She nodded, as if what he'd said was the most perfect and understandable thing in the world. Tomoko reached out and traced the tip of the cloth with her fingers, tried to ignore how much they were shaking. "They're--" She drew a deep breath. "They're your friends, Ryusei-san. Gentarou-san might not like receiving a goodbye--" She almost choked on the word, "--goodbye letter in the mail and he's going to complain to Yuuki-san because you didn't stay to tell him and Kengo-san won't say anything but I'll know it will hurt--"

Tomoko paused, tried to calm herself enough to speak. She thought it would be easier, talking about others' feelings instead of her own, but she couldn't help it. They were coming out anyway. "--it will hurt because th-they care for you and if you leave they will--"

Then the words ended in a sob, and she shrank away from him again, covered her face with her hands. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry. She shouldn't let him see her cry.

But she was, and she couldn't help it.

They were going to get kicked out. They were going to get kicked out. So don't cry.

Ryusei's hands ached from the from which he was keeping them clenched, and if he bit his lip any harder he'd have to explain to them why he'd showed up with a bloody lip. He'd clap a hand over his mouth to suppress the noise but he couldn't move. Because if he did, she might leave.

"Stop. Please stop," he whispered. A whisper was all he could manage.

He knew that. He knew that. That was why he sent letters because if he'd had to have this conversation with every one of them, his recruiters would kick him out for being mentally unsuitable and then for what reason would he have had to have those conversations in the first place? A letter was the most he could give them because he wasn't strong enough for anything else. He wasn't strong enough for this.

"I just needed to see you. A l-la— las—" Control yourself. "One final— time."

He couldn't see it, could he? What he was doing to her. Tomoko had hoped... oh, how she'd hoped... that this was going to be the start of something new. Of something more. Of something she'd wished for but never said aloud. Ryusei had called it a date, and yet he was here, breaking her. He was going to leave and he was asking her to understand and not to cry about it and it was too much to ask of her now and couldn't he see it? What he was doing?

"Cruel," she said now. "You're cruel, Ryusei-san." Because if he wasn't then he wouldn't do this. He could have just sent her a letter and she would break but at least it wouldn't be in front of him.

Maybe it would have been better that way.

Certainly anything was better than this.

He knew that, too. It'd been selfish to come here. He knew that.

But at least— At least he wasn't going off to die. That's right. He had to stick to his convictions. Even if she hated him—

He couldn't help it; he clapped his hands over his mouth.

Even if she hated him, he'd had to see her. How much worse would it get if she saw the letter? He hadn't sent them. They were in a pile on his desk. 'I'll see you soon' had been all he'd be able to write on all of them. He'd lingered overlong on Tomoko's, wanting to add something, a photo maybe, but in the end he didn't, and put it into the pile with all the rest, and had picked them up to go mail them and then had brought them back and put them on his desk because he hadn't been able to risk even the slightest chance that they'd get the letters early.

He couldn't risk the slightest chance that they'd confront him with his decision. So why, why had he forced that confrontation himself? Because— because he'd needed to see her. Even if he had to live with the knowledge that he'd made her cry.

Gentarou wouldn't burst in and miraculously fix everything with a grin. So while she was still here and was maybe even still listening to him, he had to say it. "I know," he started. "B-but even if it's cruel— Even if you don't believe me— I lov—"

But Tomoko was shaking her head - shaking it so fervently as though by doing it she'll be able to block out the sound of his voice. He didn't need to say it. He shouldn't say it. Because if he didn't, then it would be easier to pretend that she was just saying goodbye to a dear friend, and maybe it wouldn't hurt too much, and maybe it would be easier to move on and forget about this, forget about them, forget about him. He shouldn't say it because that would be beyond cruel, knowing that he loved her, yet he didn't love her enough to stay.

Was he only saying it because he thought she would like to hear it? "D-Don't! I don't--" want to hear it. Furiously, she wiped at her cheeks with her palms. "P-Please don't--" make this any worse.

She shouldn't have asked. She shouldn't have asked and maybe then they'd be able to eat and talk and laugh and when he brings her home later that night she could probably kiss him on the cheek and say goodnight to him and dream. Then maybe she would have that to treasure once she found out he was gone.

Instead she had this, memories where tears filled her lungs and air sat on her stomach like sawdust and it was hard to see because her eyes stung. "Please don't."

He understood that. He did.

He lapsed into silence, and as he gradually regained control of himself, his hands came to rest on his lap again.

"... I need to go," he said finally. He had time. But what could he say? He got up, pushed the chair in, and stood there for a full minute. He should say something.

He should say something.

Say something.

"... Good-bye." He turned to the door.

And there it was. Hearing the word from him made her look up at him, and there was a wrenching in her chest at the sight of him turning away from her and walking towards the door. Tomoko knew she should get used to it. Tomoko knew she should let him leave. Tomoko knew she couldn't do anything about this now; it was his decision and desire to leave, and that she should let him, and that she should get used to him being gone, gone, gone--

"...Ryusei-san..."

She bolted out of her chair and grabbed his arm, silently begging him to stay, even for just a minute. Please stay, please please please--

for asteroidbelt

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