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They had seen Taki off that afternoon. He was still in the air, if Hongo’s sense of time was correct, and it usually was – the flight was roughly 10 hours to LA, give or take, and he had insisted that they got to the airport with plenty of time to spare should anything pop up and throw a wrench in Taki’s plans, like a gate change or a cancellation or a missed flight even; the flight bookings were handled by the FBI and he couldn’t imagine trying to get ahold of someone long distance to work out rescheduling over an airport payphone, the security risks for both sides, the time zone difference, the possibility of Shocker listening in and targeting the plane that Taki was on and–
Hongo tried to breathe.
He didn’t have to do so nearly as much as he did when he was fully human, but he tried it anyway.
He could almost hear it in Taki’s voice: “Breathe, Hongo,” as he would rest a hand on his shoulder or his knee or the small of his back and ground him once again. He missed the familiar pressure and the soft of his hands, rough with callouses and scarred from fighting but still much more gentle than his own. The air rattled around oddly in his throat, catching in strange angles. It was so, so much harder on his own. He knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about this now. He bit down on the side of his thumb and tried to resist the urge to tap his shoe on the wet pavement in front of him. He was bringing the night down again and he shouldn’t have accepted this invitation if all he can think about is how much he misses Taki and how much easier it should be for him to be able to breathe but instead here he is, ignoring his compatriots and wallowing on his own.
His musing was interrupted when the door behind him swung open, bathing him in a wave of light and sound. “There you are. Oh, wow. Taki was right.”
Hongo stared glass-eyed at the figure in the doorway, distracted by the lights dancing around the edges of the man’s frame. “...Huh?”
Hayato shut the door behind him, muffling the music back down to something slightly more manageable. “He mentioned that you get worked up like this sometimes. I mean, I’ve seen it a bit before, but he did say that you try to hide it from me, so I guess I didn’t really know the extent of it.”
The world came back into focus slightly at the familiar voice. That’s right – the invitation was from Hayato. He had accepted and they (and the other members of the Tachibana Racing Club, even the boss himself) had headed out to one of the local clubs, the back entrance of which Hongo was currently squatting beside, trying not to get too wet in the cool night mist. They were supposed to be celebrating the eradication of Shocker and Taki’s trip home. Instead, the noise and the lights and the touch and the heat and the smell and the unfamiliarity (this wasn’t really Hongo’s scene, believe it or not) had gotten far, far too much and he’d broken off to go out to the alley he had parked his motorcycle in earlier to try and stop from fully overheating and oh, it was no wonder Hayato had come to check on him, as the “bathroom break” he had excused himself with had gone a full thirty minutes without him noticing. “How did you know where to find me?”
Hayato tapped his forehead. “I felt that you were somewhere cold and that something was stressing you out, and we’ve fought together enough to know that you’d likely go somewhere you’d be able to keep an eye on anyone trying to come in. The front door has staff, and you know that I’d be able to keep watch on anyone entering that way from the dance floor, and I would think that you’d want to go somewhere where the sound wasn’t so loud, so the back alley was really the only option.”
Hongo, who had chosen his hiding spot from a list of the same criteria, would have blushed if he could have. “Sure,” he said instead, wanting to quickly push the conversation along.
“You’ve always seemed more sensitive to this kind of thing than I am,” said Hayato, leaning up against the wall, “the sounds and the lights and whatever. I know that we’ve got the same… we can hear and see the same, we tested that one time, remember, but it’s never really become an actual problem for me. Is there any way to fix that for you?”
“The sensory perception? Not really, I don’t think,” Hongo shrugged. “It’s not necessarily an entirely new thing, but the enhancement doesn’t help much. I did try and calibrate it for you back before you woke up so that might have helped…”
“Oh, sure. Do you remember when I first woke up in your apartment and you had all the lights off and refused to speak to me in anything over a whisper?”
Hongo chuckled despite himself. “Ah, yeah, I might have gone a little overboard. I just remember how jarring it felt for me waking up on the operating table with the lights and machinery and all. That was the first time I really heard electricity, you know. I wasn’t sure how you’d react… it’s really complex, the way that the machinery interacts with our remaining biology. I would love to be able to take a closer look at you someday to figure out exactly how everything connects, in case we need to make large repairs or, well, if anything else might pop up in the future that it might be good to have a road map for. I’ve got myself to compare to, but dealing with the way the nervous system connects to the brain? That’s not something I can easily reference on my own. I had to take some educated guesses with you. I guess that it worked out okay, in the end…” he trailed off, turning to Hayato, the memories of wires and nerves intertwined still vivid in his mind’s eye. He then noticed the other man smiling. “...What’s so funny?”
“Oh, Taki was so right. You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?”
He took a moment. Sure enough, the world around him was evening out to a more manageable level. It was still overwhelming; the mist in the air had settled into his hair and it was dropping down onto his forehead now, and he could still pick out conversations inside the building if he wanted to, but it wasn’t as uncontrollable as before. “You were distracting me?”
Hayato’s smile cracked wider. “Taki said that sometimes it helps for you to talk about something you know a lot about to wind down a bit.”
