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“I just can’t fucking do this anymore,” Nico bursts out.
Poppy blinks at her. It’s rare that Nico comes into the CR these days – busy as she is with school and Taiga’s hospital –, even rarer that she’s on her own, and even more rare that she looks as exasperated as this. Poppy puts down the folder she was fiddling with and walks over, furrowing her brows in concern, “What happened, Nico?”
“Brave,” she says, leaning onto one of the tables, “I mean, Kagami Hiiro. He drives me up the walls!” And she sighs for emphasis, or something.
Poppy does know that Nico tends to get annoyed with Hiiro sometimes – their, ah, attitudes just don’t match well – but it’s never been this… bad. She wonders if she should put a comforting hand on Nico’s shoulder, or maybe offer to sing or play with her, but she decides that she should find out what even happened before she does anything. After waiting a moment to let Nico gather herself, Poppy asks, “What did Hiiro do?”
Nico sighs again, and it sounds eerily similar to when she’s stressed with exams. She looks Poppy into the eyes and surprisingly, the dominant visible emotion is exhaustion. “I just wish he’d realise his embarrassingly big crush on the intern already!”
Poppy drops her hand that was slowly inching towards Nico’s shoulder. “It’s that simple?”
Nico stares at her. “You’d think it was.”
Thinking about it – Poppy gets what she means. Hiiro seems to have difficulty admitting his feelings to himself, first and foremost, and then there’s his standoffish demeanour… Despite often being blunt, Hiiro is not a straightforward person at all. “I did always think that Hiiro was struggling, but then I thought that it might be better to leave the two of them to it. A love story is between the people involved, and no one else. It’s the same in songs about love.”
“You’re right,” Nico says, “and I thought the same, but then– it just didn’t get better. I feel like Hiiro doesn’t even consider trying, y’know?”
“It’s as if Hiiro doesn’t doesn’t want to deal with the fact that he has feelings for Emu at all,” Poppy concludes. Nico nods furiously in reply. After a moment of silence, she throws her bag aside and walks over to the couch, sitting down with her arms crossed. And she sighs a third time.
“Should we do something about it?”
That seems to catch Nico off-guard. She looks at Poppy, question marks on her face. “Like… what?”
“Oh, uhm,” Poppy thinks for a moment, making an appropriate gesture. And then it comes to her, and with that a smile spreads wide on her face. “We could ask others!”
“Like who? Taiga?” Nico starts chuckling. “I can tell you right now that that’s a terrible idea–”
“Oh, no,” Poppy says, shaking her head. She goes to where Nico is, sitting down next to her. “I had someone else in mind. There’s a group of people who are experienced with these types of situations, Kiriya told me about them recently!”
*
For a good while, various people have been entering this medium-sized hall. People of all ages and standings, it seems – there’s a few men in uniforms, then there’s a group of rather normal-looking fellows, but also a lone schoolgirl, several people pulling grumpy frowns by themselves and at each other, and so on. It’s quite loud, with the continued shuffling and all the conversations happening. It seems that, despite being familiar, all these people haven’t seen each other in a good while, with how much they’re chatting.
Eventually, someone slaps their hands down on a table, calling for attention. Most of the movement in the hall stops, but of course, there’s always outliers. They get stared down pretty quickly.
“Alright, now that we’re all gathered here – well, you read the messages, you know what’s up,” says a man who has taken to the speaker’s podium at the front stage. He stands out the most out of everyone, glamorous with his feather boa and all, giving him an air of importance, a sense of authority. His whole demeanour reflects that.
Behind him, someone finally gets the beamer working and a powerpoint is projected onto the wall. There’s some amount of surprised noises coming from the audience – perhaps at the technology working, perhaps at what is visible on the wall now.
The speaker at the front takes a deep breath. “Let’s start. The subject of today’s gathering is–” and he points at the powerpoint behind him, “as you can read, Kamen Rider Brave, also known as the Genius Surgeon, Kagami Hiiro, and his troubled love…”
Hiiro knows he's been staring at the display for quite a while now. He's already moved to the side so that other customers can order, but he's still conscious enough of the coming and going that his own indecisiveness is starting to bother him. But there are so many options, and Hiiro's just not sure what Emu would really like.
"Can I help you in any way?" Someone asks. Hiiro looks up and into the face of– the cashier, presumably.
He's wearing quite the big hoop earrings, Hiiro notes. That's not important, though, it's an insignificant detail. Not changing his expression, he says, “I am looking for… a cake.” He omits that it's for someone else; that, too, is an unnecessary detail.
He still gets eyed in a way that is not the most preferable. It feels a bit as if he’s being studied, observed carefully. While the days where this was a daily occurrence are long over and Hiiro knows he is one of the best, if not the best at his job, it still brings back a nagging, stinging feeling. It sits at the back of his mind, a small treacherous voice whispering what if you mess up, what if you’re acting out of line?
Hiiro blinks, and presses down on it in his mind, banishing it into a corner. This is not the time and place for that. He looks back to the cashier, who blinks at him all the same. And then, after a moment – “Ah, did you not hear me? I asked what type of cake it should be? We have many options – chocolate, creme, stylish, sweet, vegan, gluten-free…” With each word, he points at a different creation on display. Hiiro follows with his eyes, but it doesn’t really help – still too much choice.
The cashier sighs, and it stings a little; Hiiro feels bad for taking up so much time. “If you can’t decide, I can pick one for you,” the cashier offers.
Hiiro’s eyes stick with the cakes. It’s like admitting defeat, but at this point – there’s other customers, and Hiiro doesn’t think he can solve this on his own. Surgery isn’t something he can do fully alone, either; he supposes everything that falls into the area of… courtship might be similar. Specifically for someone as inexperienced as him.
(Not that he is actually trying to court Emu. While Hiiro does now know that his feelings for the intern are romantic in nature, it’s just– he’s just–
No, it doesn’t matter right now.)
“...Yes, please,” he quietly says.
“Alright, monsieur,” the cashier says, clapping his hands together. “Then first – any allergies, intolerances?”
Hiiro thinks about it, but he’s pretty confident that his few hiccups with Game Disease aside, Emu is perfectly healthy. “No.”
“Secondly,” and for this, the cashier leans over a little, speaking in a more subdued voice, “what is your star sign?”
That takes Hiiro aback, and he keeps his eyes fixed on – on the melon-creme-tarte that just happens to be close by. Why would the star sign be relevant? He feels inclined to ask, but that might also be rude… And should he give his own, or Emu’s? Since the cake is for Emu…
He supposes the latter option is the most reasonable, and efficient. “Scorpio,” he replies.
The cashier hums, and then a wide smile crosses his face, Hiiro’s almost taken aback. “We happen to have just the right cake for you. Jonouchi!”
“Ah, yes,” a voice from the back replies, and seconds later, a man sticks his head out from behind a corner. He doesn’t quite look like he belongs here either, what with the vest and rather fancy blouse with the puffy sleeves. “The cake that’s–”
The cashier turns around at a truly impressive speed, fixing the other man with some sort of glare Hiiro can’t quite see. But it works; the man disappears again. In the meantime, the cashier asks Hiiro about payment, so he goes to wrap that up.
At the end of it, he receives a pretty, pink box, complete with a bow and a field to fill a message into. Although, did Hiiro mention that the cake is for someone else? He’s pretty sure he never said so. But maybe all the wrapping boxes of this store look like that. No need to overthink it.
He thanks the two of them – well, mainly the ever so friendly cashier, who is still smiling at him (though there’s a different note to that smile now, something a bit softer) – and takes his leave, satisfied. The procedure hadn’t gone the most ideal way, but Hiiro still managed to get a cake for Emu without making too much a fool of himself.
And only when he’s finally home after the long train ride back from Zawame City, Hiiro notices that along with the payment receipt, he’d been slipped a small little card. Some kind of promotion or advertisement?
It’s neither, as it turns out, and Hiiro raises his eyebrows high.
♡
Hiiro doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He glances around – looks at the many people, the cars passing by on the nearby road, the bustling on the street, at the meal in front of him – fresh oden, which he hadn’t really a say in – and finally at the two men he’s sitting across from.
One of them, the one in the leather jacket, smiles at him like he’s trying to make Hiiro feel at ease. The other man, dressed all prim and proper in a suit, even with this weather, just keeps a neutral expression.
“So, you–”
The man in the leather jacket starts to speak, but his companion interrupts him. “Date-san, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet.”
