moon_blitz

Far Flung

Shiro doesn’t own much in the way of possessions anymore. The house his parents owned is technically his now, but he keeps it in the same state it was the day his parents and sister died – neat and orderly, with a hired cleaner to keep the plants alive and the dust from collecting. No, Shiro prefers to travel with only what he can fit in the saddlebags of his bike, no matter what country he’s in.

Shiro fights injustice wherever he finds it, no matter how long the battle or how far from home he goes. Evil is everywhere, he finds, but as long as he has his bike, he can track it down and stop it. He’s perfected the art of packing, he thinks, finding a place for the few spare clothes he has as well as a tiny cooking and camping set as well as the various miscellaneous items he picks up during he travels. While he misses his bed and waking up in the room he occupied since childhood, his duties as a Kamen Rider take him elsewhere, and so he puts the memories of a warm bed and waking up to his mother’s cooking behind him.

He writes to Tachibana and the others from wherever he ends up. Italy in early spring, China in the summer, Germany in the fall. Postcards, usually, but occasionally a longer letter to Junko with a small toy or funny sticker collection slipped in for Shigeru. He never hears back, but with no fixed address, how could they reach him?

Shiro tells himself that he’ll return to Japan someday. Perhaps next month, or on the anniversary of his family’s death. He suspects that Junko mourns for him while he’s away, and he imagines the well-kept grave waiting for him back home. He’ll go back soon. Just not now. For now, he travels.