sagittariusly | for asteroidbelt

"...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--

He stopped, even though he shouldn't.

It was a moment before he could be certain of his ability to speak. "We'll get kicked out."

It wasn't like he cared about that. But it was something he could say—an objective fact—that wouldn't hurt them both any more than he'd already done. And it was true; they couldn't just stand here. But Ryusei couldn't bring himself to break her grip, either.

"... I'll drive you home." He'd planned, vaguely, for the possibility that she wouldn't want anything more to do with him. There was public transportation nearby. But for now, he didn't want to tell her that just yet.

She was shaking her head again. Riding the motorcycle would be too fast, she thought, too quick, and before she knew it her time with him would be over. Tomoko laid her head on his shoulder for a moment. He would be gone, for who knew how long, and right now she didn't want to face it. She didn't want to lose him.

Not yet. Not yet.

"I want to--" It would be a ridiculous request; she had no coat or shawl and she didn't notice if he had a jacket with him and there was a chance he'd say no because he had to go all the way back to the restaurant to retrieve his bike if he agreed to take her home but Tomoko didn't care for that right now. She just wanted-- just wanted to--

"I want to walk home."

His hands had clenched again at the unexpected contact. This was unfair. Uncalled for. Just when he'd finally regained his self-control.

"—Ok," he said past the knot in his throat.

He shuffled out to the bike, and turned it in the direction of Tomoko's place. They could keep the bike between them as they walked. It didn't have to be— They didn't have to even stand next to each other if she didn't want to.

There were so many things she wanted to ask him. Could she write to him? Was he transferring to another country? Is Jirou going with him? How long would he be gone? Would he be here in time for his birthday, hers, Gentarou's? Would he be able to visit come graduation time?

But she couldn't.

She shivered in the cold air, and wrapped her arms around herself, concentrated on walking. On stepping forward. Tomoko couldn't see what was in front of her, for her eyes were focused on the ground. She knew her house were a bit far from here, so they were in for a long walk.

Tomoko didn't mind.

"I'm--" She took a deep breath. "Our class would be going to a trip soon. We'll be visiting the homes of some of the well-known writers in Japan." She didn't know why she was saying this, but then she remembered this was something she wanted to tell him. "Ryu--Ryusei-san, do you know that some of the writers have really odd quirks? I read that Nakamura often consumes live worms before he can sit to write anything."

Both his hands were on the bike's handlebars. If he wanted to take off his jacket, they'd have to stop and stand still, and Ryusei didn't think he could. Continuing to walk—mechanically placing one foot before the other—meant he could still stand.

"Is that so." He should speak up if he wanted her to hear him. "That's interesting."

This was wrong. What he was doing was wrong. He took a deep breath, tried to dispel the numbness. "I don't.... I hope you...don't have that kind of trouble. In the future. Or now." Or...whenever. "I'll be rooting for you."

"...Mm." She nodded, then brought her hands together in that familiar pose of hers. Point. Tomoko had a point, which was why she mentioned it, and it was coming back now--

"We're... we're allowed to bring someone with us and I was hoping-- I was going to ask you to--" come with me. But he couldn't anymore, could he? He'd be leaving soon and maybe when the date for the trip came he wouldn't be here anymore.

She swallowed, hard. Maybe... maybe it was a good thing, that he wouldn't be there for the trip. What was he going to do there, anyway? Of the two of them, the trip would only benefit Tomoko. It surely would bore him. She couldn't ask him to endure that for her. She couldn't ask him anything.

Tomoko shook her head. "But-- maybe you wouldn't like it anyway."

Edited 2012-12-15 01:41 (UTC)

"Tomoko-chan." He finally looked at her, out of surprise. There were a million ways he could respond to that, all ending in I would have loved your company anywhere, but he couldn't say any of them. It wasn't appropriate. He'd already said the phrase that was most important, and that hadn't—

That hadn't...worked out. It still shouldn't be a thing that— Was still... Possible.

He must not have said it, before. He didn't even remember what he'd said, before. "Tomoko-chan... My flight leaves tonight."

That made her stop walking, and it took all her strength not to look at him. No. No. He couldn't... that soon? Tomoko thought-- she had thought...

That only left them minutes, then. An hour, at the most. Probably. What time was it, now? She didn't know. Maybe-- maybe--

She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. So she kept her head bowed low, glad that her hair was covering her face. Because then he couldn't see her, and then she could go on and--

"I... I see." No, she didn't. But if he said that then surely he needed to go now, and Tomoko shouldn't be selfish at all. "I-I shouldn't be keeping you, Ryusei-san-- I c-can walk from here."

