Hikaru No Go Fic: Desynchronization (WIP) Part VII, Part II of II
Title: desynchronization. Part VII of ?, Part II of II (WIP)
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai. No pairings currently.
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: Ages 16 and up. Mild cursing and sensuality. It's possible the rating will go up eventually. Also, plot-device amnesia and resurrection...
Word Count: Part I, 5847. Part II, 5042.
Notes: Much thanks to my betas harumi and aiwritingfic!
I would apologize for the delay in updating, but this is a really long chapter. So I won't.
desynchronization: Chapter VII, Part II
Ogata slid his Mazda into his parking spot in the condominium's garage, then popped the trunk and pulled out his suitcase. It certainly was convenient that he'd been able to secure an apartment with an adjacent garage, especially since he seemed to be travelling more and more frequently as he advanced his career. Hauling luggage around Tokyo was unpleasant, to say the least, even if one travelled light like he did.
Still, Ogata usually enjoyed travelling (as long as the accommodations were decent) but lately he'd felt a little more reluctant to travel since that meant leaving Fujiwara alone. Not that Fujiwara was irresponsible - he listened attentively when Ogata explained the more mundane, non-go-related details of daily life like turning off the stove, locking the door, and avoiding certain areas. But sometimes Ogata was still taken aback by the gaps in Fujiwara's memory, even though he knew how severe the other man's amnesia was. Last week Ogata had been performing a routine test of his fire alarm's batteries, and Fujiwara had been so startled he'd jumped, banging his knee on the coffee table hard enough to almost knock the goban off the table. After a few questions, Ogata had discovered that Fujiwara had not only forgotten fire alarms, but earthquake and typhoon protocol as well. Of course Ogata had given Fujiwara thorough explanations then, but he couldn't be certain he'd remembered every essential survival tip. He'd never been responsible for completely re-educating an adult before.
That Fujiwara was just so naturally trusting complicated matters, especially since Shinjuku wasn't one of Tokyo's safest wards. But at least he wasn't likely to bump into many dangerous characters while indulging in his go obsession. Lately, Fujiwara had been visiting a neighborhood go salon that Lian-san had recommended when Fujiwara had been sulking about Ogata's four-day conference in Nagoya. Initially Ogata had harbored some private reservations about Fujiwara visiting a go salon, but judging from Fujiwara's chatter, he mostly just played shidougo with them. So it was unlikely Fujiwara would find someone else who could offer him a proper challenge.
“I'm back,” Ogata called out as he slipped off his shoes in the entranceway, but Fujiwara didn't answer so Ogata went to his bedroom to put his suitcase down.
Fujiwara was in the study, staring at the aquarium so intently that he didn't turn his head when Ogata entered.
“Anyone get eaten?”
Fujiwara glanced up and smiled. “Welcome back! And of course not, I kept them well fed. Murakami was chasing Mishima again, and Ginko and Momiji are going to give birth again. I also cleaned the gravel and did a partial water change.”
“You named the fish?”
“Well it's not as if I can just go around calling them “Pterophyllum altum Number One” and “Poecilia reticulata Number Three.” That would be rude,” Fujiwara said with a sniff that implied only a barbarian would disagree.
Ogata could hardly disappoint Fujiwara when he was making such a haughty expression and being a know-it-all as well. “They're fish. Naming cats and dogs makes sense because they'll come when you call and do tricks. Fish don't.”
“This clown loach does tricks... well, he's tricky, at least. He floats on his belly and plays dead, and he steals food from the other fish.”
Ogata stared at the black and orange striped fish in question, which was currently reclining on a plant, its belly distended with its ill-gotten gains. It stared back at him with a fishy smugness that somehow seemed familiar. Ogata smirked. “Well then, name this one Kuwabara.”
“Oh, that's a nice name.” Fujiwara pressed his nose against the tank, making cooing noises. “Kuwabara, you're a fat little cutie, aren't you? Yes you are!”
Ogata wondered if he'd ever be able to look at the old man with a straight face again, now that he had that lovely image burned into his mind. Probably not.
Fujiwara pulled himself away from the tank, wiping the smudge off with his jacket sleeve. “Let's have some tea, and you can tell me all about the demonstration game.”
A few minutes later, Ogata had a cup of pekoe tea cooling in his hands. “The demonstration went fine, except Ashiwara-sensei made a weak move here,” he said, leaning forward from the sofa to place the black stone on the goban.
“Because then you could cut Black off. Your next move was at 6-4, right?”
Ogata shook his head. “Actually, no. The game would have ended at around 120 moves then, and that would have been disappointing to the audience and sponsors. They expect an exchange between pros to last for a long time, and I don't mind being a little generous when it's not an official game. This is more like shidougo for the observers rather than a regular match.”
Fujiwara tapped his fan against his lips in consideration. “Shidougo for observers... but surely the commentators noticed and criticized you.”
“No, that isn't a possibility most would notice. That's why I chose not to make it. Ashiwara bugged me about it after the game, though. He's a good player, so he realized the mistake as soon as he'd finished placing the stone.”
Ogata finished recreating the game, then said, “Now that this conference is out of the way, I don't have any major commitments until the Gosei Title match starts in July. I was considering taking it easy for a few days. You seem to enjoy the fish a lot. How would you like to visit an aquarium museum? There's an excellent one in Yokohama.”
“An aquarium museum?”
“Basically imagine a lot of fish tanks, except full of hundreds of fish and thousands of liters of water. Aquariums are also allowed to keep rare species, and dolphins and whales.”
Fujiwara bounced in his seat, looking like he was about to burst from excitement. “Yes! Let's go! Let's go now! When is it open? Is it far?”
“I'll take that as a 'yes.' And I'm afraid it's too far to visit tonight,” said Ogata, amused at Fujiwara's exuberance. Not that he'd expected a different reaction; after all, Fujiwara liked fish enough to have memorized entire passages of Ogata's copy of A Practical Guide to Freshwater Fish.
