Chapter Text
You are twenty seven years old.
You are twenty seven years old, and on top of the world.
As the Shooting Star Heroine, Comet, your name is synonymous with protection, with confidence, with love. The people themselves chose that for you, and for them, you have settled into it. If it gives them hope and strength, who would you be to direct them otherwise? Protection, you can understand, but you feel you are still a stone’s throw away from true confidence. And, well, love?… well, again, if it satisfies them, it satisfies you. After all, all you’ve ever wanted to do was bring hope, not just for the sake of others, but for yourself.
If it was something you yourself were in dire need of… how does the rest of the world fare?
As dawn rises to stake its claim over the world and banish the darkness for a time, you soar with the sun, as if drawing the star itself above the horizon, up and across it. Blue and gold coalesce into shimmering, glowing emerald, and as you fly over Japan, sapphire changes to sky blue. The day is here, and so are you.
You have become something you never would have imagined the world to accept or see you as-- you are a hero, for sure, but more than that, you’ve become something more sacred-- a symbol. Lately, a new title has joined that of your moniker of the Shooting Star Heroine, something that is more of a testament to what you have done against the odds, rather than what your power dictates should be your limit. It is one you dare not utter yourself, so as not to cause it to lose its meaning.
Like the day, you want your influence to last.
Today, the streets are blissfully quiet; the span of time between the beginning of August and the end of September is generally a more peaceful time, with fewer villain attacks, as there are less notable events to take advantage of, or to provoke the already fragile or agitated of heart and mind. However, you can’t be too sure that things will remain that way; the day is just beginning, after all. To let your guard down would be a disservice to the citizens that depend on you, in both body, heart, and mind.
First thing’s first, however, you need to check in to your hero agency. Just like any other job, you’re expected to clock in before beginning your shift-- there’s nothing unique about being a hero in that aspect. However, you have already clocked in via your mobile phone; your only requirement is to stop by the agency at least once today to be face-to-face with your coworkers and your employer. It’s just a few minutes more of flight before you land upon the landing strip of your work building, recently extended as the agency has expanded to include more heroes with more space and structure requirements. The doors leading to the top floor’s interior automatically open, sensing the magnetic card in your pocket, and you are welcomed by the digital assistant that had been lovingly dubbed by the resident technician, Ichiro, as Motherboard.
“Greetings, Comet. Welcome to the agency. Your scheduled shift today is from six hundred, to sixteen hundred. So far, from your mobile clock-in, you have been active for one hour. Your schedule is negotiable--”
“Motherboard, cancel scheduling,” you respond, removing your white coat and hanging it upon a coat rack.
“Schedule is finalized,” Motherboard responds. “You have an appointment with Kanemaru-Chan in regards to your digital mask. Please meet with her at your earliest convenience.”
“Oh, I was wondering how that was coming along,” you comment, mostly to yourself. “Motherboard, is The Boss in yet?”
“Is that a question you really need to ask?”
You smirk to yourself at the fun response. Motherboard was not a threat like Ichiro’s previous creations had been; without a soul, all she is is a glorified digital assistant with limited internet access; the tidbits of personality came from Ichiro’s coding itself, nothing more.
You pull off your gloves as you fully emerge into the agency’s top floor, and you’re greeted with a chorus of ‘hello’s and ‘welcome back’s from various co-workers of differing ranks, each crucial to the overall function of the agency in their own way. Almost each and every one has participated in guiding you to where you are today, and for that, you are grateful. You wave to them briefly, before turning to your right and directly around the corner, where Ayane, the resident support mechanic, awaits you in her workshop. She had been notified of your arrival, and had already set out any and all items relating to you that required review.
“Good morning, Ayane,” you sigh, relaxing the moment you enter her familiar workspace and presence.