No. No.

Since she'd stopped, he'd stopped, too, and stood there on shaky legs while he took off his jacket, and leaned over to drape it over her shoulders.

He turned away again and continued plodding with the bike toward Tomoko's home. He had to keep walking. Even if it was slowly; he couldn't remain standing or he'd collapse.

"There's time." In the original plan, after all, they would have had time for dinner. "Tomoko-chan... When you get home, make sure to eat something."

She wished he didn't do that. The jacket was warm and it smelled like him and she didn't have the appetite to eat anything but it was nice to be reminded and it wasn't fair that he was acting like a gentleman tonight. Because then she'd miss these little acts and wish on most days that he was still here, that he was still looking out for her and it wasn't fair.

He was leaving tonight.

"How much time...?" do we have still left.

"A few hours."

After dropping Tomoko off, he needed to go home and pick up his bag. Then, since the drive was too long by motorcycle, he'd take the train to the airport. He had the entire schedule, the timing all figured out. He'd left a few hours for Tomoko because he hadn't wanted to think too hard about what might happen. A perfectly laid-out plan, doomed from the start because he hadn't chosen a good starting point. His first mistake had been keeping to himself the entire week he'd known he had to leave.

It was a moment before it registered. What was it that he'd just been asked? He turned to Tomoko. "Why...?"

A few hours? Still too short, yet it was more than what she thought they'd have. Maybe... maybe there was still time to salvage this date, this one date they were having - probably the only date they would have.

"Yuuki-san said there'd be a-- a meteor shower tonight."

Yuuki actually called her up days earlier to tell her this, that she and Kengo and Gentarou were scheduled to watch it and she was asking Tomoko if she could come. She had earlier said yes since she thought she would be free tonight, but then Ryusei had called resulting to Tomoko calling up Yuuki to tell her she couldn't make it after all.

And then Yuuki laughed and asked if it was because of Ryusei and Tomoko felt horrible because she couldn't say anything and instead she hung up on her friend.

But now--

Now, Tomoko looked up at him, and in a small voice asked, "Do you want to see it with me?"

"I—"

It felt like he had no choice. He should say no. Depending how far they had to go, it could throw off his schedule. Spending any more time lingering here would be too heavy.

"Where...?" Depending how far they had to go, they'd have to ride the bike together. He'd been prepared for that when he'd offered to take her home, but this was...unnecessary. Driving Tomoko home was a matter of course. This was out of his way. It wouldn't be a problem if he didn't feel so cold.

"... Let's go your place first. Pick up some blankets...." Involuntarily, his voice came out uncertain. He ducked his head again, looking at the ground over the handlebars. This would be easier if he didn't have to think about what tonight might have been like if he'd made the other decision. Unfortunately, he couldn't turn that off.

He'd said yes. He'd said yes and Tomoko smiled because he'd said yes, and that's all she was going to focus on right now. Because if she had to focus on others things--

No. No.

He'd said yes, and that was all that mattered.

"There's an empty lot behind our house..." She thought of taking him to Amanogawa, as the rooftop there would have a perfect view - but there was no time. This was better. She'd have opportunity to pick up blankets and some bread and tea and even some of the lizard tails she had left in a jar. He would also need a rabbit's foot for his journey and she had one on her table. "We could watch from there. It wouldn't take long."

Whatever you want. "Time isn't...my priority," he said hesitantly. Why should it be? He had hours. It was the spending that time with Tomoko that...was the problem. Because then he'd start to think that it was all okay. He couldn't say that, though.

"Tomoko-chan...." He stopped, clutched the handlebars. "... Why?" It had been cruel of him to bring her here, she'd said. She'd told him to stop saying that he lov— She'd told him not to say that. What was there left to be said? There wasn't any— There was no way that she'd accept waiting however long it took for him to come back. He couldn't think that that could be a possibility. But with each passing moment he was less and less able to restrain himself from bringing it up. So he shouldn't linger.

How could she even form the words? Tomoko didn't know. She didn't want to think beyond what was happening now, because if she did--

But he was asking why.

Hesitantly, she stepped closer to him. "Ryusei-san, this... this is supposed to be our date." My first. She blinked faster, trying to keep herself calm enough to speak. Dates were supposed to be fun, right? They were supposed to be having fun. "And I want--"

If he left, there was a possibility he'd forget her. Ryusei was very handsome; everyone thought so. And wherever it was he was going to, he could meet someone there and then he could forget her and--

She blinked again. "--I want us to have this." Because this was all they could have. Tomoko brought her hands and clasped them together. "I want to remember this."

for asteroidbelt

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