sagittariusly | for asteroidbelt

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For today, just for today, Tomoko was going to wear her blue dress.

Perhaps it didn't really matter, she thought, as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The dress's shade was a blue so deep and rich it was almost black on certain angles, yet it still felt so foreign on her skin. It was a far cry from her usual selection of clothes, which was her thought when she opened this gift from Miu. She thought she wouldn't really be wearing it anytime soon.

Tomoko thought wrong.

The doorbell rang.

She hadn't even worn her headdress yet.

But there wasn't time for that - it usually took her fifteen minutes to find the perfect spot at the side of her head for it - and she really didn't want Ryusei to wait. So Tomoko did another unexpected feat, and brushed her hair and left it free of any adornments.

She rushed to the door. Smoothing her dress and calming her suddenly-frazzled nerves, Tomoko opened the door and smiled.

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"Un." Then he'd think of his memories as well.

Come to think of it, should he risk ruining this positivity mood? There wasn't going to be any better time to do this.... He pulled the jewelry box out of his pocket. He didn't even know if she'd like it—she probably already owned a bracelet set with blue rhinestones (girls owned that kind of thing, right?) and it was probably boring to her tastes even if the rhinestones were placed on a scorpion design. But he'd thought of her when he saw it; he'd picked it up on a whim more than a week ago and had been waiting for a good time. They weren't... They'd never quite acknowledged what they had, so gifts of jewelry had never seemed appropriate.

It was still inappropriate. They'd never dated, so what they'd done right now couldn't be called 'breaking up.' Even so. "Tomoko-chan...." He held up the box, waved it in her general direction without looking at her. This... This was not a good idea. "I wanted you to have this."

He shouldn't hold his breath. But 'should' and 'able to' were different things.

She turned her head towards him and froze. Was that--? Slowly Tomoko pushed herself up into a sitting position, still staring at the box in his hand. Then she transferred her gaze at him, found him not looking at her. "Ryusei-san..." Look at me. She abandoned the white snake skin on the blanket beside her and clasped her hands together, feeling quite unable to reach forward to get it from him. "But... why?"

Wasn't it obvious? Hesitantly, he sat up, putting the box down on the blanket between them. "Before all this happened," he started.

Maybe he'd secretly wanted to make a good impression. He didn't really know; he'd never examined his feelings for Tomoko very closely. He'd always been content to let it happen if it happened. It was frighteningly spontaneous whenever anything did strike him, but until now nothing had ever ended up badly. It still hadn't ended up badly; they'd ended up here not because of anything to do with the not-relationship but because Ryusei had chosen something over it.

So even though it was a bad idea, he'd still been willing to do it. But he couldn't take it back now. "I won't give it to anyone else. It's for you only, so...." He trailed off, embarrassed by what he was saying.

There was a tightening in her chest again, and her throat hurt just for looking at the box, and at him. Tomoko wanted to say she didn't want anything from him - though that was a lie because what she wanted from him was his presence in her life after today and he couldn't give that to her, could he? And she wouldn't ask it from him, no matter how much she wanted to, just to see how he'd react. And yet she knew he'd already made a decision, knew that if she asked him to stay, she'd only get hurt if he said no. When he said no.

She reached for the box, and with trembling fingers opened it. And inside was--

"It's--" Tomoko lifted the bracelet from the box as though it was the most precious thing in the world, and right now, to her, it was. "It's so beautiful."

She laid it on her palm, felt tears clouding her vision again. It was coming, wasn't it? His goodbye. He was going to say goodbye to her under a meteor shower and it would be the most painful thing in the world.

Tomoko clutched the bracelet to her chest. "Thank you. I--I'll wear it everyday."

He'd done it again. He'd made her cry again. "Tomoko-chan...."

He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't do this. He leaned forward, and wrapped his arms around her. This made it hard. He'd just made it harder. He drew away almost immediately.

"H-Happy thoughts," he reminded her. He was still holding the rabbit's foot in his other hand; he put it aside to tentatively take the bracelet and clasp it around her wrist.

Vainly, she tried to hold back her tears. The hug had shocked her; it hadn't lasted long but it didn't matter as its impact had been the same. And now he was putting the bracelet he bought for her on her wrist, and Tomoko couldn't look away.

She supposed it ought to be romantic. It must be, to anyone who wasn't the two of them. Vaguely, she wondered if Yuuki and JK would notice anything different tomorrow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I... didn't get you anything." How could she? She didn't know. Tomoko had no inkling that tonight was--

So much for her sharp senses.

He lay back down. "... Don't worry about it," he said. What else could he say to that? He'd run out of things to say to reassure her. He'd run out of things he said to himself to reassure himself, too. He was only grateful that she hadn't pulled away.

But if he stayed any longer, he'd do something he'd really regret. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then sat up again. "Tomoko-chan, I have to...."

He had to cut short their time together. They had about an hour left, but he couldn't keep going like this, pretend they still had— He just kept making it harder for himself. He couldn't imagine what it was like for her. He had to be considerate of her feelings. Look, he'd just made her cry again. "I have to go."

Go. It was such a loaded word. Because going didn't mean he would just go home, and show up the next day-- going, for now, meant he had to disappear. Possibly for a long time. Possibly forever.

Tomoko bit her lip. She couldn't-- oh, she couldn't say goodbye to him. She couldn't say anything, or else she would just burst.

Numbly, she reached for the rabbit's foot, placed in a jar. Then she took out lizard's tail, bat wing, butterfly antennae, and the white snake skin she'd so carefully kept all these years, and placed it in the same jar as well. A morbid concoction, maybe, but she knew Ryusei understood and that he knew this was who she was. Perhaps he knew this was her own way of saying goodbye. Her own way of making sure he didn't forget her. If, by some lucky chance he didn't lose the jar anywhere, then maybe he'd even come back.

"Take care," she said softly, moving the jar closer to him. "Please--" come back to me. "--stay safe." Pause. "And, and if you can... write to me?"

"I can't. I'm sorry." He wasn't sure he was allowed to take something like this jar, either, but he was already thinking of ways to stick it into his bag so that it wouldn't be noticed if anyone checked.

He got up, took the blanket from his shoulders and moved to drape it around hers. "Thank you for tonight," he said.

He had to leave now, immediately, or he'd linger. He felt like he should say something final. He'd already said good-bye so many times tonight; surely there was something stronger he could say to convey his feelings. The only phrase he could think of was very unfair. That and he'd already said it.

He shouldn't linger. He turned and started walking quickly to his bike. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Tomoko felt as if she should say something. But she'd forbidden him from saying the words even if he would only be voicing what she felt for him. She wondered why she never said anything earlier. Would it have changed anything if she did?

She felt as if she should do something. Maybe run up to him. Hug him. Even kiss him goodbye. But that would make it harder, wouldn't it? Because she wasn't sure if she could let him go, and she knew she had to. This was his decision, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind. Nothing she could do to make him stay.

He forced her to let him go, and a part of her knew it was understandable if she were to hate him. If she were to think of him as the one who hurt her. The one who left.

But she couldn't.

She wouldn't.

Tomoko looked up, saw the last traces of the meteor shower streaking across the sky. Then, it was gone, and the sky seemed all the more dark and bleak without the storm of light. It looked sadder as well. Emptier.

She glanced behind her, found that she was alone. Finally, finally alone. She drew her knees to her chest, bowed her head, and sobbed. It would be a good thirty minutes before she could draw enough strength in her bones to pick up after herself and go home.

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