“Good morning, darling Comet,” the elderly woman replies, eyes owlishly large through her goggles warping them, and her smile is almost big enough to match them. She flutters her eyelashes and blows you a motherly kiss. “Make yourself comfortable, we’ll go over the added functionality Ichiro’s given to the prototypes here. Oh, and I fixed the universal issue of the loose fit on the top head straps; the masks shouldn’t fall over your eyes anymore.”
“Good, good.” You take a seat across from Ayane, tapping two fingers to your cheek as you watch her power on the four masks, wiring still exposed, and tentative designs fleshed out in spray-painted cardboard and aluminium. The physical aspects, being her design, are, as they are now, out of character for her usually finished products, but as she has to work with her son, she can’t create final forms without taking the wiring into consideration. “How many elements and chemical compounds have been added to the database, by the way?”
“The entire periodic table has already been registered, and a hundred thousand chemical compounds, and more are well on the way; the labs are working hard to improve the quality of detection of atmospheric and air quality changes for your final prototype.”
You nod your gratitude for the knowledge. By now, Ayane has fully powered on all four masks, and she beckons for you to try them on. Each one shares some sort of cosmic design, varying between your trademark, the comet, and others more like stardust, stars, and a combination of other extraterrestrial phenomena. Each mask leaves your mouth and nose free, but some have interior panels that can slide shut over your orifices to protect them, should the need arise. Otherwise, the main feature lies in the visors that lay over your eyes, lit up with a digital display that varies in design from mask to mask. However, they all share the same purpose-- to provide you with visual information about your surroundings in real time, from building layouts, to identifying blood types, to transcribing audio to text.
You had been reluctant at first to accept the idea of integrating a mask into your costume’s design, as it had first been Ayane’s idea only, but on the anniversary of your long, hard fight at Chuo-Ku Ward, in the face of a 100,000 citizen rescue crisis, you had met up with an old friend, Asuka Otsoka, also known as the hero Tengu. The combination of both his scars, and the remembrance programs playing on the televisions of the restaurant you had met at, memories of guilt and regret had resurfaced. But, rather than wallow or bemoan it, you elected to do something about it instead, so no such occurrence that had harmed your friend could easily happen under your watch again.
“Mask number three,” you inform the mechanic across the work bench from you, “is displaying a graphical error where humidity would be.”
“Ah, damn it. Alright, I’ll have Ichiro look at it later today.” The young boy was in charge of the coding itself; Ayane knew how to make sturdy armor, but technology was a bit out of her hands. Ayane wrote down the information. “Which one’s your favorite so far?”
“This one.” You point down at the second mask, a stardust and asteroid-belt like mask, where a majority of the design favors the left side. It is coated in asteroids, for now represented by rolled up balls of tinfoil, and a piece of scrap cloth represents the cloud of stardust itself. The right side is more bare, given that that is your dominant side, so having heavy design there would be disadvantageous. “Though the star on mask four really gets me.”
Ayane grins.
“That’s nice, dear, but I already know your aesthetic. I was talking about the, the um… screen.”
“Oh, the visors. Well, in terms of setup, this one.” You knock your knuckles against the forehead of the one you are currently wearing, number three.
“So one’s a complete flop then?”
“Well, not a ‘complete flop,’ that’s a bit harsh. I just like the attributes of the other three more.”
Ayane shrugs, even while taking the first mask away from the collection and placing it in a bin under the table. “Well, Ichiro wanted to hear which aspects of each visor design you liked best, what works and what doesn’t. Should the text be bigger, smaller, brighter, dimmer, opaque, transparent-- anyways, he printed out a form for you to fill out; I’ll put it on your desk for you for when you have time.”
“I have time now.” You look around in the fourth mask.
“No you don’t, you’re scheduled to be out there.” Ayane juts a thumb behind her towards the window with a snicker.
“I’ll have you know my schedule is much more flexible these days-- I have time. I have my shit together.”
“And together, we have shit.” The mechanic lovingly rolls her eyes. “Just because you’re in control of your life doesn’t mean the people out there are. Especially potential villains. You think they’re going to let you fill out paperwork?”