~ ~ ~
As Ogata had thought, Fujiwara thoroughly enjoyed the Yokohama aquarium. It had been a few years since Ogata had last visited, so several of the exhibits were new to him as well. Ogata took pictures of some of the most attractive fish and arrangements, just in case he decided to set up his own saltwater tank in the future.
After they had finished viewing the aquariums on the third floor, it was almost starting time for the next “Marine Mammal Show” so they walked up to the open-air stadium on the fourth floor. The show had a definite slant towards families with young children (on cue, the sea lions made raspberry noises and clapped their fins together), but Ogata was still impressed by the expertise of the handlers, in particular with the dolphins and whales. The handlers had basically trained large, potentially dangerous animals to push them around the pool and flip them up into the air for a few fish, yet there was no hesitation on the part of the animals to obey, as if they had a strong bond of trust and cooperation with their handlers. (Either that, or the rewards were really, really tasty.)
The show finished, so the only place they hadn't visited yet was the “Dolphin Fantasy” building, an unfortunate name that invoked images of a hyper twelve-year-old girl with pink bedroom walls emblazoned with a mural of neon purple dolphins. But the building itself, thankfully, was painted a sensible ocean blue, and although there was a dolphin mural on its walls, the dolphins were a natural gray shade with nary a hint of neon in sight. Directly inside the building's entrance was a small gift shop, but Ogata's eye was drawn past it to the magnificent glass tunnel that stretched down the length of most of the building. The glass had been molded in one solid piece so visitors underneath were provided with a seamless view of the dolphins darting about the tunnel. At the very end of the tunnel was a small, dark room with a cylindrical tank in which a solitary white beluga floated.
“Oh wow!” Fujiwara looked like he could barely restrain himself from pressing up against the glass and smudging it. “The show was wonderful, but here you can get much closer to the dolphins,” Fujiwara said as a small, white-sided dolphin floated down to his eye-level. The dolphin regarded him with one black eye for a long moment, apparently equally as curious as its human visitor. “They seem extremely intelligent.”
“After humans, dolphins are thought to be the smartest animals,” Ogata said. “They have very complex social behaviors, and each dolphin even has its own distinct name.” According to National Geographic, that was. Ogata had subscribed mostly because the monthly ran informative articles about aquatic life in just about every other issue.
Fujiwara watched the dolphin dart away to rejoin a pod drifting in formation. “I wonder what that cute little fellow's name is?”
“Whistle-Click-Click-Squeal the Second,” Ogata said, completely deadpan.
“Really?! Where do you see his name?” Fujiwara glanced up and down the tunnel, looking for a sign.
Ogata pulled his park guide out of his back pocket. “Right here, didn't you read this earlier?”
“Yes, I must have missed it!” said Fujiwara, taking the guide.
“The names are right next to the 'Dolphin' pronunciation chart,” Ogata offered helpfully as Fujiwara scoured the guide. Ogata bit back a smirk, aware that it was probably a sign of a deep moral depravity that he could derive pleasure from teasing an amnesiac. Luckily, Ogata had never been overly concerned with ethics because he didn't particularly want to stop the teasing; Fujiwara was just so earnest and curious and as a bonus, he made very amusing faces when he was indignant. Ashiwara also made entertaining expressions when teased, but Ogata had to be careful not to torment Ashiwara too much, or people would shoot him looks usually reserved for puppy-kickers. Ogata also had a special fondness for the way Akira's face flushed the most endearing shades of red when he was embarrassed, but lately Akira-kun had grown increasingly difficult to unsettle. Accursed teenage cynicism.
“Ogata-sensei is a horrible, horrible man.” Fujiwara had closed the guide and was rapping it against his palm sharply, but his affronted tone was belied by upturned corners of his mouth.
Ogata shrugged. “It's true, but I can't accept full responsibility when you make those faces.”
“I don't make faces. That would be childish. And unrefined.” Fujiwara folded his arms and pursed his lips.
“That's my second favorite face. I call it your 'Indignant Schoolmistress' expression. All you need are bifocals and a bun to complete it.”
Fujiwara smacked Ogata on the elbow with the guide. “I do not look like a schoolmistress.”
Ogata continued on as if he hadn't noticed the assault on his elbow. “My favorite, though, is when you puff your cheeks out. You look just like those puffer fish we saw earlier.”
“How awful, comparing me to a prickly fish and an old schoolmistress! Ogata-sensei must think I'm ugly!” Fujiwara aimed another blow at Ogata's elbow, but Ogata snagged Fujiwara's wrist this time and pulled forward, unbalancing Fujiwara enough that Fujiwara almost bumped into him.
“I never said I thought schoolmistresses were ugly, and I find puffer fish a rather tasty dish,” Ogata said softly into Fujiwara's ear before extracting the guide from Fujiwara with his other hand.
“Oh! That's... interesting,” Fujiwara said breathlessly before tugging free. He whirled around to face the tank, but not before Ogata saw that his cheeks were flushed.
Not surprising. Even if Fujiwara hadn't grasped the precise innuendo, the man could have hardly failed to notice Ogata's tone; he had been more or less purring in the other man's ear. Ogata reprimanded himself mentally; he hadn't intended to escalate the teasing quite like that. It had just happened - an excuse which sounded spectacularly stupid, even to his own ears. Ogata did not “do” unplanned, especially when it went against something he'd decided. Although Ogata had never explicitly told Fujiwara not to touch him after the hugging incident, Fujiwara seemed to have decided on his own that he shouldn't, perhaps simply from following Ogata's lead. For all his childish exuberance, Fujiwara was quite concerned with proper behavior and etiquette, so he'd obviously been flustered by the unexpected physical contact.
Ogata hadn't realized that he'd grown overly relaxed with Fujiwara, although in retrospect he ought to have been on his guard: he'd been living with Fujiwara for some time, after all. Since early May... and soon it would be July. Almost two months, then. Ogata didn't have any prior experience living with other people (his mother most certainly Did Not Count); he'd lived by himself ever since graduating high school. So he hadn't expected to get... attached. Well, Ogata resolved, he'd simply have to keep a tighter rein on himself. Attachments were messy, especially ones involving roommates. Mutually beneficial relationships shouldn't be allowed to devolve into attachments.