‘Date-san’ blinks at him a few times, but then he nods, “Ah, right, you’re right.” He turns back to Hiiro. “Sorry. Date Akira is the name. And this is Gotou-chan.”
“Gotou Shintaro,” the other one says, expression unchanged. It has an air of professionalism, which Hiiro appreciates. He feels much more comfortable operating in such an environment.
“It is nice to meet you. I am Kagami Hiiro,” he says, using the same voice he introduces himself to new patients with. It feels the most appropriate, even if this is a casual setting (ignoring the fact that Hiiro doesn’t really know how else to talk, anyways – or rather, anything else feels alien and unpracticed, foreign and uncomfortable).
“So, again,” Date starts, and he’s interrupted again, but this time it’s because he has to clear his throat. “We are here to help you.”
Hiiro raises his eyebrows – just slightly, any further might come off as unprofessional. Or, worse, impolite. He remembers the card he got at the patisserie, the thing that led him here in the first place. It was beautifully decorated, with flourish and ornate cursive script. The text was an address, a date, a time and these words: These people will help you with your troubles d’amour, monsieur chirurgien. From one Kamen Rider to another.
(He’d initially thought to not accept this… strange invitation, of sorts, frowning at it in the break room of the CR. But then Emu (of all people) came around, leaning over his shoulder, “What’s got you looking so worried, Hiiro-san?”
Instinctively, Hiiro stuffed the card into the front pocket of his coat, maybe a bit too hastily. “It is none of your concern, intern.” And he crossed his arms, as though to emphasise his point.
There was a small pause, long enough for Hiiro to notice, before Emu backed away. Hiiro wasn’t watching where he was going, but Emu’s steps got further and further away in sound. Hiiro’s heart had sunk a little, at this – and then further when he remembered that he knows what this feeling means, these days.
And then, just before leaving the CR again, Emu had said another thing – “Personally, I think if you’re worried about whether to try a thing or not, you should just do it. But you know what’s best for yourself, I believe that.”
Hiiro finally turned to look to the exit of the CR at that moment, faster than he could even think, the word intern on his lips, but the only thing he saw was a door falling closed.)
“Look, love is always a complicated thing,” Date starts, “I would know – well, not me per se, but I’ve got a friend who… has had it complicated, to keep it short.” Next to him, inexplicably to Hiiro, Gotou sighs. But then he nods.
“Don’t overwhelm him,” Gotou warns.
Date, who had been about to say something again, stops in his tracks, closes his mouth and presses his lips into a line. He glances at Gotou and reaches out towards him with one hand, “I’ll try not to. But you’ll stop me if I do, right, Gotou-chan?”
If someone would ask Hiiro right now to describe the situation he’s currently in, he wouldn’t be able to find the words. The– display of affection in front of him is something to witness for sure. At the hospital, Hiiro can tell his coworkers to stop such affairs since they’re on the job and have to stay professional, but in this kind of setting, Hiiro doesn’t know how to react.
He clears his throat. The scene in front of him stops, and Date’s eyes return to Hiiro – he himself is somewhere between ruffling Gotou’s hair and patting his head (with Gotou looking like a shocked kitten, faint blush grazing his cheeks) –, “Ah, excuse me.”
Hiiro swallows. He does not know what to say, so he keeps quiet.
Date seems to be examining him for a moment, looking straight into his eyes – Hiiro almost breaks eye contact. But then, Date clasps his hands together. “Okay– wait, have you even tried your Oden yet?”
The conversation with Date and Gotou (whom, as it turned out, Date is married to) went badly, to say the least (Hiiro had gotten embarrassed, his heart and lungs seized by sudden trepidation, and then he'd shut everything out). Hiiro didn't really want to think about it again and focused on work instead, but he still gets a letter from Date a few days later.
He is certainly surprised, considering that he never receives personal letters. A chill overcomes Hiiro at reading that it's from that man, Date Akira. The fact that their conversation went so embarrassingly aside, how did he even find out Hiiro’s address? It is certainly not public information. Did someone tell him?
Eventually, after a minute of contemplation, Hiiro decides to open the letter (Emu’s voice still echoes in his head – you should just try it). The letter contains one page of paper, with writing on both sides – a long list of addresses and phone numbers and such, it seems. Hiiro raises an eyebrow, feeling reminded of the strange card he got from the patisserie (which brought him to Date in the first place).
There’s also a section with proper text. In it, Date apologises for not being able to help Hiiro. Then he goes on to say that he included the contact information of a whole number of other people who might be able to, in his stead. You can trust them. They might be difficult, but they all have good hearts and… their fair share of experience with romance troubles. Oh and also, they’re all Kamen Riders like you and Gotou-chan and me. Because, y’know, as a friend of mine always says: “Kamen Riders help each other out.” Nice quote, isn’t it?
Hiiro blinks. Strangely, he feels like he’s heard this before. Emu’s face comes to mind, talking about a fascinating Kamen Rider he met during the Enigma Machine incident, it might’ve been the one Date means. Emu definitely had been smiling when he was saying it, speaking with awe and respect, and Hiiro remembers having felt a longing, a fluttering, an urging desire set aflame in his chest.
Oh, how it hurts so, to be in love with someone who would never smile at you any differently than he does at everyone else. Someone who is kind to you, but also to everyone else – so unmistakingly, unquestioningly, irresistibly kind. Emu is like a shining star in Hiiro’s eyes, perhaps a bit like the sun – if he reached out further than he is allowed, he’s sure his hands would get charred.
… Maybe he should take up the offer.
It is a perplexing feeling, for Hiiro to find himself even just considering this. But there's Emu's voice in his head, and the thought of a smile he cannot reach out towards–
What if he could?
♡
Hiiro feels extremely awkward. Not jittery or anything, he'd gotten rid of that reflex since it could become a risk factor during surgeries, but he still would rather be somewhere else right now.
When he'd asked the girl at the takoyaki stand if they had a knife and fork, she'd just laughed at him. And handed him the same wooden sticks as everyone else.
And now this man – Fukami Makoto – is regarding him with an expression like he's trying to hold back laughter. They're not quite strangers, seeing as Makoto and his friends were also involved in the Pacman-incident, but– fighting together and getting patched up by Hiiro aside, they only exchanged brief words, formalities and politeness. There's not an ounce of closeness. Which makes this even worse.
But before Hiiro can agonise much further, Makoto speaks up. “Do you like it?”
Hiiro blinks at him. And realises he hasn't even tried the takoyaki yet, that’s how busy he was thinking. It only adds to the embarrassment, which leads to Hiiro picking out one of the balls and swallowing it whole. He chews, perhaps too quickly, while decidedly looking away from Makoto.
“It's… good,” he eventually says. “Savory, but also sweet.” Still out of Hiiro's field of view, Makoto chuckles.
He turns, and Makoto's grinning at him brightly. “My, uhm… Alan really likes these. In fact, so much that I have to stop him from eating too much sometimes.”
Hiiro thinks back to that one time when Emu had tried to get him to stop eating cake. This is your third one within this break, he'd whined, I know you always say, and he makes a face that's probably supposed to imitate Hiiro's usual expression, ’sugar intake helps keeping your brain active,’ but this – it's too much.
Hiiro doesn't remember what he replied with, but what he does remember is Emu slamming both his hands down on the table in front of him, his face suddenly much too close. Hiiro, are you perhaps stressed?
He definitely wasn’t able to come up with a good response to that, then.
“So… this man named Date Akira told me about you,” Makoto says, putting his takoyaki box aside, “said you needed help with something.”
Hiiro would rather not remember the conversation with Date Akira and his partner. It felt strange, and Hiiro was too nervous and clueless about what to say – as he so often is (interacting with people outside of work makes him remember that) – which manifested in, most likely, an extremely bad impression.
(He'd still gotten that letter, which is why he is here now. But–)
“–Yes,” Hiiro says, looking away from Makoto again. This is terrible.
A beat. Hiiro feels the other's eyes on him.
“I don't really need to know what exactly it is for,” Makoto says. Hiiro stops himself from making a noise of surprise – how does Makoto think he's going to give him advice, then? Doctors can’t help their patients without knowing what is wrong, either.
“I think determination is the most important thing,” Makoto says. Hiiro looks at him again, and his face is thoughtful, as if he was remembering something.
A smile crosses Makoto's face, and their eyes meet. Makoto’s gaze is burning with something intense – faith, perhaps. “You know, my friend Takeru – you met him back then, didn't you – he came back to life just about three times. Of course, there were other factors, but his own determination also played a big role.”