“What, are you lecturing me?” You take off the fourth mask, and place a teasing hand to your non-wounded heart. “ Ayane --”
Immediately, she knows what’s coming-- a boost of confidence-- and she rolls her eyes.
“Oh, shut up--”
“Ayane, I am a pro hero --”
“Comet do you want a beating --”
“-- well aware of the insecurity of villains--”
Ayane starts marching around the table with a roll of blueprints held menacingly.
“-- going to lose speaking privileges-- ”
You yelp and start running around the table away from Ayane.
“-- hello 119 I’m in immediate danger-- ”
“That’s the firefighters you imbecile!!! ”
“ Mom come pick me up I’m scared--”
“ I am your mother now-- ”
By now Ayane is hitting you lightly with the blueprints, and you feign grave injuries with each hit. The banter continues despite this for a few more seconds, before the sound of a throat clearing interrupts you from the doorway, causing the both of you to halt in your tracks.
“Comet.” Modi-Mutation nods to you, now that he has your attention, and enters the vicinity. He is holding a clipboard and a pen, which he hands to you with one arm outstretched. “Sign off on the report I wrote up for our collaboration against Mitosith.”
“Sure.” You do so with a flourish of your pen, before smirking without making eye contact with your fellow hero. “Are you still going to meet up with me and Sunburst for training at the end of the week, or are you too tied up with Anahitte?”
“That’s not your business.”
You don’t miss the pink that creeps onto the pointed tips of Mod’s ears. Ayane is barely able to stifle a giggle. Mod still shoots a glare over at her.
“You’ll see me when you see me. Don’t let my presence alter your plans.”
“No, of course not. Never.” You hold out your arm to give Mod back the clipboard, but he declines it.
“Deliver it to The Boss personally. She would like to speak with you.”
“Huh. Okay, sure.” You nod, and Mod departs without further instruction or word. “Guess I’ll see what she wants, then.”
“Don’t get too peaceful in there,” Ayane teases. “The effect that woman has on soothing wild beasts of men is something else. That time last year when she wrangled Endeavor--”
“That was brilliant .” You depart from the mechanic with a wave over your shoulder, not wanting to keep The Boss waiting on you. Of course, Ayane understands your hasty departure, and always has your number to text if she has more to say.
The Boss’s office is a short walk away from Ayane’s workspace; you enter without preamble, and the dark haired, void-eyed woman tilts her head in your direction in greeting. She is in the middle of typing something on her computer, and patiently you wait, seated across her desk. It doesn’t take long for her to finalize her correspondence, and she holds out her hand for your clipboard.
“Thank you for stopping by,” the woman says to you, her smooth, melodic voice already soothing you.
“It’s always a pleasure.”
The Boss smiles, setting your and Mod’s paperwork aside. “I haven’t summoned you here for anything pressing; I just wanted to see how you’re faring in general. Nothing more than a friendly chat, rather than a performance review; we both know you’re not currently in need of one of those.”
You chuckle at the sly compliment. “Uh, well, I’m wrapping up on the last chapter of my debut novel. It’s just something easy, another coming of age novel, but it seems fitting for a first foray into the author’s world. A little bit of something everyone can relate to.”
“Right. I’m glad you’re taking the opportunity to pursue something personal outside of work and music.” The Boss nods, before opening up a tear in the fabric of space and time to procure herself a cup of tea. “Any for you?”
“I’m good, thank you. And having a blog seems to have really changed the way I interact with people. In a good way, of course. That writing outlet has also been really beneficial, not just for me; I never had a godly status in the world of heroes, so I’m able to get away with being a little more vulnerable without spooking people on what it must be like for other heroes. But at the same time, that helps people subconsciously connect with their heroes who are saving them in real time much better. No one has of course told me that, but Ichiro did the numbers and the statistics correlate between my blog posts and warmer hero and civilian interactions.”
