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Keeping watch of the growth pods is just an excuse.
It was a split second decision; there’s no danger to protect the pods from, and there’s absolutely no reason for Ei not to join the others in Sector 4. He explains how this is their first time visiting one of the sectors in years, something might happen while everyone else is gone, it’s better to be safe than sorry. A voice calls him a killjoy — he doesn’t even bother figuring out who that is — but he’s being reasonable enough that nobody questions him for any underlying intentions. Renya was deep in thought as he entered his pod, muttering something about starting a schedule for guarding duties once they return, and Iori seemed to consider talking Ei out of it but decided not to, instead opting to tell him that this isn’t the only time they’re taking a visit.
Both Renya and Iori’s words are accompanied with the promise of a next time. That some time after this, they’ll drop by the other sectors once they’re fully developed, and they’re not allowing Ei to be the one left behind monitoring the pods. On a normal day he wouldn’t have minded it as much, appreciated it even, because he has yet to drop the mindset of constantly keeping to himself, has yet to internalize that the others do want him around. And from everything that has happened, the promise of a next time wasn’t a luxury they all had back then.
But this isn’t one of those days. Ei was going to join the others, he really was, but then he thinks of Miura, and he blurts out an excuse.
Ei doesn’t want to see Miura. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he still thinks of Miura a lot. Probably more often than he should.
Ei thinks about Miura in passing.
(On some days, they help out on Renya and Ryoko’s research. Sometimes it’s the basic things: sorting out files, doing menial tasks, reminding them to go to sleep. Other times everyone is spitballing ideas, and in the middle of it all, Ei watches as Natsuno gives Keitaro a look that says do you think we could bring BJ here with this, I cannot wait to see him again , and a dull ache tugs in him.)
Ei thinks about Miura in Keitaro.
(He thinks it’s stupid. The man in front of him isn’t the Miura he knows. But when his mind wanders, he stares at Keitaro too long and wonders if Miura will be as lanky as Keitaro is, ponders about the striking scar on Keitaro’s forehead. If the apples of his cheeks would be as prominent. The callouses in his hands. His steady gaze. The firm set of his lips. Ei keeps making comparisons between Keitaro and a man he has never truly seen.)
Ei thinks about Miura in dreams.
(Most of his dreams of Miura are memories; Miura is either on a screen or in a drone. His voice should be static and choppy, but it’s a dream and Ei has heard Keitaro more than enough times that Miura’s voice becomes crystal clear. Far rare and few in-between are dreams where Miura isn’t just data; he’s his own person, and somehow Ei can tell that it’s Miura and not Keitaro before Miura can even say anything. He doesn’t know why he knows the difference, but it’s not something he wants to dwell on for too long, either.)
Ei just assumed that all these years would’ve softened the hurt around the edges, would’ve made it easier to remember what he didn’t want to leave behind. But all his companions return from Sector 4 and everyone awakens from their pods as they tell each other how their day went. At some point in the conversation Ei catches the part where Keitaro and Natsuno are considering putting Miura into Keitaro’s nanomachines. And it catches Ei off guard, but it doesn’t take long before Yuki jokingly yells at Ei to just unclench already, you’re far damn worse at this than Miura is. Everybody’s laughs sound distant as Miura drifts into memory, if only for a split second.
Ei glances at his side to see Iori staring at him. Don’t mind them, Ei-kun, she mouths at him, we can take our time. Her smile is sheepish but there’s the faintest spark of expectation in her eyes and it’s increasingly getting difficult to ignore it by the day. He wants to believe her, and he often does. She’s been nothing but earnest. It’s easy to take her words at face value, especially when she truly means everything she says. The problem is, Yuki is right. They may have all the time in the world now, they can now afford to have a next time, but there’s only so much Ei can do before the words we don’t have to go in the same pace as the others, Fuyusaka and are you sure we know each other well enough for this begin to sound like an excuse to push the inevitable back further. Maybe they already are excuses. He doesn’t have anything to defend himself with.
So he decides to commit that night. She is perceptive to his advances and she is more than happy to reciprocate. This is probably what love feels like. Not that he has any past experiences to compare it to, but surely whatever he is feeling right now is the closest to it. He thinks it’s impossible to not love someone like Iori who has always been patient with him throughout the years.
His mind is still filled with her when they’re both out of breath, basking in the afterglow of the intimacy. She thanks him. She sounds so sincere it hurts. It suddenly dawns on him that she has gotten rid of her tendency of assuming that they’ll move a step forward in their relationship. Perhaps Iori has grown used to his awfully slow pace. Or maybe she learned to stop expecting anything out of him. Neither possibilities are good. The thought tugs something in him that he didn’t even know was there.
They talk about the mundane after that — how was Sawatari-san doing, was the city really the same as usual, what the hell do you mean Ogata cried over those delinquents waiting for him? — somewhere along the way, Iori drifts off. Ei plants a kiss on her forehead and whispers sweet dreams.
The next thing Ei knows, he is riding his motorcycle in the Tsuwabuki Bypass. It’s a sight he hasn’t seen in years, but he knows it like the back of his hand. The sunset bathes the city skyline in golden. Arms circle around his waist and there’s a pleasant weight settled on his back. It’s warm. He feels like his chest is going to burst. He doesn’t have to turn around to figure out who the other person is.
Isn’t it unsafe to go at this speed, Sekigahara?
Technically, yes, but this motorcycle has built-in sensors. It will prevent us from getting into a crash. Ei pauses. Ever been on one?
…No. This is a first.
That so? I’m going to speed up, then. Ei leans forward. Hang on tight, Miura—
“Ei-kun?”
He wakes to Iori shaking his shoulder. Her voice is shaking and her eyes are worried. This is unusual. When the sun rises, it’s usually him that gets up before her.
“What’s the matter?”
“That’s what I should be asking you. It seemed like you were having a nightmare.” Iori’s eyebrows furrow. Ei wants to tell her that it wasn’t exactly a nightmare, but he bites his tongue when her expression shifts. “Ei-kun, you’re crying.”
She reaches out and wipes his tears, whispers nothing but words of comfort until they both can fall back asleep. She doesn’t ask him any questions. She may have changed, but that’s one part of her that didn’t — she doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries, refuses to push any of his buttons.
He leans on her touch. He doesn’t think about the dream, doesn’t think about the way Miura clings onto him on his motorcycle, and he very carefully doesn’t think about how he would’ve answered in a heartbeat if it was Miura asking him what’s wrong.