Hiiro's breath hitches. He's met the kid, that's true (remembers him in the CR, weak with Game Disease yet still reaching out for the hand of that other girl) and had heard about about his feats as Kamen Rider Ghost (from Emu, who'd mainly talked about how unbelievable that was, someone coming back to life, and Hiiro had silently agreed), but Hiiro himself hadn't really talked to him after the incident.
His stance on Takeru is a bit complicated, considering what his job is all about (life has its value because it isn't repeatable, after all – something Dan Kuroto still hasn’t quite understood, it seems). But Hiiro supposes coming back to life was not as easily done as it is said, so it should be something admirable.
(If he remembers anything from Takeru, it's a glassy look to his eyes, the warning sign of impending tears, with fear dancing wildly in his pupils – the specific kind of fear that one only sees in people who’ve faced death intimately. In people about to undergo life-changing surgery, people on the brink of death, those depending on Hiiro’s skill in order to have a chance at living on.
Someone who clings to human warmth because he knows what it’s like to lose it, to grow numb and lose all sense of reality. And he still tried to smile, despite all that.
In that sense, he reminds Hiiro of– no, he’d rather not go there right now.)
“–That determination of his, it’s really inspiring. Combined with his compassion, it was what won Alan over in the end. And Alan, he…”
Hiiro can’t quite place the expression that takes over Makoto’s face then, but… maybe that is what true fondness looks like. Makoto’s smile, the way it curves… Hiiro wonders who Alan is to Makoto. If he remembers correctly, Alan was that guy in the green outfit, with the feather earring and the blonde streaks. Hiiro patched him up, and it was quite stressful because he himself was hurt and Hanaya Taiga was also in the room. Hiiro didn’t– doesn’t want to look weak in front of anyone, but especially not Taiga.
“–was a tough one,” Makoto finishes, seemingly not noticing the fact that Hiiro keeps drifting off. Hiiro scolds himself on the inside. He needs to stop ruminating about his own affairs.
Then again, it hits him – the way Makoto’s smiling.
It’s just very similar to how Hiiro sometimes catches himself looking like when he’s thinking about Emu.
♡
The bookshop is certainly not what he'd expected. It's full of– life, of scattered things, bits and pieces. There's a hammock, capsule gacha machines, a cello... Hiiro couldn't work in an environment like this. But then again, he isn't a novelist.
The novelist in question isn't here, though. Hiiro wonders just who it is that he's supposed to meet. His person of contact (Sudo Mei, the novelist’s editor) just told him to be here, at this time, and now no one's here. It’s a bit annoying – if he as a surgeon didn’t show up for his appointments with patients, what good would he be? But just leaving might also not be the right thing to do, he figures, so he lingers awkwardly by one of the shelves, looking at the selection.
It’s a lot of children’s books, from stories to encyclopaedias. And anything else seems to be fantasy; no hint of medical journals or research magazines that Hiiro could pass his time with. But then one of the books does catch his attention, and upon further inspection–
“Eternal Story? That's one of Touma's books.”
Hiiro looks up to where the voice came from and is faced with a strangely-dressed man. Is that some sort of uniform?
“Ah, excuse me,” the man says, smiling in a way that’s probably not intended to come off as weird; he comes closer and holds out his hand. “Shindo Rintaro of the Sword of Logos, pleased to meet you. Oh, and I'm also Kamen Rider Blades!” He smiles a little more widely.
“Kagami Hiiro,” he replies professionally, shaking the offered hand, “Kamen Rider Brave.” He’s unsure why it is relevant that he’s a Rider too, but if that is how greetings are exchanged here, Hiiro should comply.
“I've been told that you have been seeking out advice,” Rintaro begins, and Hiiro can feel his ears flush immediately. So he's another one of the straight-forward types – Hiiro's not sure if he likes those, to be honest. It makes communication simpler, but then again he's awkward and never really knows how to put things– or rather, he isn't sure – and gets overwhelmed fast. Then he overthinks and ends up staying quiet. Which makes it more awkward because he feels pressured to answer quickly. A conundrum.
However Rintaro just talks on, paying Hiiro's struggle no heed. “I am personally not the best at giving advice that is deemed useful, admittedly – Touma is good at it, but he's in a meeting right now, so I'll have to suffice.” He spreads his arms in what's probably supposed to be a reassuring gesture, then drops them again. “What do you need help with?”
“... Well, that's–” Hiiro doesn't quite know how to say it. He still doesn't, even after having met some people about it. If it was his choice, he wouldn't go see so many people and burden them with his frankly embarrassing problem. He feels like caving in on himself again.
(But you want this, right? You’re Brave. You can do this. If you can be the best doctor in the world, you can also do this. You have to do this. You’ve done this already.)
“–How... did you,” he slowly says, each word feeling like he's potentially stepping into the void, about to fall. Hiiro swallows. He can do this. It's his determination that counts, or whatever Fukami Makoto had said. If he's got his mind set on it, he can do it.
Still, he feels like he's about to crumble apart when he faces Rintaro, but he gives it his all to not let it show on his face. “How did you get together with your partners?”
Rintaro stares at him, unblinking, as if frozen. Then he jerks into motion, “Ah, yes. I see. So that is your concern?”
“If you would just tell me,” Hiiro says. This is already terrible enough for him; he doesn't want the affair to get any more prolonged. “Please.”
Rintaro folds his hands together. “We were – to make it short – there was a lot of negative tension between us. Eventually, I asked Touma to cross swords with me. And then... things just came along. Kento took a little while longer because he, ah, had his own troubles. But in the end, the three of us made it.”
“You... fought each other?”
“It was a serious duel, yes,” Rintaro says, and there's a tinge of fondness to his smile. “But it worked out for us.”
“That doesn’t sound like a secure method of courtship,” Hiiro says. Not that he has so much experience in the matter (with Saki, she was always the one pulling him along), but that’s why he’s here in the first place. To learn from his seniors. And juniors.
“It isn’t, or so I’ve been told,” Rintaro acknowledges. “I do remember how surprised everyone was when we told them. But they were really supportive.” He looks past Hiiro for a moment, seemingly engrossed in a memory. “Mei especially, she said she’d been cheering for us from the start.”
There’s no reason for the rest of the CR to care about Hiiro’s personal relationships, he thinks. Poppy Pipopapo’s joy almost never changes no matter the situation, the unlicensed (now licensed again, he reminds himself) doctor is busy with his own clinic, his assistant seems often annoyed with Hiiro for a reason he cannot fathom, and the coroner– he does tease Hiiro sometimes. But that’s it.
(The intern, of course, is as kind to him as anyone else. To him, Hiiro is no one special.)
“I think, what I can tell you,” Rintaro says – and he pauses for a moment, making a pondering expression – “is that the method… doesn’t really matter. It’s the feelings that count. I’ve read this in a novel: ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’”
Hiiro blinks at him. That makes sense. That makes a lot of sense, but–
Back then, with Saki, he was always doing things wrong. The method was never right. As if he’d tried to do surgery with a butter knife instead of a scalpel. That’s why things didn’t work out, and it ended with her death.
“For us swordsmen of the Sword of Logos, and Touma as well, we are very in tune with our swords. When they clash, we can sense each other's feelings, should they be strong enough.” He suddenly comes closer, reaching past Hiiro and picking up one of the books from the shelves – ‘Eternal Story’. Hiiro wonders what kind of story it is, written by a Kamen Rider, even though he’d probably never read it himself.
“… Those feelings, they allowed Touma to save this world. And they are all written down in this book,” Rintaro concludes. He puts the book back, and meets Hiiro’s eyes – his gaze is full of warmth, and it scares Hiiro a little. He could never wear his heart on his sleeve like that. And no matter how strong, he wouldn’t ever want his feelings to bleed through his slashes. A battle isn’t the place for that. But Rintaro is different in this way, he figures. All the Riders he’s met so far have been.
Rintaro is still staring at him; Hiiro supposes he’s expecting some sort of answer. He forces himself to not sputter, “I see.”
Rintaro nods at him. “I hope that was helpful. Truthfully, I do not know a lot about romance myself. I’ve read a lot of books, but basically any practical knowledge was taught to me by Touma and Kento once we started dating–“
At that moment, the front door opens and a man steps inside. He doesn’t look like a customer, with the way his eyes go comically wide as soon as he registers Hiiro’s presence. Suddenly, Hiiro’s lungs feel a little tight, a treacherous feeling bubbling under his skin. Should he leave? He looks to Rintaro, and he hopes he doesn’t look lost or helpless. He’s just– adequately confused. Yes, that’s it.