“Which is also good,” The Boss agrees. “I follow it loosely; I try to let you have your privacy, as your superior, but you truly have a solid grasp of what we do means, and how best to translate that in a way citizens can understand without causing undue stress.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s admirable.”
“Thank you.” You blush, and smile.
“Your dreams, however,” she continues, “as of late, have been… interesting.”
And it was true; you sometimes shared your dreams in poetic format, so long as they were not too telling of your private life. Lately, you’ve been having dreams relating to the time where you were blasted with gamma radiation from a Pulsar Quirk, resulting in a massive explosion emanating from your body. The event had been dramatic, for sure, but you hadn’t thought yourself traumatized by it in any way until now. The dreams kept happening, so you couldn’t help but to write out your thoughts on the matter.
You shifted in your chair, and shrugged.
“It’s strange,” you agree. “The incident doesn’t bother me… at least, I don’t think it does. I don’t know why it’s been plaguing my dreams so persistently. I don’t have any plans as of right now to see a therapist or psychologist on the matter. Not until it becomes either annoying or mentally damaging. Maybe it has something to do with how far I’ve come since that day.”
“Maybe.” The Boss shuffles through some papers and moves on to the next topic of conversation. “I’m sure Ayana will come to me with it if you’ve already discussed it, but are there any more resources you’ll require for your suit upgrade? The visor will be an incredible addition to your arsenal, but otherwise, you’re bare-fisted. I just want to make sure you’re not holding back on any requests.”
“I’ve found my strength,” you assure the woman across the desk from you.
“Which is no small feat; however, I don’t think it would hurt to have some extra tools to fall back on, should the need arise. Of course, it’s all your choice-- I trust your judgement on your own requirements to continue to go above and beyond. So, your judgement is..?”
You sit up taller, and smile fondly at The Boss.
“I’ve found my strength,” you reiterate, before adding on to that. “I don’t ever need to doubt in my own power, or the power I give to those around me.”
With understanding, The Boss nods. She is quiet for a moment, before she sets down the papers in her hands, and with a gentleness reserved for late night conversations, she calls to you by your name. She has your attention.
“I… you’re genuine, in a way not many heroes are anymore. I’ve never once doubted your resolve-- maybe your strength, on occasion, but never your resolve to do the right thing, and to be honest and true. Having you as a member of our agency has been a miracle, from the moment you rushed off of that plane from America to assist with the Khaos Crisis. Which is why, with full certainty, I want to extend to you the opportunity to--”
The Boss is cut off by the ringing of her phone, which had been set to emergencies only. With lighting quick fingers, she answers the device, nodding and speaking to the official on the other end quietly. She hangs up and stands.
“I apologize, Comet, I’ll have to cut this short; we’ll continue on that branch another time, but in the meantime, I need your assistance elsewhere. Ready to hit the streets?”
“Always.”
It’s always something else, watching The Boss run in and out of the streets of Japan. Not in the traditional sense of weaving through overlapping roads and alleys and over rooftops, of course-- the woman flickers in and out of existence, using the bridges between realities as shortcuts from one location to the next. You are able to observe this through your flight above her, all the way to your destination, a bank in the process of being robbed. Like fabric, reality tears before her, and stitches itself back together seamlessly.
“The banker who blew the whistle,” The Boss informs you, “says the hostage situation is limited, but that the villains have explosives wired to their conscious states, hence why it’s all high-risk. Not only can we not incapacitate our enemies through unconsciousness, but we have to make sure they don’t incapacitate each other out of spite or desperation. It is quite literally a scenario where we have to save everyone .”
“We’ll make it work,” you assure her. “How many are we looking at? Do we know what they’re here for? You don’t need a party to rob a bank.”
“No, you do not. They’re here for the safety-deposit boxes, all the non-monetary valuables they can melt down and resell, and maybe some information on high-profile individuals. More likely just the first of the two options. Four working on the vault, three doing crowd control. So, in this case, whether necessary or not, it is a party.”
“Seven! That is a party.”
“But they won’t be expecting us.”