Fujiwara was still pretending to be preoccupied with the dolphins, so Ogata walked to the beluga tank by himself. The whale looked particularly stunning with its white skin glowing in the dimly lit room, although the lights were likely dimmed for the animal's comfort and not for the aesthetics. Belugas lived in the Arctic and spent much of their time submerged in dark, ice-covered water, which meant they were light-sensitive. Ogata frowned at his digital camera, wondering if he could take a decent picture with his flash turned off. The cylindrical shape of the tank would also probably cause some distortion if he tried to take a full-body shot. Maybe a postcard would be a better idea.
Ogata looked up from his camera and noticed that Fujiwara had wandered into the room while he'd been busy fiddling with the settings. Fujiwara stood still and silent, watching as the whale turned around and around in endless circles, gliding through the water like an apparition. Shadows flickered across Fujiwara's face as the whale's movements diffracted the tank's lighting.
Ogata's blood chilled at the unbidden memory of Fujiwara floating in the canal, long white sleeves billowing out in the dark water.
“Don't whales have names too? A language?” Fujiwara's voice was somber, devoid of the joy he'd displayed while watching the dolphins.
“I don't know if they have names, but they do have songs, so I suppose they must have a language,” Ogata said.
“Why is this one all by himself? There are seven dolphins in that other tank.”
“Whales need more space than dolphins. And it certainly seems to be healthy; look at how active it is. It's been swimming the whole time.” If captive marine mammals were pining, they usually became listless and refused to eat, but this one was energetic and well-nourished. Obviously, there was nothing wrong with it, and frankly, Ogata cared a lot less about the whale's hypothetical well-being than shaking that odd, irrational sensation that had come over him. It should not matter one iota that Fujiwara was standing next to a tank. A secured tank was definitely not a deserted canal; people couldn't stumble into tanks.
“But no one can hear him sing.”
“There are other ways to communicate. I spotted it blowing air bubbles at that little girl who was in here earlier. It seemed at least as amused as she was.” The little tableau had been disgustingly cute, like something that would get plastered on a sappy greeting card.
“Being seen, being able to see... but he's still separate. Untouchable. That seems like such a lonely existence, doesn't it?” Then Fujiwara looked over his shoulder to offer Ogata a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, Ogata-sensei. I don't know why I keep asking annoying questions!”
Those eyes. Fujiwara was smiling, but his eyes were brimming with a sorrow that seemed too ancient to belong in Fujiwara's young face. Ogata had met those strikingly incongruous eyes before - but only over the goban, and only during particularly fierce struggles. Ogata had come to associate the look with some inner reservoir of Fujiwara's talent surfacing, so meeting that expression outside of go was unsettling. Even more unsettling, Fujiwara himself seemed completely unaware of that presence he possessed. Had the amnesia fractured Fujiwara that badly?
“Your questions aren't annoying,” Ogata said. “You have an interesting perspective.”
“...are you sure you don't mind?”
“Not at all. It's natural for you to ask a lot of questions, given your condition.” Fujiwara's questions were definitely odd sometimes, but Ogata welcomed the opportunity to gain insight into how the other man's brilliant mind worked. And perhaps enough of the right questions would be the key to Fujiwara recalling a piece of critical information.
Fujiwara looked relieved. “I do like this aquarium. If we lived closer, I'd be tempted to visit every day.”
“You're in luck: there are several aquariums off the Yamanote Line; they just aren't as big as this one. I'll have to take you to the one in Shinagawa since you like dolphins so much.” Ogata glanced at his watch. “Anyway, we're about finished now. Let's get dinner,” he said, rather eager to leave. The mental image of Fujiwara half-drowned was still a little too fresh in his mind for him to feel comfortable staying any longer.
“Can we visit a Chinese restaurant? I want to practice ordering in Chinese. I think I'm improving because yesterday Lian-san said 'you don't make me wince in pain so much anymore.' ”
Ogata arched an eyebrow. “Coming from her, that's practically a compliment. Just do me a favor and don't offer to help her improve her Japanese.”
Fujiwara agreed with a laugh, and they walked towards the park exit, that inexplicable sadness gradually dissipating from Fujiwara's eyes as they talked. What could have possibly happened, Ogata wondered, that Fujiwara could be affected by the pain without the actual memory itself? And how would Fujiwara react when he did remember? Fujiwara gave off an air of vulnerability, like he'd never learned how to properly filter out the world when necessary, never learned how to absorb its shocks. Maybe it was a side-effect of being too trusting.
Ogata made a sardonic little snort, quietly so that Fujiwara didn't notice. He'd been cured of that particular flaw at a rather young age, thanks to Daddy Dearest. Still, it had been about the most useful thing his father had taught him during their short time together. Perhaps he ought to feel grateful to have learned early.
~ ~ ~
That evening Fujiwara had a nightmare.
Ogata had always been a light sleeper, so the sound of muffled sobs roused him awake and drew him to Fujiwara's bedroom door. He hesitated when his hand was on the doorknob, not wanting to invade the other man's privacy. On the other hand, Fujiwara was crying so hard that his breathing sounded ragged, and it wasn't as if Ogata would be able to go back to sleep while wondering what was wrong.
“May I come in?” Ogata called out, rapping on the door. There was a garbled noise that Ogata interpreted as assent, so he pushed the door open gingerly.
The bedside lamp was on. Fujiwara was hunched over on the edge of his bed, his face covered by his hands. Every now and then his body shuddered.
“Are you sick?” Ogata offered politely, in case Fujiwara didn't want to explain the real problem.
Fujiwara raised his head at the question, but stared blankly at Ogata, his vision unfocused as tears slipped down his face.
Ogata moved closer. “I said, do you feel ill?”
Fujiwara suddenly reached out, latching onto Ogata's wrist, and Ogata blinked in surprise. Fujiwara had a strong grip, even though his hand was trembling.
“Don't leave,” Fujiwara whispered hoarsely, then dropped his head down again.