What follows doesn't help. The man proceeds to tackle Rintaro – or hug him? Hiiro watches the… display of affection. He feels out of place. Rintaro mumbles something into the man's shoulder, and he detaches from Rintaro a bit abruptly, almost like a jolt of surprise.
“Excuse me, I– You’re a customer, yes? Feel free to look around, if you need any help, just let me know. Oh, and also if you want recommendations, I’m sure I can find something that’ll suit your tastes–” He’s talking a bit fast, Hiiro notes, and then the man’s suddenly at the big desk in the back centre of the store. He does have long legs. And he’s probably the novelist owning this store, Hiiro realises.
Kamiyama Touma, then. The former Kamen Rider Saber, and one of the partners Rintaro has talked about.
Hiiro stares at him. It’s very, very strange – he suddenly feels like he’s seen him before.
But logically, that can’t be. Where would they have met? Hiiro hasn’t been involved in fights with other Kamen Riders for several years, and he feels like he’d remember if there had been a group of sword fighters. The coroner would’ve probably teased him about it, too, something like you’ve finally found your people, Mr. knight-in-shining-armour. This town is also quite far away from the Seito, so it probably wasn’t in the hospital either–
The novelist catches his stare and tilts his head. “Hm?”
Hiiro can feel his ears heat up again. He should leave. He needs to leave. He turns on his heel, facing Rintaro, gives him a curt “Thank you”, bows, and then he strides outside. He’s already got Emu and meeting all these Riders to deal with, he can’t worry about what might just be a feeling of déjà-vu.
♡
The next person on the long list of names who caught Hiiro’s eyes was a certain Sakuta Ryusei. Or Kamen Rider Meteor, he supposes. He’s never met the guy or heard of him, but he’s supposedly an Interpol agent.
Which is the problem. When Hiiro tried to call the listed number, he was immediately hit with the mailbox. I am currently on a long-term mission and unavailable. Please try again in approximately three months. The note next to his contact details in the letter had said that he might be difficult to reach, but Hiiro didn’t expect it to be this bad. The man sounds busier than even Hiiro himself.
… Three months is a bit of a long time. There’s still many names left on the list, though, so Hiiro can try something else in the meantime. If he’s still struggling in two months, he can try reaching Sakuta Ryusei again.
Although hopefully, it won’t come that far.
♡
“Romantic advice? Oh, uhm, well…” The man named Igarashi Daiji scratches his neck. “I haven’t gotten much experience with that… My siblings do, they’re both in happy relationships, but I’m.. alone.” He sighs. “But ah, I’m not sad about it or anything…” He makes some gestures.
Hiiro blinks. He certainly didn’t expect someone that much younger than him (born after the turn of the century, he's read – and being leader of a whole organisation at that age, Daiji's certainly impressive) to know much, but there's still– a small, sinking feeling inside him. One that he can’t quite place.
He pushes that aside, stuffs his hands into his pockets. “That is fine. I will just leave, then. It was nice meeting you–”
“Ah, wait!” Daiji exclaims, and he’s gesturing again, trying to stop Hiiro from leaving. He stops just in front of the shoe area and turns around. “What?”
“If anything, I can recommend taking a soak. Here.” He points at the doors behind him. “We’re in a bathhouse, after all. And, uhm, my brother always says there’s nothing a good bath can’t fix–”
He stops for a second, seemingly frozen. Hiiro tilts his head, and when Daiji still does not move, he strides over, “Are you okay?” Daiji seemed fine just now, but people can suddenly pass out for all kinds of reasons. It could be anything from a seizure to a heart attack–
Daiji shudders and shakes his head a few times, like a dog shaking off water. “Ah–” he notices Hiiro’s concerned face “–sorry. I’m okay. This happens sometimes.”
Hiiro lifts his eyebrows. As a doctor, he feels inclined to show worry. He opens his mouth to speak, but Daiji swiftly cuts him off. “Really, it’s okay! It’s just, uhm, Kamen Rider stuff. You know how it is.” He rubs the back of his neck, giving the impression that he’s actually embarrassed. Well, Hiiro will prod no further then.
–That leaves the matter of the bathhouse.
Hiiro has never been inside a bathhouse. He knows how they work, yes; Saki had even once asked him to join her for a date in one, but Hiiro– he had refused. Had said he had to study – which was true, but not the full truth – at which she had nodded, smiling in understanding as always (in retrospect, Hiiro recognises that her smile was quite strained even back then already; the realisation pierces his heart like a knife and he loses his train of thought for a second).
The full truth was that Hiiro was scared.
And now, standing in front of Igarashi Daiji, who offers a slightly nervous-looking smile meant to be encouraging and all the positives of taking a bath here on a silver platter, Hiiro feels–
He’s still scared. Hiiro is scared because he hates exposing himself and letting himself be truly seen when he’s so awkward and clueless and doesn’t know what he’s doing but he has to look like he does – if the surgeon shows unsteady hands even for just one second, the operation is lost. That is the perfection Hiiro drilled into himself for Saki’s– no, for his own sake. Perfection is his atonement. It’s the only thing he can do for her.
“–If you want,” Daiji slowly says, snapping Hiiro out of his thoughts, “I can arrange it so that you’ll be alone while you bathe. My family owns this place, so it’s possible.”
Hiiro’s eyes widen, not just because of the very kind offer, but mostly because he’s been read. That thought is scary, is a sharp, piercing pain, different from his retrospective realisation just now because this one stings and then lingers. Being perceived this way when he didn’t choose so himself, that is–
It is mostly that uncomfortable sting. But somewhere, in some tiny corner of Hiiro’s heart, there’s a part of him tucked away that feels glad, too. Relieved and happy, even.
Daiji’s smile changes into something closer to just lips together, but the corners of his mouth are still turned upwards – in a more gentle, emphasising manner now. “I ask because I also have difficulties feeling comfortable like that with people that aren’t my family and friends. Because I–” he hesitates, but then speaks on “–there is a part of me that I don’t have control over, that sometimes pops out, and him being seen by others who might not understand is an anxiety that I still have to work to get over.”
Hiiro opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. And what he slowly says surprises himself – “I would like to take you up on that offer, then.”
He remembers Emu voice, and it echoes in his eardrums. You should just try it.
Trying it, huh. That was a thing he never quite got to do with Saki. And it was not for a lack of her trying. It was entirely his fault.
So if Hiiro does it differently this time – if he tries trying, then maybe– maybe this could all work out, somehow. He doesn’t know how, but… this might be a theory worth pursuing. Hiiro also saved a good amount of lives by not strictly sticking to procedure protocol, but moreso his instinct as the genius surgeon. And Emu saved even more lives that way, with just his faith in others and himself. But he is also naturally simply incredible.
Daiji breaks out into a wide grin. “Alright, leave your stuff in one of the lockers, then come to the front desk; I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Hiiro inhales, holds that breath for a moment, then exhales. He’s doing this. He’s really doing this.
(He hopes that Saki’s spirit is watching over him kindly, wherever she is.)
♡
Hiiro thought he was going to meet only one person, as usual, and while he technically is, this… detective agency is not as empty as it could be. Just coming inside, Hiiro had been greeted by a curious-looking boy who’d given him a once-over and then disappeared behind a door covered in hats, mumbling something about genius surgeon and research. Next, there was this man fully decked out in a suit, tie, vest and hat who approached him, opened his mouth, closed it and then went back to a big, old desk at the back of the agency. There was also a woman, in colourful clothing, who gave Hiiro a glance, a smile and a wave, but then she went back to sorting through various paper sheets.
And lastly, the man that stood up and offered Hiiro his hand. “I’m Terui Ryu.”
Hiiro now sits in front of this– Terui Ryu, who had introduced himself as the superintendent of Fuuto’s police force. Which Hiiro wouldn’t have guessed at all based on his outfit – the print tee, the bright red leather jacket and pants, the chain clipped to the side of his hips – do police officers in Fuuto just dress like this? It reminds Hiiro of the coroner, but even Kiriya still wears his doctor’s coat.
(Emu also doesn’t quite dress as professionally as he could, but Hiiro’s seen the way it makes the kids smile.)
His meandering is interrupted by the colourfully-dressed woman bringing them two cups of coffee. “Here you go… I measured the time perfectly, so it should be good!”