You land on a rooftop next to The Boss, who has already drawn her sword, but is in the process of wrapping the blade in a thick ribbon, masking its glow and potential lethality. Her gaze, however, remains on the building itself, strict and focused.
“I’ll find a way in with my Quirk,” she says to you. “When the commotion starts, feel free to make your entrance. Use that frost of yours to get some feet slipping, decrease their accuracy. Don’t leave more than one out of your sight for too long, and keep all attacks to below the shoulders. Remember, we don’t want anyone to fall unconscious.”
“Right.” It’s not often that you use enough of your Quirk to cause people to legitimately freeze, but influencing the environment around them is a much easier task; you’ve worked alongside The Boss long enough for her to recognize that. With a wave of her hand, The Boss creates a tear in the fabric of reality, and disappears into the void. True to her word, moments later, there is the sound of chaos in the bank across the street, and you rush to join her.
Crashing through the front doors, you immediately plant your feet into the back of one of the culprits, sending them skittering across the floor. Alarms blare, ricocheting through stone and marble tile halls. While another one of the villains tries to attack you, you spin and, with a roundhouse kick, snap their wrist out of alignment with yourself before moving in to pin their hands behind their back. You push them down to their knees to hurriedly cuff them (with regular handcuffs; Quirk Suppressant cuffs were deemed a human rights violation in the past year, with research showing they could eliminate a person’s ability to use their Quirk in the long run), just in time to handle the next assailant. The Boss, in the meantime, is dealing with villains seeking to use the civilians in the building as leverage, hoping to defend themselves from the heroine’s wrath. However, she is deft and cunning, either jumping through time and space herself, or utilizing it to procure weapons or tools to assist in saving hostages or bringing down her foes.
When one man attempts to release tear gas, The Boss acts without mercy, catching the already smoking can in mid-air, before dropping it out of this dimension and rubbing what little got on her gloves into the man’s eyes. She remains cold as he screams, stumbling away and falling to the floor. A third approaches from behind, a pen in hand, and she makes to jam it into The Boss’s neck, but she crouches and rolls to one side, while throwing out one leg to send the attacker crashing to the floor. From there, she tries to reach for a gun in the back of her pants, but your leader is there, swiftly kicking and pinning down that rogue hand with a boot. She crouches down to hurry to cuff the woman, but the criminal rears her head back in an attempt to head-butt her. The Boss avoids this, too, as well as the second attempt to jab the pen into her throat.
“I know all your tricks,” she announces to the foes in the room after kicking the finally subdued woman aside. “ I’ve used them. You can either stand down now and come quietly, or I can prove to you just how much I know about your lifestyles.”
The four left glance to one another, before surging forth without further contemplation of the offer.
“Yep,” The Boss grunts, throwing one over her shoulder and causing them to skitter across the floor in a failed charge attempt. “I would have done that too.”
The last of the seven villains, the two of you work together to take down; you offer support, coating the floor in frost and bashing the villains across the slippery surface into The Boss’s waiting arms. There are one or two close calls when the villains attempt to get together to set off their bombs, but you are there quicker than anyone can react to keep them apart.
When there is just one left, The Boss takes a hold of him by the collar of his shirt, holding him up with a single hand until his feet are dangling off of the floor. She hardly grunts with the effort.
“Are there any others?” she inquires.
He spits on her face, her eye and her cheek specifically.
“Fuck you.”
The Boss doesn’t blink.
“Where’s your getaway driver? Or were you planning on blowing a wall out the back of the vault? A roof getaway? You can’t outsmart me at my own game.”
“ Your game?” The villain scoffs, and then barks out a wicked laugh. “You’re a hero ! You don’t know anything about my ‘game’!”
The Boss narrows her eyes, before pulling down the villain to spit into his face herself, more with words than action.
“I was born in your game.”
The statement is powerful; it is one the woman has utilized many times. The man struggling in her grip ceases, and his eyes grow wide with realization. He finally understands just who now stands before him, his clothing curled in her tight, blanched knuckles.