“I won't,” Ogata promised. Even though he was completely out of his comfort zone. People just didn't come to Ogata when they needed a shoulder to cry on; even his girlfriends had seemed to prefer their own friends when they needed emotional support. Which had always suited Ogata; if he'd wanted to play shrink he would have gone into counseling instead of go. But Fujiwara didn't have anyone else, so he was stuck with Ogata. Lucky guy.
A few long moments passed, but Fujiwara kept crying, although more quietly than before. Deciding that Fujiwara wasn't likely to stop anytime soon, Ogata sat down next to Fujiwara, his wrist still firmly ensnared by Fujiwara's long, damp fingers. Ogata felt awkward sitting there doing nothing, so he put his free right hand over the back of Fujiwara's hand and started patting it, simply because of a vague memory of his mother doing the same for him when he was small and confused.
Ogata lost track of time as he continued the patting, lulled by the dim lamplight and his lingering sleepiness into drifting, but gradually Fujiwara's breathing evened out and the shaking ceased, although tears still streaked down his face.
“Do you want to want to talk about it?” Under normal circumstances, Ogata would not ask. But Ogata wouldn't be patting someone's hand under normal circumstances either, so he supposed that asking personal questions could hardly be breaking any worse taboos.
Fujiwara bit at his lip. “I... think so. But I don't understand it.”
“That doesn't matter, if you think you'd feel better sharing.”
Fujiwara started to turn his head as if to look at Ogata, but then he dropped it again, fixing his gaze on their hands instead. “I... had a dream, but I don't remember all of it. I know that I was with my friend. We were playing go. I remember the game, we didn't get very far... I think because my friend was so tired. I realized he was falling asleep, so I tried to speak to him.” Fujiwara gave a sharp sob then, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. “But he didn't answer. He didn't answer! I called and called, but he couldn't hear me anymore! Why didn't he answer?!”
Ogata furrowed his brows together, trying to puzzle out exactly why the dream had upset Fujiwara so much. So he'd been playing go with his friend, and his friend had fallen asleep: perhaps an annoying memory, but not nightmare quality. Unless, Ogata realized with a sensation of dread --
“I just wanted to say goodbye. I remember... I just wanted to say goodbye.”
--Fujiwara's friend had died. He had died, so he couldn't hear Fujiwara calling him anymore.
Fujiwara's grasp on Ogata tightened and Ogata winced, but he couldn't bring himself to mention it.
“I think we were very close. Because it hurts so much even though I can't remember his face.”
People were supposed to say something in situations like this, weren't they? Ogata's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “He was playing go with you. I'm sure he was happy.”
Fujiwara wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes. If I had to... pass on myself, I can't think of a better way to leave than while playing a talented opponent. Especially a friend.”
Fujiwara let a shaky breath out. “That doesn't sound too bad, when you phrase it like that. But I wish I could remember him better. I wondered why he... passed on. He was very young.”
“How do you know? Do you remember his voice?”
“No, he didn't speak in the dream. But I saw his hands; they were small. He was playing Black.”
Ogata nodded. After hearing the description of the nightmare, he had a very good idea about what had triggered it. The neurologist had suggested that exploring Fujiwara's interests might help his memories surface, and obviously the neurologist had been quite correct. Fujiwara's sympathy for that whale's isolation had triggered his memory of his friend's death. Somehow it seemed terribly unfair that the most complete memory Fujiwara had recovered was such a tragic one. Yet, it was perhaps the best lead Fujiwara would get. “Do you remember anything else?” Ogata asked gently.
Fujiwara shook his head. “Not right now.” Then Fujiwara's eyes went round as he apparently finally registered that he was indeed gripping Ogata's hand, and he hastily withdrew his hand. “Oh, please excuse me! I didn't mean to grab you like that!”
Fujiwara's apologies only became more profuse when he saw that he had left red marks on Ogata's wrist, and then he started apologizing over having awoken Ogata at such an inconvenient hour. Ogata cut Fujiwara off after he began repeating himself. “I don't have a match or a commitment tomorrow, and I'm hardly a delicate flower. So I give you permission to stop obsessing about it,” Ogata said dryly.
“I'm just glad I didn't bruise you,” Fujiwara said, embarrassed. “But I suppose you must want to get back to sleep, now...”
Ogata did not miss the note of hesitation in Fujiwara's voice. Fujiwara did not want him to leave, although Ogata knew Fujiwara wouldn't ask him to stay again, thinking he'd already imposed too much on Ogata. “No, I'm mostly awake now. Maybe I'll just take this opportunity to commandeer that book you've been hogging and read in here for awhile.”
“It's a very interesting book,” Fujiwara said as he retrieved it from his nightstand. “I'm actually rereading it.”
“Like I said, hogging it,” Ogata said, settling down into the chair near the window.
Fujiwara handed him the book. “You don't need your glasses? I've never seen you not wearing them.”
“I'm near-sighted, but I'm perfectly capable of reading a book or a computer screen or a goban without them. It's just inconvenient to need to look at something far away and not have them on, so I usually don't take them off.” Ogata hadn't thought about putting them on when he'd been woken up.
“Oh, I see,” Fujiwara said, his gaze flickering over Ogata's face with interest.
Ogata flipped the book open to Chapter 6, which was as far as he'd read before he had forgotten the book on the counter and Fujiwara had gleefully made off with it.
He was almost finished with Chapter 6 when he heard the bed covers rustle as Fujiwara slid back under them. Ogata noticed that Fujiwara had chosen to lie on his right side so he was facing Ogata.
By Chapter 9, Fujiwara's eyelids were fluttering shut.
Ogata was puzzling over a passage in Chapter 10 when Fujiwara's voice drifted in, faint and sleep-slurred. “I'll try to not be so weak. I don't want to be a burden.”
Ogata looked up sharply over the top of the book. Fujiwara's eyes were closed, and he seemed more asleep than awake. Still, Ogata took time to consider his response. Before he'd met Fujiwara, Ogata would have thought it disdainful for a man to be so openly emotional, willing to laugh or cry easily without reservation. Ogata would have found it especially foolish to expose oneself in a moment of vulnerability like a nightmare. But then there was Fujiwara - Fujiwara, who lacked the knowledge and discernment that his damaged memory couldn't provide. Yet Fujiwara still anticipated new experiences with eagerness instead of dread, and he was also comfortable enough with himself that he didn't find it necessary to censor his emotions. And perhaps there was a strength in being capable of deep trust as well, to have that much faith in another person.