“Your coffee is always excellent, chief,” Ryu says quietly. The woman’s grin stretches all across her face, and she happily struts back to the table she was working at.
There’s a sound like a book being shut, and an exasperated voice says, “Stop flirting in my office when we have a visitor!”
Hiiro presumes that that was the man with the hat speaking, but he can’t actually see, there’s a wall in his way. Ryu doesn’t say anything, in fact he just takes a sip of his coffee. But Hiiro hears sounds of someone walking, and then there’s a sort of… dull slap sound, like someone got hit with a slipper or something. “Shut up, Shotaro, you’re just jealous. And this visitor’s not even here for you, so go back to rereading The Long Goodbye or whatever you were doing.”
“Akiko–” the man called Shotaro starts to say, but then he stops. And quiet returns to the room.
Hiiro focuses back on Ryu and hopes he himself doesn’t look too bewildered. Ryu looks like he’s very much used to this. Maybe the detective agency’s a bit to him like the CR is to Hiiro (always full of trouble, of annoying people, of work to do and– Emu; judging from the way that woman, Akiko or something, and Ryu had smiled at each other just now, it seems that Ryu also has his own Emu here, so to speak).
“What you need to do is shake everything off,” Ryu says out of the blue.
Hiiro blinks at the man sipping on his coffee. He doesn’t want to just plainly say what, but he also doesn’t really know what else to say. What would he do if this was during a surgery? He presses his lips together, putting on a straight face. “What do you mean?”
Ryu sort of looks at him and then just shrugs. “I mean it pretty much literally. Everything that’s bothering you. Your burdens, your inhibitions, regrets – everything. It’s all unnecessary luggage.”
He glances away from Hiiro, down into his coffee cup, and adds, much more quietly, “... Or so the chief has told me.”
“I… see…” Hiiro slowly replies. That actually does get him thinking – about Saki, and all his shortcomings and failures; all the fear Hiiro took away from it. The pressure. To be the best, to be perfect, to be all someone else could ever ask for. Emu doesn’t deserve me, that’s something Hiiro has thought a lot – because to himself, Emu is everything, and he doesn’t know how he could ever measure up to that.
“Ah, watching romance movies could also help!” The woman from earlier (Akiko, right) shouts from wherever she’s sitting, outside of Hiiro’s field of vision. “That’s what helped my Ryu here.”
“That kiss you gave me back then was awful, though! So I don’t know how much I’d recommend it!” the man with the hat, Shotaro, yells from behind. He sounds at least half-serious, but Hiiro isn’t really sure. Wait, those two have kissed?
Someone slams their hands down on a table. “Shotaro, shut up, he’s much better now, and I would know!” Akiko counters.
“Aha? Do you have evidence?”
It is silent for a moment. Somehow, this reminds Hiiro of a conversation between the coroner and Emu that he overheard once. Emu’s face had turned quite red (which looked cute), and he’d said something but at that point Hiiro had already left, hit by a wave of embarrassment and another feeling he couldn’t quite name.
“Shotaro, if you just want to kiss my husband, you can say so,” Akiko eventually says. “I understand.”
–What is Hiiro even listening to.
Ryu still seems unbothered by this; if anything, there might even be a glimmer of amusement visible in his eyes. Hiiro feels like he shouldn’t question this banter that is going on. Yes, he knows that polyamorous relationships are a thing, but he was under the impression that Akiko and Ryu were the only married ones here.
“I– I *don’t – Well–” Shotaro starts to say, but he’s interrupted by a door swinging open. It’s the one covered in hats – in fact, it swings open with so much force that one of them falls off – and the strangely-dressed boy from earlier walks out, a big book in hand.
“Are we teasing Shotaro again?” He asks, smiling mischievously. He snaps his book shut and shifts his glance towards Hiiro. “Kagami Hiiro, this is completely normal for this detective agency. Don’t worry, we still get our cases done. As we will with yours.”
“I’m not here about a case,” Hiiro starts to say, “I’m just asking for advice–”
“That qualifies in my book,” Akiko rebukes, crossing her arms, “and I’m the chief, so what I say goes.”
And another discussion immediately breaks out. Akiko wants to charge Hiiro, and then Shotaro says she shouldn’t, and then Akiko points out how Shotaro’s barely scraping by, and then they argue about the fee itself, at which point Philip starts throwing strangely specific numbers into the room for them to discuss, and Shotaro always pleads for lower while Akiko is for higher– it’s more difficult to keep track than some academic discussions Hiiro’s been to. Hiiro starts feeling out of place again. He just wanted to ask for advice, which was embarrassing and hard enough in the first place.
“I don’t think he should be charged,” Ryu eventually says, putting his cup down. At that, everyone simultaneously shuts up.
“After all–” and Ryu looks to his side, possibly in the direction of where he thinks Shotaro is sitting, “Kamen Riders help each other out.”
There it is again, that phrase. Emu had spoken of it, Date had mentioned it, and now Terui Ryu– Hiiro supposes it makes sense. The CR was only able to beat Cronus and effectively combat Game Disease once they all started working together. And then there were the various instances with other Kamen Riders, and that incident with the Superhero fighting game.
(Actually, Hiiro would rather not remember that. Because back then, Emu had–)
He coughs. “I think I’ll take my leave. Thank you.”
Everyone else stops in their tracks, at least verbally. When Hiiro walks towards the front door standing up and after bowing to Ryu, he now sees Akiko and Shotaro when he previously couldn’t. They’re both frozen in motion – Shotaro sat at the table, an argumentative finger raised in Akiko’s direction, who is just this close to hitting him in the face with a bright green slipper.
Akiko’s the first to move again. “Sorry about that, dear client. Please don’t lose faith in us–”
“I think it’s alright, chief,” Ryu remarks.
Hiiro confirms this with a nod. Despite all the chaos, he did get a piece of advice. That’s more than he got out of some of his other meetings with Kamen Riders (though in those cases, it still wasn’t a complete disappointment; Hiiro feels like he always learns something through these encounters in one way or another).
They say their goodbyes, and while the strangely-dressed boy does eye Hiiro very curiously as he steps outside, he ends up leaving Fuuto with a light heart.
♡
The tree must be quite old, judging from its height and width, but Hiiro gets the strange impression that it hasn’t been here for that long. A sign tells him that it’s been about ten years. Hiiro glosses over some of the other information on it, like what kind of tree it is and its meaning to the local community. It is apparently sacred in some way.
On the way here, Hiiro had also overheard people talk about how the tree is scary. How it feels repugnant to some people in a really strange way – it is just a tree after all, isn’t it? It’s not like it has a soul of its own.
Well, to be honest, Hiiro also doesn’t really know what he can do here. He is not religious, spiritual, superstitious or anything like that. But this tree had been listed in the letter, so he decided to pay it a visit.
Apparently, it is the resting place of one Kumon Kaito.
Hiiro walks up close to it, stops just about where the thickest roots start to emerge from the ground. The roots between which, presumably, the body of Kumon Kaito is buried.
If there even was a body.
(Memories of Saki’s funeral flash in Hiiro’s mind. An urn he knew was empty, flowers for a grave with no person in it. Hiiro had pretended to be less bothered by it than he was, but after the funeral, once he was alone at home, the overwhelming wave of everything had hit him and his mask cracked pathetically. He then put those feelings away, banished to the realm of distant, rainy memories
When the coroner died and Emu cried harder than Hiiro had ever seen, something in his heart broke open again. In the end, Hiiro did agree with the coroner – Emu should smile. He doesn’t deserve anything like this happening to him. It’s just like nothing being left of Saki in the end. Unfair and wrong.)
There is nothing denoting this as a grave, Hiiro notices. The sign from earlier also said nothing. He takes a walk around the tree, and there’s really nothing – is this a secret, then, perhaps? But isn’t that cruel? Was there no one who cared? No one who wanted to grieve?
Hiiro knows that he had his struggles with grieving Saki. But visiting her grave and seeing her one last time had helped him let her go. He doesn’t know if he can say that he’s fully moved on yet – but he’s trying. He has to try. For Saki’s sake, for his own, and for Emu’s, also.
Therefore, not getting the chance to try to move on is cruel in his eyes. But then, unexpectedly, something catches his gaze. A flash of pinkish red.
…These must’ve been left here fairly recently, still vivid and bright in colour. Hiiro doesn’t really know things about flowers or flower language, so he can’t tell what these ones are. But they are pretty, with their thin, long stems from which several flowers sprout. With the way they’re arranged on the stem, it gives Hiiro the impression of a sword adorned with flowers.