“ Shimuzu, ” he mutters.
The conversation ends after that; The Boss responds with nothing, except for handcuffing the man in her grasp, and outside, even though the getaway driver has arrived, the police are there too, cornering them in and drawing their weapons to force them out of the vehicle. Now that the threat has passed, the civilians who were previously in corners or on the floor rise to conglomerate together, checking on each other, or pointing fingers at you and The Boss. Some flee the premises immediately, into the arms of the police, and some pull out their phones to record the heroes who saved them.
The two of you, however, don’t bring up The Boss’ hot words of spite in the heat of battle. Though her face is impassive, you have heard of the woman’s past only in whispers, and through what she herself has let slip on occasion; that she, too, was once not quite a villain, but was no saint; that she had been saved by All Might, and re-integrated into society with a clean slate, which she took advantage of to start her own agency inspired by the man who had given her a second chance. You do place a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture, though, and she squeezes your hand there in silent gratitude.
After that, however, it’s business as usual; assessing the civilians for injury, giving your statements to the police, investigating how damaged the vault appears at a glance; it is, overall, a generally regular affair. Once the dust has finally settled, however, you approach the woman you had worked alongside yourself.
“Are you alright, Boss? After… before.” You furrow your brow.
The Boss herself merely pinches the bridge of her nose, leaning back against a pillar behind her.
“My… temper, got the better of me. It’s that time of year where I find my thoughts wandering to the circumstances that brought me here, to this moment.”
She pauses, before gesturing vaguely around the both of you.
“Places like this… this is where I got my start. Not as a hero, I’m sure you recall.”
“Well, I know you weren’t a bank teller.”
She gives you a pity-laugh at the weak attempt of a joke. There’s a lull in the conversation while she watches the police round up the last of the villains. The armored truck escorting them to prison rattles as the back door slams and locks shut.
“It’s miraculous no one was seriously injured. But to be a second too slow to these sorts of things…”
“I know,” you comfort her. “I think about it every day.”
“I wish…” The Boss inhales. “I wish we could stop these things before they get to this point. And I’m not talking mind-reading to see when robberies are being planned. There’s… there’s a point in someone’s life where they decide being good is… not the optimal path. I would know. Not just from myself, but…”
The woman trails off. She laughs again, this time, bitterly.
“Well, it’s wistful thinking. To see the future and know how to change it perfectly.”
“Yeah. But there’s nothing wrong with wanting something better for everyone.”
Another moment of consideration passes by. The Boss smirks.
“Let’s run the day together. What do you think, Comet? You don’t mind having your Boss peering over your shoulder while we get shot or kicked at, do you?”
“Not at all; I always have room for improvement from a guiding hand.”
The two of you exit the bank together, leaving that conversation behind. As you do so, however, civilians that have gathered around the border of the police tape line catch sight of you. One excited younger gentleman leaps up, and to the blue skies above cries out that name you dare not utter yourself, fragile as glass in your own hands, but as strong as diamonds in those of the people:
“There she is! The Starlit Beacon of Change! Comet, the Beacon of Hope!”
The moment you part from Shimuzu at the end of your shift, you are immediately falling into the arms of your lover in the shadows of an alley at the cusp of dusk.
She sees him first, upon your walk back to the agency, and points him out to you with a gentle nudge to your shoulder. She tilts her head in his direction when you find you don’t know where to look.
“Looks like the sun has yet to set for you,” The Boss comments, though it is laced with teasing and knowing. “Pick up your game, kid; I may have experience in the shadows, but I shouldn’t be the one spotting your boyfriend first.”
“I-- I wasn’t expecting him to show up at work, I didn’t tell him to meet me here--” you stammer, finding yourself seeking an excuse for his presence even though it doesn’t matter-- your shift is over, and it doesn’t matter. Not to mention, he is, of course, a hero himself.