“The only kind of person who's truly weak is a coward who runs from his problems or obligations instead of facing them,” Ogata said. “You are neither weak nor a burden. Although you are a shameless book thief and you placed my bookmark God knows where, and some of us don't have an eidetic memory and actually need bookmarks.”
The only response Ogata received was the sound of Fujiwara's steady breathing: he'd finally fallen asleep. Ogata shut the book and moved to turn the bedside lamp off, but almost stepped on Fujiwara's hair. Fujiwara was lying too close to the edge of the bed and his hair trailed off the bed, falling onto the floor in long loops. Your hair might be too long if it presents a roadblock to foot traffic, Ogata thought, amused. He'd wanted to ask Fujiwara why he wore his hair so long, but he hadn't, assuming Fujiwara probably wouldn't recall the reason. Maybe Fujiwara simply liked the way his hair looked on him, enough to spend the time required to maintain it. He probably wouldn't be happy if he woke up in the morning and realized that his hair had been on the floor all night.
Ogata decided to be considerate and move Fujiwara's hair. So he could actually reach the table to turn off the lamp, of course. He crouched down and carefully slid his hands through the hair, gathering it up into a bunch to make it easy to pick up. It was soft and felt like silk against Ogata's skin. No wonder Fujiwara wore it long, if it felt that nice against his neck and face. There was enough of it, though, that the hair had some heft, like hair a model would have, Ogata decided, running his fingers through it.
Ogata's ears suddenly grew hot as he realized he was more or less playing with his sleeping roommate's hair, and it would be somewhat awkward to explain if said roommate happened to wake up. He hastily draped the hair over Fujiwara's bed covers, then clicked the lamp off and left the room (taking the book, of course.)
So much for his resolve to eschew attachments.
~ ~ ~
Part I, Author's Notes:
I had fun writing Kurata. I hope no one is too disappointed that I had him lose the Gosei Challengers' Match. ^^;; But he still has his Ouza title!
Waya - I was nervous about switching POV, especially to a character I'm not so familiar with. So I spent a lot of time rereading Waya's manga scenes. He's an interesting character - he can be rude, very blunt, and prone to outbursts, yet he also has some strict standards about "proper" behavior and he's quite deferential to his superiors, even calling Isumi "-san." Waya also believes strongly in obligations (remember when he's losing to Hikaru during the pro match arc? He thinks of his teacher.) I hope this ideas came across in the chapter.
Amateur rankings: I got my information from Wikipedia and Sensei's Library. Basically 7-dan is as high as you can go in Japan's Amateur rankings, although there is an 8-dan special title. In truth, Fujiwara hasn't "earned" any amateur ranking at all, the owner at Iwamoto is just trying to find a way to rank him for handicapping purposes.
Why didn't Sai mention that he *does* actually play a pro on a regular basis? Maybe Chen Lian-san said it would be tacky, like he's bragging. Sai strikes me as the type to try to avoid that, unless he's teasing his friends.
Sai reminds Waya of Touya Akira a lot. I noticed in the series that Sai really seemed to like Akira and understand him, so I figure he has some similarities to Akira.
Sai is obviously uncomfortable with Waya's questions because he doesn't know the answers to them, and he doesn't like the idea of lying or making up answers.
Part II Notes:
Ogata is the sort of man to not only check his fire alarm batteries, but also keep a schedule for his routine maintenance. Just saying.
Murakami and Mishima are angelfish, and Ginko and Momiji are guppies.
I used to keep freshwater and saltwater tanks with my dad. I didn't name those fish, but I did have names for the bettas (Siamese fighting fish) I kept. Some fish will "come" when they see you approach the tank in order to beg for food. I also had a betta who would flare his gills out at me to demand food.
Please anticipate the scene in which Fujiwara meets Kuwabara, and blurts out "Oh, we have a fish named Kuwabara!"
http://www.seaparadise.co.jp/aquaresorts/ Yokohama Hakkeijima Sea Paradise is a real aquarium. I've visited it twice, the last time with my beta, aiwritingfic! There are indeed many wonderful aquariums in and around Tokyo.
National Geographic rocks. Too bad the subscription for it is very expensive in Japan (because I have to read it in English.)
Sai does make a really darn cute puffy face. I just wanna pinch his cheeks!
We'll learn a little more about Ogata's father later on. The scene with Ogata's mother wouldn't have fit in well into this chapter.
The nightmare scene was tricky to write. Thankfully my betas helped me smooth it out. I hope it is understandable. These last two scenes are fairly ambitious since I advance the relationship between Sai and Ogata a lot. I hope I kept them in character. ~~;;
This will be the last desynch chapter of the year, but I hope the length makes up for it a little. Heheh. I've got to finish my fifthmus, and then I'm going back to America for several weeks.
Feedback, comments, criticism, etc. are always welcomed!
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai. No pairings currently.
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: Ages 16 and up. Mild cursing and sensuality. It's possible the rating will go up eventually. Also, plot-device amnesia and resurrection...
Word Count: Part I, 5847. Part II, 5042.
Notes: Much thanks to my betas harumi and aiwritingfic!
I would apologize for the delay in updating, but this is a really long chapter. So I won't.
desynchronization: Chapter VII, Part II
Ogata slid his Mazda into his parking spot in the condominium's garage, then popped the trunk and pulled out his suitcase. It certainly was convenient that he'd been able to secure an apartment with an adjacent garage, especially since he seemed to be travelling more and more frequently as he advanced his career. Hauling luggage around Tokyo was unpleasant, to say the least, even if one travelled light like he did.