He wonders if Kumon Kaito went down fighting. He was a Kamen Rider, after all.
Hiiro stands next to the tree for a while, staring at the flowers. After a moment, the wind picks up, making the leaves of the tree rustle. The flowers move along as well – it looks a bit like they’re being caressed by the breeze.
Inexplicably, a warm feeling envelops Hiiro’s heart.
(When he turns his back to the tree in order to leave, he briefly is overcome by the sensation that he’s being watched. It’s not– not exactly uncomfortable, more like the prick of a needle. A cursory, careful glance. Surprise turns into an impression of a strange gentleness. And just when Hiiro’s almost out of sight, the leaves of the tree rustle again, almost sounding like the echo of someone’s voice.)
♡
Hiiro’s walking back to his apartment after a long day when a man suddenly appears in front of him. Just right there, on the sidewalk. Not quite out of thin air – he stepped through this floating, half-transparent grey curtain, but after one blink of Hiiro’s eyes that had just disappeared.
It’s not the weirdest thing Hiiro has ever seen. The man does not look immediately threatening, either – perfectly ordinary (except for the fact that he just teleported in front of Hiiro and is now smiling at him like a hunter who’s found his mark). Still, Hiiro assumes a more combat-suited stance, one hand near his driver and Gashat. Just in case.
“Hiya,” the man says, giving Hiiro a friendly wave. “Kagami Hiiro, Kamen Rider Brave.”
“–Have we met before?” Hiiro asks. He can’t quite make out the man’s face, it’s too dark outside at this time.
The man shakes his head, and then he starts walking towards Hiiro, hands in his pants’ pockets, all casual. “But I’ve been told about you.” Now that he’s coming closer, Hiiro means to be seeing a smirk on his face.
He stops a few steps away from Hiiro, but it’s still too close for Hiiro’s comfort. He purses his lips. Is this man an enemy? A Bugster? Related to Game Disease in another way? Or some other strange enemy seeking out Kamen Riders? Hiiro feels like even if no fight’s gonna break out, this might still end in some form of blackmail attempt.
The man, noticing Hiiro’s tense state, puts his hands up innocently. “Don’t worry.” Why, he does not say. He just sort of looks at Hiiro, examining him. Hiiro does not move, does not relax one bit. He does not necessarily have a bad gut feeling, but– Emu also tends to trust people too much and too quickly. That’s the sort of person Hiiro can’t be.
“... You should walk on,” the man says, letting his hands fall back down to his sides. “You’re another traveller on this road. A treasure-seeker.”
Hiiro furrows his eyebrows. “What do you–” What’s this about treasure? Does he mean Emu?
“You know what I mean.” And he grins.
Before Hiiro can respond in any way, the man’s already waving at him and walking past. Hiiro turns around, quite quickly even, but he only manages to catch sight of the grey curtain vanishing.
… That was strange.
Hiiro adjusts his jacket, deciding that he should just walk home before anything, and then he notices that the man had slipped something into his front pocket. A card of some kind – not like the one he got from Charmant, this one rather reminds of a thief’s calling card.
I will not take this treasure of yours. From Kaito Daiki, it says in blocky blue writing.
Hiiro remembers his name from the list. There’d been only a phone number listed for him, with a note indicating that it’s not his personal phone number, but that of a certain Hikari Photo Studio. And then the following perplexing statement: address drastically varies.
…He still doesn’t quite know what happened. But if anything–
Yes, he intends to heed Daiki’s words. He has to go on.
♡
Hiiro feels lost. He checks three times to see if he’s really at the address listed in the letter, and he is, but…
It’s someone’s home, clearly.
He’s been told to come here when he called, but still– public places are different, he can pretend that he just happened to be there when it all goes wrong, but if Hiiro knocked at the wrong door, it would be a disaster of horrifying proportions. Not as bad as a mistake during an operation, but close.
(And can Hiiro trust that man? No one should trust strangers in dark alleys who smile and you and tell you to keep following that weird address list you’ve been sent, promising that the people there will help you with your dilemma.
Emu would trust him, Hiiro is sure. He thought the same while Kaito Daiki was standing in front of him. He imagines the smile on Emu’s face as he tries to convince Hiiro to do the same, and suddenly, his chest feels a little tight. He swallows, and then it’s almost gone.)
Perhaps because Hiiro can’t think of anything better, perhaps because he feels spurred on by the thought of Emu, he rings the bell.
It takes a moment until anything happens, during which Hiiro tries his best to not start fidgeting. And then a man comes out of the house, greeting him and asking him to follow him inside. He doesn’t even question who Hiiro is.
“Ah, just leave your shoes here and then you can get comfy in the living room. Dinner will be ready soon,” he says upon them entering the house together.
Hiiro just barely suppresses a gasp. Dinner?
Millions of thoughts run through his head as he takes off his shoes, as he walks into the living room (that is already full of various delicious aroma), as he sits down on the couch, as he looks around, admiring the numerous potted plants scattered across the room. Is he dressed appropriately? Is this really okay? Is he not being mistaken for someone else? Isn’t he imposing on these people? They don’t even know him, and Hiiro doesn’t know them either.
The man from early comes into his field of view again, sitting down next to him (not too close, fortunately). Hiiro straightens up. He can’t appear as nervous as he feels on the inside. First impressions also matter greatly when talking to patients. The man sort of smiles at him, seemingly friendly. Hiiro opens his mouth, intending to ask just what is happening, but then he gets stuck for a second. He swallows, and reminds himself why he has been putting up with all of this in the first place.
(For a smile brighter than the sun, kindness that knows no rival, a person so special he’s unlike anyone Hiiro has ever met. The one he longs for, both in the way of admiration and romance.
However, Hiiro could never be enough–)
He’s getting absorbed into his thoughts. Hiiro coughs, which startles the other man, but not too much. “I wanted to ask who you are,” Hiiro says, keeping his voice levelled and polite. “And why I am… in your house.”
“So you forgot to introduce yourself again, Arata?” calls a voice from the kitchen, which is actually just part of the living room (but there’s a half-wall separating the two areas still, so Hiiro cannot see what is going on there or who is speaking). The man next to Hiiro pipes up, his mouth falling open.
“I was just going to, shut up,” he rebukes. And then he turns to Hiiro, the irritated expression on his face quickly replaced by an amicable one. “Excuse me. Kagami Arata is my name.”
“... Kagami Hiiro,” he answers. “We happen to share a last name, it seems.”
“Ah, but I know yours is written with different kanji,” Arata says. “Well–” he scratches the back of his neck “–that’s what that man, Kaito Daiki said.”
Hiiro furrows his eyebrows. “Did you just–”
Very abruptly, Arata stands up. It seems a bit hasty, Hiiro thinks, and wonders if he said or did something wrong. “I’m going to check if dinner’s ready.”
And he’s almost in the kitchen when that voice calls again, “Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. You can bring him to the table, Arata.”
Arata sighs, trotting back towards Hiiro. He looks a bit like a sad puppy – the kind you adopt at the start of that pet raising game Emu showed him once (you have to feed them, take them on walks and play with them enough until they eventually cheer, and according to Emu, it’s extremely heartwarming). But then Arata softly grins, for a reason Hiiro cannot fathom. “Come on, let’s go. This will be the best dinner you will have in a while.”
At least Arata was truthful about the food, it's really good. It's been a while since Hiiro has used chopsticks to eat so he feels a little awkward, but he also didn't want to impose by asking for a knife and fork. But with how the chef – Tendou Souji (who walks the path of heaven and will rule over all) he'd introduced himself – is dressed, he seems rather traditionally-minded, so Hiiro's sure he would've been eyed with some good amount of disdain, had he asked. The experience at the takoyaki stand had been disgraceful already.
All that aside, he still doesn't know why he is eating dinner with these people. And Hiiro figures they're not going to tell him themselves, so he puts his chopsticks down and puts on a face as carefully neutral as possible. “I thank you for the food, but may I ask why–”
He stops himself, realising he was speaking at the same time as Souji. The man, unlike him, just continues his sentence unbothered, “...must be pursued.”
Next to him, Arata seems to falter a bit. As if he knew what's about to come and wasn't excited for it.
Meanwhile, Souji is staring at Hiiro, face mostly expressionless. He seems to be expecting an answer.
“I don't think he heard you,” Arata helpfully says.