“You make it seem like you were planning on this happening. You chose the club because you knew I wasn’t into this scene,” Hongo accused, half-seriously. He paused. “Wait, you did, didn’t you? That was that look you gave Taki. You’ve talked about this before, haven’t you?”
“We thought,” Hayato explained, “that it would be good for you to have a night out on the town.”
“I’m not a kid,” Hongo said, almost-but-not-quite resisting the urge to pout. “You don’t have to push me.”
“You aren’t,” Hayato said, gentler, “but I’ve known you for a while now. You think it’s a hassle to share your feelings, and I think that things have gotten bottled up in there. Shocker’s gone. Taki’s safe. We’re all safe. This is as much a night for you as it is for the rest of us, and I think it would be good for you to open up a little bit. Now, do you want to tell me what’s actually wrong?”
Hongo pressed his lips together and looked to the pavement.
Hayato knelt down next to the other man. “Alright, let me rephrase it. Takeshi,” he said, placing a hand on the other man’s cheek and turning his face back to his, “I would like it if you could tell me what’s wrong.”
The fingers on his cheek held his face firmly in place and trapped him locking eyes with Hayato. He was right. There was a lot going through his mind, and while he was used to most of it, seeing Hayato this close and sending Taki off earlier and being able to hear everyone through the walls, if he focused, all having a good time and laughing, were doing nothing but making the cloud swirl faster and stronger around in his mind, distilling down to one simple thought: “I did this to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I hadn’t escaped – if there was no Kamen Rider for them to fight against, Shocker would have never kidnapped you and turned you into… into some kind of monster. ”
“You think I’m a monster?”
“No,” said Hongo, “of course not, but you’re like me, and I am. But it’s not just you, it’s everyone who’s been hurt because of them, like the number of times Tachibana’s been kidnapped, or when Goro would get taken, or any of the scars that Taki’s gotten because of me, or the times you’ve had to cover for me or come and rescue me because I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Okay,” Hayato replied, still gazing into the other’s eyes, “first off, you’re not a monster, you fight monsters. Secondly, sure, some of those things might be right. Yes, if there were no Kamen Rider, I might not be a cyborg. But you would be, you’d just be one of Shocker’s instead. I might have been taken anyway and made to work for them too. Taki could have still gotten involved in fighting them, and even if he didn’t, he would still be doing whatever it is he does with the FBI anyway. The boss wouldn’t have anyone to train. Shocker wouldn’t have anyone to fight them, Hongo. The world is a better place because of you.”
Logically, he knew that. But it was the first time anyone else had put it in words for him and he let out a small whine on reflex. Hayato continued. “We’re all here because we believe in you, Hongo, and I want to be there for you.”
“But what if they come back? Not Shocker, necessarily, but someone new?”
“Then we fight them again.” Hayato shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” said Hongo. “I don’t think I can either.” Hayato released Hongo’s cheek with a pat. “So it’s settled. Is that better now?”
“Yeah,” Hongo agreed. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
“It’s just been… a big day.”
“I know,” said Hayato. “Hey, I’ve got another idea if you want to try something.” He waited for Hongo’s curious nod and pressed their foreheads together. “Here, I’ll open my mind up. Try and feel through me.”
Hongo did just that, directing his mind through the psychic link he shared with Hayato. Normally they shared just thoughts, like a radio, but he pushed further this time, feeling through the neural pathways in Hayato’s mind, melding the map of their senses into one. His eyes popped open. “...This is what it’s like for you?”
“This is what it’s like for me.”
Hongo got it, suddenly. “I see why you like the club.” The bass reverberating through the wall was no longer thumping like a hammer in Hongo’s mind, the music he could hear leaking through sounded cohesive and melodic, the warmth and touch of a crowd sounded doable, and no longer were his wet clothes sticking to his body distracting a portion of his mind. He had no idea how long the effect would last, but it felt natural, suddenly, to be.
Hayato laughed. “Is that all you have to say? We’ve got to try this in reverse sometime.”
“No,” Hongo shook his head, “I don’t think we do.”
“Remember, I want to be there for you too.” Hayato winked at him. “By the way, there was one last thing that Taki mentioned wanting me to do for you.”
Hayato wrapped his arms around Hongo’s back, pulling him in close. Hongo did the same – gingerly, at first, but as Hayato increased the pressure he remembered who it was that he was holding, that he didn’t run the risk of Hayato breaking in the same way Taki could, and he pressed back into Hayato as hard as he could. His body ached for the touch. He didn’t realize how much he had missed feeling someone against him who he didn’t have to worry about harming. How good it felt to be so totally enveloped in someone else, as if being accepted fully. He buried his face into the crook of Hayato’s neck. He smelled like heat from dancing, like warm metal and machine lubricant and maybe a hint of sweet coolant, a little bit damp from the rain now and all cut with cologne but beneath it, something human, something natural and gentle and distinctly Hayato.
It smelled really, really good.
“Breathe, Hongo,” he heard Hayato say in his mind.
Hongo did.