Still, Ogata usually enjoyed travelling (as long as the accommodations were decent) but lately he'd felt a little more reluctant to travel since that meant leaving Fujiwara alone. Not that Fujiwara was irresponsible - he listened attentively when Ogata explained the more mundane, non-go-related details of daily life like turning off the stove, locking the door, and avoiding certain areas. But sometimes Ogata was still taken aback by the gaps in Fujiwara's memory, even though he knew how severe the other man's amnesia was. Last week Ogata had been performing a routine test of his fire alarm's batteries, and Fujiwara had been so startled he'd jumped, banging his knee on the coffee table hard enough to almost knock the goban off the table. After a few questions, Ogata had discovered that Fujiwara had not only forgotten fire alarms, but earthquake and typhoon protocol as well. Of course Ogata had given Fujiwara thorough explanations then, but he couldn't be certain he'd remembered every essential survival tip. He'd never been responsible for completely re-educating an adult before.
That Fujiwara was just so naturally trusting complicated matters, especially since Shinjuku wasn't one of Tokyo's safest wards. But at least he wasn't likely to bump into many dangerous characters while indulging in his go obsession. Lately, Fujiwara had been visiting a neighborhood go salon that Lian-san had recommended when Fujiwara had been sulking about Ogata's four-day conference in Nagoya. Initially Ogata had harbored some private reservations about Fujiwara visiting a go salon, but judging from Fujiwara's chatter, he mostly just played shidougo with them. So it was unlikely Fujiwara would find someone else who could offer him a proper challenge.
“I'm back,” Ogata called out as he slipped off his shoes in the entranceway, but Fujiwara didn't answer so Ogata went to his bedroom to put his suitcase down.
Fujiwara was in the study, staring at the aquarium so intently that he didn't turn his head when Ogata entered.
“Anyone get eaten?”
Fujiwara glanced up and smiled. “Welcome back! And of course not, I kept them well fed. Murakami was chasing Mishima again, and Ginko and Momiji are going to give birth again. I also cleaned the gravel and did a partial water change.”
“You named the fish?”
“Well it's not as if I can just go around calling them “Pterophyllum altum Number One” and “Poecilia reticulata Number Three.” That would be rude,” Fujiwara said with a sniff that implied only a barbarian would disagree.
Ogata could hardly disappoint Fujiwara when he was making such a haughty expression and being a know-it-all as well. “They're fish. Naming cats and dogs makes sense because they'll come when you call and do tricks. Fish don't.”
“This clown loach does tricks... well, he's tricky, at least. He floats on his belly and plays dead, and he steals food from the other fish.”
Ogata stared at the black and orange striped fish in question, which was currently reclining on a plant, its belly distended with its ill-gotten gains. It stared back at him with a fishy smugness that somehow seemed familiar. Ogata smirked. “Well then, name this one Kuwabara.”
“Oh, that's a nice name.” Fujiwara pressed his nose against the tank, making cooing noises. “Kuwabara, you're a fat little cutie, aren't you? Yes you are!”
Ogata wondered if he'd ever be able to look at the old man with a straight face again, now that he had that lovely image burned into his mind. Probably not.
Fujiwara pulled himself away from the tank, wiping the smudge off with his jacket sleeve. “Let's have some tea, and you can tell me all about the demonstration game.”
A few minutes later, Ogata had a cup of pekoe tea cooling in his hands. “The demonstration went fine, except Ashiwara-sensei made a weak move here,” he said, leaning forward from the sofa to place the black stone on the goban.
“Because then you could cut Black off. Your next move was at 6-4, right?”
Ogata shook his head. “Actually, no. The game would have ended at around 120 moves then, and that would have been disappointing to the audience and sponsors. They expect an exchange between pros to last for a long time, and I don't mind being a little generous when it's not an official game. This is more like shidougo for the observers rather than a regular match.”
Fujiwara tapped his fan against his lips in consideration. “Shidougo for observers... but surely the commentators noticed and criticized you.”
“No, that isn't a possibility most would notice. That's why I chose not to make it. Ashiwara bugged me about it after the game, though. He's a good player, so he realized the mistake as soon as he'd finished placing the stone.”
Ogata finished recreating the game, then said, “Now that this conference is out of the way, I don't have any major commitments until the Gosei Title match starts in July. I was considering taking it easy for a few days. You seem to enjoy the fish a lot. How would you like to visit an aquarium museum? There's an excellent one in Yokohama.”
“An aquarium museum?”
“Basically imagine a lot of fish tanks, except full of hundreds of fish and thousands of liters of water. Aquariums are also allowed to keep rare species, and dolphins and whales.”
Fujiwara bounced in his seat, looking like he was about to burst from excitement. “Yes! Let's go! Let's go now! When is it open? Is it far?”
“I'll take that as a 'yes.' And I'm afraid it's too far to visit tonight,” said Ogata, amused at Fujiwara's exuberance. Not that he'd expected a different reaction; after all, Fujiwara liked fish enough to have memorized entire passages of Ogata's copy of A Practical Guide to Freshwater Fish.
~ ~ ~
As Ogata had thought, Fujiwara thoroughly enjoyed the Yokohama aquarium. It had been a few years since Ogata had last visited, so several of the exhibits were new to him as well. Ogata took pictures of some of the most attractive fish and arrangements, just in case he decided to set up his own saltwater tank in the future.
After they had finished viewing the aquariums on the third floor, it was almost starting time for the next “Marine Mammal Show” so they walked up to the open-air stadium on the fourth floor. The show had a definite slant towards families with young children (on cue, the sea lions made raspberry noises and clapped their fins together), but Ogata was still impressed by the expertise of the handlers, in particular with the dolphins and whales. The handlers had basically trained large, potentially dangerous animals to push them around the pool and flip them up into the air for a few fish, yet there was no hesitation on the part of the animals to obey, as if they had a strong bond of trust and cooperation with their handlers. (Either that, or the rewards were really, really tasty.)