Souji sighs, but does repeat his words: “Grandmother once said this: the path to the perfect combination of spices is unforgiving, relentless, and littered with failure, but it must be pursued.”
Hiiro blinks. What?
Arata sighs, deeply, but his expression bears no hint of surprise. He doesn't seem to be taken aback by Hiiro's confusion, either – which helps Hiiro to feel less strange, but it's still– he doesn't know what to say, how to react, and the feeling is unsettling, heavy like a stone.
He schools his face into neutrality. Hiiro can deal with this. He can deal with unexpected surgery hiccups. He will deal with this somehow.
Souji's gone back to eating, paying Hiiro's reaction no heed. He doesn't look like he's going to explain himself, either. Which puts Hiiro into a terrible position – either he leaves it at that, or he asks.
The thing with surgery is that Hiiro doesn't have to really talk. He has to give instructions to his assistants, yes, but that's different. There's no invisible field of mines that could blow up in his face at any point. It’s intuitive to him like nothing else.
“I’m sorry,” Arata says, genuinely looking apologetic, “but Souji is always just like that. He’s not good with people. I sometimes think that when I married him, l secretly accepted a gig as his translator.”
Hiiro stops for a moment, his mouth falling open just so slightly. In his response to his reaction, Arata raises his right hand, flashing the golden ring adorning one of his fingers. “Yeah–“ He glances over at Souji, who has just been eating, fully unbothered. He gives Arata a look, like, I am not dignifying you with a response.
“–Now, what Souji meant is that the path to get the things you want can be very tough, but if you really want those things, you sometimes can’t get around taking that path,” Arata explains.
Souji sighs, putting his chopsticks aside (he has finished eating by now, his plate fully clean). He faces Hiiro directly, “It is not about the path travelled together…“
Simultaneously, Arata rolls his eyes, mumbling something along the lines of there he goes again.
But Souji is not bothered at all. He just keeps looking straight at Hiiro. “It’s about arriving at the same point at the end.”
Arata’s eyes widen at this – even he seems surprised now –, and he looks at Souji, his mouth falling open and closed, again and again. Souji then looks at his husband, and no one says anything for a moment. Hiiro watches the two of them, staring at each other intensely, and wonders if this the wordless communication between lovers that Saki sometimes spoke of.
He never got to that point with her. But thinking about it now, Hiiro realises that it was likely never even been possible, with how different the two of them were. Their minds were in different places, hers up in the clouds and Hiiro’s buried in the earth.
–The intern is very different from him, too. And suddenly Hiiro wants to never think about confessing his feelings again.
“Are you okay? You suddenly went pale,” Arata says, now looking at Hiiro with concern. Genuine concern.
(It is so perplexing. They have never met before tonight.)
Hiiro shakes his head. He can’t inconvenience these people any further. “I am fine.” And he picks up his chopsticks to resume eating.
“Souji once said very similar things to me,” Arata suddenly says while watching Hiiro tie up his shoelaces. “That’s why I reacted so weirdly.”
Hiiro thinks about how to phrase his words in a way that does not sound rude, but he can’t think of one, so he just nods. “I see.”
Arata chuckles, and goes to open the front door for Hiiro. “I know he’s difficult. And he’s the kind of person who does not budge easily. We used to not get along at all because of that. But–” a fond smile spreads on his face, and he looks somewhat past Hiiro “–we arrived at the same point, at the end. And that’s what counts.”
There’s a pang in his heart, and Hiiro’s eyes widen. Before he can think of it any better, he finds himself speaking. “Do you think I could–”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, hit by a wave of self-consciousness. It feels inappropriate to ask. But Arata, he just chuckles again.
“I say don’t fret too much about it. Sometimes just being yourself is enough.”
♡
The man that sits down in front of Hiiro looks brooding at best and angry at worst. He crosses his arms immediately, leaning back in his chair. “You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes,” Hiiro says. He folds his hands together. As long as this man doesn't blow up at him, he'll be fine. But then again, with these kinds of people, you need to know which buttons you cannot press. An easy trap for overthinkers.
But human interactions are a bit like surgery. If Hiiro thinks of it that way, it helps, or so he's learned. So he’s just gonna go with the procedure he’s adopted. He breathes in, and then breathes out. Tries to not think too much about the way the man is eyeing him. And he can’t quite meet his eyes, but Hiiro still manages to say what he wants – “You’re Kamen Rider Vulcan, right?”
After a short moment, the man sighs, and with a quirk of his lips: “Just Vulcan– is fine.” Then, something in his face changes, as if he’d just remembered something, and he shifts position slightly, his arms now pressed against his body a little less tightly. “Actually, call me Fuwa. Otherwise it’s… awkward.”
“... Fuwa,” Hiiro slowly says. Now it feels weird for him – too personal, too close; he wishes he could just call Fuwa Kamen Rider, or Vulcan, but he said to not do that so– Hiiro has to deal with that, he supposes. An unexpected development in the surgery. It’s fine. Hiiro knows his stuff.
“... I am here to ask for advice,” he eventually says. Hiiro watches Fuwa’s face for any special reaction, but the man just watches him, lips pursed. Therefore, Hiiro continues with the procedure. But he’s now gotten to the worst part. It doesn’t ever get easier. But he can do this – he’s done it so many times. If Hiiro tells himself that, it helps. “Romantic advice, to be specific.”
Fuwa lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn't laugh or anything, thankfully. “Romance?”
“Yes,” Hiiro nods. His fingers instinctively curl a little into the fabric of his pants, so Hiiro stuffs them into his pockets instead.
Something complicated seems to be going on with Fuwa's expression. Hiiro's noticed that many of the people he’s met for this… matter seem to be rather troubled when it comes to this topic. Not as much as Hiiro himself, perhaps – but there's still a trend of unusual attitudes.
(That might just be the reason why he's meeting them, Hiiro thinks.)
Fuwa's staring at him, with a sort of– evaluating gaze. As if Hiiro was at an assessment. He doesn't let it trip him up too much, though, and just keeps eye contact.
Eventually, something in Fuwa's face seems to soften. He uncrosses his arms (and his posture as a whole becomes less tense, Hiiro notes), “I don't know if this will help. But… are you familiar with Hiden Intelligence?”
“I have heard of them,” Hiiro replies. Specifically about their medical Humagears, which– he has his opinions about, but he's sure that's of no importance here.
“Thing is, I used to…” Fuwa stops himself. “No, that doesn’t matter.” He starts rummaging in the inner pockets of his suit, and eventually, he gets a rather small object out and places it on the desk in front of Hiiro.
He eyes it with scepticism. It's spherical, almost perfectly circle-shaped. There's some sort of blue ring in the middle, and (because of Emu, no doubt) Hiiro is reminded of a game controller's buttons. At the side of the object, he spots a label identifying it as a Hiden Manufacturing product – Hiiro assumes that's synonymous with Hiden Intelligence. Which means it's probably some kind of robot or AI.
Still, he can't exactly make sense of just what this, and, more importantly, how it's supposed to help him. It's like being handed a common plaster in the middle of open heart surgery.
“This is Ai-chan,” Fuwa explains. “She…” he exhales. “She's your friend.”
“How–” Hiiro furrows his eyebrows. He almost says I don't need a friend. “How is that supposed to–”
“Just try it, trust me,” Fuwa says. And he– very perplexingly, he smirks at Hiiro. “I was a sceptic at first, too. But just talk to her, and you'll see.”
Then he gets up while Hiiro’s still staring at the robot with half-wonder, clasping his hands together, “I'll leave you to it. Will be back in– eh, a few hours. There's some unrest in the city.”
Hiiro blinks at him, he wants to say something, but Fuwa's already out of the door. “Good luck,” is all Hiiro hears, and then the door is slammed shut. With a bit more force than necessary.
He looks back towards the desk, at… “Ai-chan”. Just talk to her, Fuwa had said. Hiiro squints. Even if this device uses voice recognition software, can it really give proper advice? How does he even activate it? Does he just say something, and it’ll respond?
“Good afternoon, my name is Ai-chan,” a cheerful, female voice suddenly says, the blue ring on the device flashing in tandem. Hiiro doesn’t exactly jolt, but he’s still surprised.
Hiiro waits, but it– she doesn’t say anything else. He reckons she’s waiting for his response. But– what is he supposed to say? Should he introduce himself?
(You should just try it. Try trying. That’s what counts.)
He takes a deep breath. In, out. “Hello… Ai-chan. My name is Kagami Hiiro.”