The Boss, of course, eases your unnecessary trepidation with a hearty chuckle and a hand clapping on your back. “Don’t leave him waiting; he may not be out in the open, but those bangs of his are a beacon all on their own. I’ll clock you out, hmm? Go be with him.”
“You’re sure? I can do it from my phone…”
“Stop thinking about work, and go think about your personal life. It’ll help him think about his , I’m sure. Probably had to pry himself away from his own work with a mental crowbar; make his effort worth it.”
The Boss raises a valid point; you give her one last smile and nod, and the two of you part ways, she into the sunset behind your building, and you into the side-alley, towards your boyfriend.
Boyfriend … it’s still such a foreign and unfamiliar phrase to you even after all this time, so strange to say, something you have difficulty willing your tongue to articulate. It’s fortunate that “partner” suffices, both for the purposes of your hero work, and as your term for, “yes… yes, we are together,” for those close enough that you trust them to know and be silent.
It’s even better that All Might-- Toshinori Yagi-- accepts that terminology from your lips.
There he stands in the dark alley, almost emanating his own light in his golden bangs and brilliant smile that only glows brighter as you approach, first in a walk, and then a purposeful jog. He has changed out of his own hero costume, dressed down nicely in an unbuttoned plaid shirt and white T-shirt beneath, and dark grey cargo pants with copious pockets. He doesn’t mind when you throw yourself into his arms-- he anticipates it, in fact, if his own spread arms and open stance are anything to go off of. He doesn’t mind that you may be dirty from the long day as a hero, and he doesn’t mind that you may be sweaty from the warm autumn sun, and that his shirt is as white as his grin.
He accepts you, just as he always has, for almost four years as your friend, and three as your lover.
You bury your nose into his chest to take a brief whiff of the scent of clean laundry and him , but it’s not quick enough; he notices, and Toshinori giggles.
“Goodness, I didn’t think I was missed this greatly.”
“Shh.”
“Hard day?”
“Not at all.”
“Hmm.” He laughs again, and holds you tighter. Unfortunately, the embrace cannot last; even if the two of you are deep in a dead-end alley, it is still the middle of the day, and there are still civilians walking at the other end. Your relationship is no secret to the public, but you both do your best to keep things subtle, on the down low, try to deny it still; you are as distracting to each other anymore as the two of you are together now to the public, and there are more important things they should be focusing on, whether they are the law, the news, or just an average everyday citizen.
“Home?” you ask him, upon finally letting him go and stepping away.
“No?” Toshinori frowns. “Well, not to stay. You’ll need to shower and change, of course. Did I leave enough time for that?”
“Time?” You’re frowning now as well, out of confusion. “Time for what?”
“Oh! You’ve forgotten. Well, I can’t hold that against you; you’ve had to remind me of our planned outings with Ayana and Ayane on occasion. Not out of the ordinary. Of course, you’re busy. Ah, it’s tonight.”
It’s not ringing any bells. You tilt your head at Toshinori in confusion, and he further devolves into stuttering and attempting to explain-- well, over-explain, as he is ought to do. But something is different this time. Sure, he is sometimes nervous when he feels as though he is not being understood, but this borders on scared.
“Ah, we, we made the plans some time ago, and-- we did take your shift into account-- I don’t think I overestimated you? Ah-- I don’t mean you’re not capable of being quick! What I mean is, there’s an upper limit-- everyone has an upper limit-- but maybe I didn’t do the math right-- would he understand if it was you and not me? But I’m the one who told him we would be there at nineteen hundred…”
“Who?” You take a deep breath, realizing if you’re going to be any help to Toshinori, you need to be clear and succinct in your questioning, and to be a solid place for him to set his feet. You need to be his beacon back to the light. You take his hand in yours, smiling softly. “Who are we going to see, Toshi-chan?”
He sputters for one more second, before pausing, and becoming blank. When his eyes clear, he looks down at you and breathes slowly, before mustering up a bit of a shaky smile.
“Ah… we have dinner with Gran Torino.”