The show finished, so the only place they hadn't visited yet was the “Dolphin Fantasy” building, an unfortunate name that invoked images of a hyper twelve-year-old girl with pink bedroom walls emblazoned with a mural of neon purple dolphins. But the building itself, thankfully, was painted a sensible ocean blue, and although there was a dolphin mural on its walls, the dolphins were a natural gray shade with nary a hint of neon in sight. Directly inside the building's entrance was a small gift shop, but Ogata's eye was drawn past it to the magnificent glass tunnel that stretched down the length of most of the building. The glass had been molded in one solid piece so visitors underneath were provided with a seamless view of the dolphins darting about the tunnel. At the very end of the tunnel was a small, dark room with a cylindrical tank in which a solitary white beluga floated.
“Oh wow!” Fujiwara looked like he could barely restrain himself from pressing up against the glass and smudging it. “The show was wonderful, but here you can get much closer to the dolphins,” Fujiwara said as a small, white-sided dolphin floated down to his eye-level. The dolphin regarded him with one black eye for a long moment, apparently equally as curious as its human visitor. “They seem extremely intelligent.”
“After humans, dolphins are thought to be the smartest animals,” Ogata said. “They have very complex social behaviors, and each dolphin even has its own distinct name.” According to National Geographic, that was. Ogata had subscribed mostly because the monthly ran informative articles about aquatic life in just about every other issue.
Fujiwara watched the dolphin dart away to rejoin a pod drifting in formation. “I wonder what that cute little fellow's name is?”
“Whistle-Click-Click-Squeal the Second,” Ogata said, completely deadpan.
“Really?! Where do you see his name?” Fujiwara glanced up and down the tunnel, looking for a sign.
Ogata pulled his park guide out of his back pocket. “Right here, didn't you read this earlier?”
“Yes, I must have missed it!” said Fujiwara, taking the guide.
“The names are right next to the 'Dolphin' pronunciation chart,” Ogata offered helpfully as Fujiwara scoured the guide. Ogata bit back a smirk, aware that it was probably a sign of a deep moral depravity that he could derive pleasure from teasing an amnesiac. Luckily, Ogata had never been overly concerned with ethics because he didn't particularly want to stop the teasing; Fujiwara was just so earnest and curious and as a bonus, he made very amusing faces when he was indignant. Ashiwara also made entertaining expressions when teased, but Ogata had to be careful not to torment Ashiwara too much, or people would shoot him looks usually reserved for puppy-kickers. Ogata also had a special fondness for the way Akira's face flushed the most endearing shades of red when he was embarrassed, but lately Akira-kun had grown increasingly difficult to unsettle. Accursed teenage cynicism.
“Ogata-sensei is a horrible, horrible man.” Fujiwara had closed the guide and was rapping it against his palm sharply, but his affronted tone was belied by upturned corners of his mouth.
Ogata shrugged. “It's true, but I can't accept full responsibility when you make those faces.”
“I don't make faces. That would be childish. And unrefined.” Fujiwara folded his arms and pursed his lips.
“That's my second favorite face. I call it your 'Indignant Schoolmistress' expression. All you need are bifocals and a bun to complete it.”
Fujiwara smacked Ogata on the elbow with the guide. “I do not look like a schoolmistress.”
Ogata continued on as if he hadn't noticed the assault on his elbow. “My favorite, though, is when you puff your cheeks out. You look just like those puffer fish we saw earlier.”
“How awful, comparing me to a prickly fish and an old schoolmistress! Ogata-sensei must think I'm ugly!” Fujiwara aimed another blow at Ogata's elbow, but Ogata snagged Fujiwara's wrist this time and pulled forward, unbalancing Fujiwara enough that Fujiwara almost bumped into him.
“I never said I thought schoolmistresses were ugly, and I find puffer fish a rather tasty dish,” Ogata said softly into Fujiwara's ear before extracting the guide from Fujiwara with his other hand.
“Oh! That's... interesting,” Fujiwara said breathlessly before tugging free. He whirled around to face the tank, but not before Ogata saw that his cheeks were flushed.
Not surprising. Even if Fujiwara hadn't grasped the precise innuendo, the man could have hardly failed to notice Ogata's tone; he had been more or less purring in the other man's ear. Ogata reprimanded himself mentally; he hadn't intended to escalate the teasing quite like that. It had just happened - an excuse which sounded spectacularly stupid, even to his own ears. Ogata did not “do” unplanned, especially when it went against something he'd decided. Although Ogata had never explicitly told Fujiwara not to touch him after the hugging incident, Fujiwara seemed to have decided on his own that he shouldn't, perhaps simply from following Ogata's lead. For all his childish exuberance, Fujiwara was quite concerned with proper behavior and etiquette, so he'd obviously been flustered by the unexpected physical contact.
Ogata hadn't realized that he'd grown overly relaxed with Fujiwara, although in retrospect he ought to have been on his guard: he'd been living with Fujiwara for some time, after all. Since early May... and soon it would be July. Almost two months, then. Ogata didn't have any prior experience living with other people (his mother most certainly Did Not Count); he'd lived by himself ever since graduating high school. So he hadn't expected to get... attached. Well, Ogata resolved, he'd simply have to keep a tighter rein on himself. Attachments were messy, especially ones involving roommates. Mutually beneficial relationships shouldn't be allowed to devolve into attachments.
Fujiwara was still pretending to be preoccupied with the dolphins, so Ogata walked to the beluga tank by himself. The whale looked particularly stunning with its white skin glowing in the dimly lit room, although the lights were likely dimmed for the animal's comfort and not for the aesthetics. Belugas lived in the Arctic and spent much of their time submerged in dark, ice-covered water, which meant they were light-sensitive. Ogata frowned at his digital camera, wondering if he could take a decent picture with his flash turned off. The cylindrical shape of the tank would also probably cause some distortion if he tried to take a full-body shot. Maybe a postcard would be a better idea.
Ogata looked up from his camera and noticed that Fujiwara had wandered into the room while he'd been busy fiddling with the settings. Fujiwara stood still and silent, watching as the whale turned around and around in endless circles, gliding through the water like an apparition. Shadows flickered across Fujiwara's face as the whale's movements diffracted the tank's lighting.
Ogata's blood chilled at the unbidden memory of Fujiwara floating in the canal, long white sleeves billowing out in the dark water.