♡
“I really don’t know what to tell you,” the man in front of Hiiro says. He’d introduced himself as Myokoin Keito, but also mentioned that everyone, and really just everyone, calls him Geiz for reasons he doesn’t know. He’s got his arms crossed over his – vest, or something. It looks strangely futuristic, like something out of that time travel action game Emu had shown Hiiro once. Emu himself hadn’t been the biggest fan of the story, but he visibly enjoyed himself during the fight.
(And he’d pointed out how adorable the grumpy behaviour of one of the side characters was. Had mumbled something that sounded like he reminds me of you. Hiiro had almost choked.)
“It’s just– look, I don’t know either, okay?” Geiz shrugs. “My best friend Tsukuyomi knows these sorts of things better. She always calls me a damn idiot.”
In demeanour, Geiz sort of reminds Hiiro of Fuwa – but that might just be because Fuwa’s the last Kamen Rider he met with. And Fuwa was… more helpful, in his own way.
(Hiiro would never admit, and certainly even more so not in front of Fuwa, that talking to Ai-chan was actually soothing.)
Hiiro doesn’t really know what to say, so he just picks up his cup of coffee and takes a sip. The coffee in this cafe is actually really good for a change – not that the one in the CR is that bad, but it’s also just machine coffee.
Geiz puffs out a breath. “Even then, all I did was–”
He stops in the middle of his sentence. Hiiro raises his eyebrows, a question on his lips, but Geiz is not looking at him. No, he’s staring at some spot in the air. Judging from his expression, he seems to be lost in thought.
In these kinds of moments, Hiiro’s never really sure when to intervene. With human interaction, the lines and places he can cut aren’t so clearly defined. If they were, if this were anyhow easy for Hiiro, then he wouldn’t be here in the first place.
His life would be extremely different, in fact. But now – a few years ago, Hiiro might’ve liked to entertain the thought of ‘what if I could go back and fix all my mistakes’, but these days, he’s starting to feel that he wouldn’t have his life another way.
After all, he met Emu in this life.
Hiiro thinks about all the people he’s met so far. The advice he’d gotten, the situations he’d found himself in, all the weird and strange things. It was not always easy, but– that might’ve just been the point of it all. Maybe he doesn’t really need another well-put piece of advice. Maybe all Hiiro needs is–
He puts his cup down, which snaps Geiz out of his reverie. He blinks rapidly a few times, but then pretends that nothing happened. Hiiro is surprised by himself, but he smiles at Geiz, even if just very slightly. “It is fine.”
Geiz just sort of musters him. “Are you… I mean, okay, if you say so…”
“... Yes, I will be fine. I think I have an idea of what to do.” That is a bit of an overestimation, but there is a feeling brewing in Hiiro’s stomach, something he can tell he’ll be brimming with soon. And it is a feeling that is warm and bright, coloured pastel red, almost pink.
“–Don’t let yourself get called names,” Geiz suddenly says. “I mean,” and he gestures a bit haphazardly, “Tsukuyomi sometimes says I’m like Sougo’s dog. I don’t agree, so just– don’t let yourself– yeah.”
Hiiro blinks. And then he chuckles.
Geiz furrows his eyebrows, straightening up, “Are you making fun of me?”
Hiiro is quick to react, but still shakes his head rather slowly. “No, not at all. It’s just that–”
(A warm voice in his head, one clear as day and bright like sunshine. You’re like a mood cat sometimes, Hiiro-san.)
“–You made me remember something nice.”
♡
Despite sitting right in front of Hiiro, the man feels very far away.
He's got his hands loosely folded together around his cup of tea, which his eyes keep drifting down towards. It's as if there was something on his mind and he's convinced that the answer lay in the black tea.
Akiyama Ren, that's him. There was a note next to his entry on the list, denoting special circumstances.
“... I don't know what to say,” he says, then, snapping Hiiro to attention. “I've lived an ordinary life. I have a job, I'm married, and–”
He stops. “Is something the matter?” Hiiro carefully asks.
Ren frowns. He puts one of his hands to his temple, as if he had some sort of headache. It then goes to his ear, brushing some strands behind it. He seems deep in thought, and Hiiro's not sure whether to say something or not. He's still not confident in his knowledge about communication. It feels like he might never really get it, at least not how he instinctively gets medicine and surgical procedures.
Then, Ren's hand drops. “No, it's– nothing.”
This happens a few more times during their conversation, and it seems that truly no Kamen Rider is without (weird) issues. It’s not Game Disease, Hiiro checked after the third time it happened, but Ren doesn’t want to explain what is happening either – he just mumbles something about an annoying voice in his head, or something.
“What did you do for your spouse, then?” Hiiro asks, shoving a piece of cake into his mouth. The cakes sold in this teahouse aren’t as good as the ones from his favourite cafe, or Charmant, but they’re passable.
Ren takes a sip of his tea. He ordered nothing to eat. “Nothing special. I just proposed.”
Hiiro chokes on his cake, just a little bit. He coughs. “Just– like that.”
Ren furrows his brows, as if he thought Hiiro was ridiculing him. He crosses his arms; “Yeah. With a ring.”
Hiiro purses his lips. The advice he’d gotten so far was very different, and thus different degrees of useful, but this– this–
Thinking about it, something in Hiiro’s chest falls into place. Settles in the strangest of ways. Like something he’d known all along, but was always ignoring. A truth he didn’t want to acknowledge. The hint of this thought had been there ever since he spoke to Myokoin Geiz (funnily enough, Hire feels like Ren looks very similar to him, though that might just be Hiiro's eyes playing a trick on him), but–
(It might be what everyone else has been dancing around. The heart of this whole matter. It is just so ironic that Hiiro took so long to get to it.)
He puts his fork down. Look at it for a moment. Some crumbs are sticking to the thin ends. A perfectly ordinary thing. Some things are just– simple, he supposes.
Hiiro folds his hands together and looks up at Ren. “Thank you.”
Ren lifts his eyebrows. “That helped?” He stares at him wordlessly for a moment, and then he breaks out into a chuckle. “I see.”
(He mumbles something Hiiro doesn’t quite catch – something about some idiot named Kido.)
Hiiro nods, pursing his lips. “I know– what to do now, yes.”
It takes a moment, but then Ren smiles at him with something like recognition – from himself, perhaps. “I wish you luck.”
When the moment finally comes, Hiiro is less at a loss than expected.
Of course, there’s this oppressive, heavy, nearly suffocating feeling. He’s scared, more scared than he has ever been, he can’t even push the feeling aside and pretend that it’s not there. It’s much like his feelings for Emu in that regard, and perhaps, they’ve always been there as a pair, seizing Hiiro’s heart whenever they’d liked.
He thinks about everyone he’d met. The experiences he made. The words he was told. All the different relationships and types of love he’d seen. They were all unique, and difficult yet beautiful in their own ways. A kaleidoscope of opportunities for Hiiro. It’s a bit overwhelming to think about, for someone like him who worries and wants, no, needs to be the best he can. In every aspect of life, but especially for Emu, because Emu means the world to him. So now, with all he’s learned, there’s so many things to consider–
But none of that matters.
Maybe it really doesn’t matter, is what Hiiro has started to think. Maybe love will always be the same, no matter which shape you try to mould it into, no matter what you try to call it, no matter how you try to express it. With your words, hands, eyes – all clumsy, awkward and clueless. What counts is what you actually feel – what counts is that Emu’s smile is the light that lights up Hiiro’s life.
Hiiro swallows, opens his mouth and – all the awkward and strange and frustrating moments, but then he also remembers how the thought of Emu makes him feel: that soft, fluttering feeling in his chest. He takes hold of it. It’s his, it’s part of him, it’s nothing shameful or ugly.
“Intern– no,” Hiiro stops himself. His glance flickers to the ground on instinct, but he gathers all his courage up and looks back up. “Emu.”
His name feels a bit foreign on Hiiro’s tongue, feels new but also warm and pleasant, like it belongs there. He’ll have to examine that feeling again later. What matters now– what Hiiro really wants to say now is–
Looking into Emu’s face, whose eyes are wide open and whose mouth stands agape, Hiiro feels like the Earth is about to swallow him, like he’s about to fall, like everything’s about to blow up and explode if he messes up just a tiny bit – but then it’s okay. It’s okay, as long as Hiiro tries properly.
And he does just that: “Emu, I am in love with you.”
(A second passes where the world feels frozen, with none of them moving. Hiiro’s holding his breath.
And then Emu smiles back at him.)