August Theme: Making Memories, End of Summer.
Notes: this was a weird, weird idea.
When Ayaka wanted a trip to Kyoto on his motorcycle, yet again, Tatsuha didn't deny her. He'd never been good at saying no to her. He wasn't sure why, but she had always had a weird power over him. She was the one girl he could never molest and it wasn't because he found her ugly. She was beautiful, traditional, a perfect target for him. But, he couldn't deny her and he couldn't destroy her.
As usual, all he could do was grumble some lie about how he had wanted to go take nudie pictures of Ryuichi anyways, but no one was fooled anymore. As she got on the bike, wrapping her delicate arms around his waist, he'd sigh in resignation and start the ignition. The first rumble of the motorcycle almost always made her squeeze just a little tighter.
He would never look back as they rode, never looks at her, but he could always imagine her hair, trailing behind them, catching the light of the setting sun. It flowed like silk, glowing red in the day's last lights. Her skirts, always pastels or floral prints, always billowed, reveling shapely ankles. And he always wondered, how it was that anyone could think she'd have fared well with a man like Eiri.
Maybe before he'd changed, Eiri would have made a good husband. He had been a man of poetry then, sweet, all gentle smiles. Ayaka and that Eiri would have made a beautiful couple. But, the Eiri after New York? It was all Tatsuha could do to bite back a bitter laugh. There had been other men in Kyoto, better men. Though, he supposed it was their fault for not speaking up, for being children, for being too young or thinking themselves too mature for an arranged.
Well, at least she had Hiro now. He was kind and warm, and he had asked her to marry him. She was moving in with him. She wouldn't be going back to Kyoto after this. She'd never ask for rides to Tokyo again or directions on which bus or train to take to get up there. He'd never be asked to search for her again, because everyone knew where she'd be. Not in Kyoto, but in Tokyo.
This was the last time she'd ride with him. The last time she'd hold onto him like he was life it's self. He found himself throwing open the throttle, causing her to shriek and cling even tighter, hiding her face against his back. He couldn't stop time from moving forward, but he could get the most out of it. He had to, because he'd never ever be close to her like this again.