“Don't whales have names too? A language?” Fujiwara's voice was somber, devoid of the joy he'd displayed while watching the dolphins.
“I don't know if they have names, but they do have songs, so I suppose they must have a language,” Ogata said.
“Why is this one all by himself? There are seven dolphins in that other tank.”
“Whales need more space than dolphins. And it certainly seems to be healthy; look at how active it is. It's been swimming the whole time.” If captive marine mammals were pining, they usually became listless and refused to eat, but this one was energetic and well-nourished. Obviously, there was nothing wrong with it, and frankly, Ogata cared a lot less about the whale's hypothetical well-being than shaking that odd, irrational sensation that had come over him. It should not matter one iota that Fujiwara was standing next to a tank. A secured tank was definitely not a deserted canal; people couldn't stumble into tanks.
“But no one can hear him sing.”
“There are other ways to communicate. I spotted it blowing air bubbles at that little girl who was in here earlier. It seemed at least as amused as she was.” The little tableau had been disgustingly cute, like something that would get plastered on a sappy greeting card.
“Being seen, being able to see... but he's still separate. Untouchable. That seems like such a lonely existence, doesn't it?” Then Fujiwara looked over his shoulder to offer Ogata a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, Ogata-sensei. I don't know why I keep asking annoying questions!”
Those eyes. Fujiwara was smiling, but his eyes were brimming with a sorrow that seemed too ancient to belong in Fujiwara's young face. Ogata had met those strikingly incongruous eyes before - but only over the goban, and only during particularly fierce struggles. Ogata had come to associate the look with some inner reservoir of Fujiwara's talent surfacing, so meeting that expression outside of go was unsettling. Even more unsettling, Fujiwara himself seemed completely unaware of that presence he possessed. Had the amnesia fractured Fujiwara that badly?
“Your questions aren't annoying,” Ogata said. “You have an interesting perspective.”
“...are you sure you don't mind?”
“Not at all. It's natural for you to ask a lot of questions, given your condition.” Fujiwara's questions were definitely odd sometimes, but Ogata welcomed the opportunity to gain insight into how the other man's brilliant mind worked. And perhaps enough of the right questions would be the key to Fujiwara recalling a piece of critical information.
Fujiwara looked relieved. “I do like this aquarium. If we lived closer, I'd be tempted to visit every day.”
“You're in luck: there are several aquariums off the Yamanote Line; they just aren't as big as this one. I'll have to take you to the one in Shinagawa since you like dolphins so much.” Ogata glanced at his watch. “Anyway, we're about finished now. Let's get dinner,” he said, rather eager to leave. The mental image of Fujiwara half-drowned was still a little too fresh in his mind for him to feel comfortable staying any longer.
“Can we visit a Chinese restaurant? I want to practice ordering in Chinese. I think I'm improving because yesterday Lian-san said 'you don't make me wince in pain so much anymore.' ”
Ogata arched an eyebrow. “Coming from her, that's practically a compliment. Just do me a favor and don't offer to help her improve her Japanese.”
Fujiwara agreed with a laugh, and they walked towards the park exit, that inexplicable sadness gradually dissipating from Fujiwara's eyes as they talked. What could have possibly happened, Ogata wondered, that Fujiwara could be affected by the pain without the actual memory itself? And how would Fujiwara react when he did remember? Fujiwara gave off an air of vulnerability, like he'd never learned how to properly filter out the world when necessary, never learned how to absorb its shocks. Maybe it was a side-effect of being too trusting.
Ogata made a sardonic little snort, quietly so that Fujiwara didn't notice. He'd been cured of that particular flaw at a rather young age, thanks to Daddy Dearest. Still, it had been about the most useful thing his father had taught him during their short time together. Perhaps he ought to feel grateful to have learned early.
~ ~ ~
That evening Fujiwara had a nightmare.
Ogata had always been a light sleeper, so the sound of muffled sobs roused him awake and drew him to Fujiwara's bedroom door. He hesitated when his hand was on the doorknob, not wanting to invade the other man's privacy. On the other hand, Fujiwara was crying so hard that his breathing sounded ragged, and it wasn't as if Ogata would be able to go back to sleep while wondering what was wrong.
“May I come in?” Ogata called out, rapping on the door. There was a garbled noise that Ogata interpreted as assent, so he pushed the door open gingerly.
The bedside lamp was on. Fujiwara was hunched over on the edge of his bed, his face covered by his hands. Every now and then his body shuddered.
“Are you sick?” Ogata offered politely, in case Fujiwara didn't want to explain the real problem.
Fujiwara raised his head at the question, but stared blankly at Ogata, his vision unfocused as tears slipped down his face.
Ogata moved closer. “I said, do you feel ill?”
Fujiwara suddenly reached out, latching onto Ogata's wrist, and Ogata blinked in surprise. Fujiwara had a strong grip, even though his hand was trembling.
“Don't leave,” Fujiwara whispered hoarsely, then dropped his head down again.
“I won't,” Ogata promised. Even though he was completely out of his comfort zone. People just didn't come to Ogata when they needed a shoulder to cry on; even his girlfriends had seemed to prefer their own friends when they needed emotional support. Which had always suited Ogata; if he'd wanted to play shrink he would have gone into counseling instead of go. But Fujiwara didn't have anyone else, so he was stuck with Ogata. Lucky guy.
A few long moments passed, but Fujiwara kept crying, although more quietly than before. Deciding that Fujiwara wasn't likely to stop anytime soon, Ogata sat down next to Fujiwara, his wrist still firmly ensnared by Fujiwara's long, damp fingers. Ogata felt awkward sitting there doing nothing, so he put his free right hand over the back of Fujiwara's hand and started patting it, simply because of a vague memory of his mother doing the same for him when he was small and confused.
Ogata lost track of time as he continued the patting, lulled by the dim lamplight and his lingering sleepiness into drifting, but gradually Fujiwara's breathing evened out and the shaking ceased, although tears still streaked down his face.
“Do you want to want to talk about it?” Under normal circumstances, Ogata would not ask. But Ogata wouldn't be patting someone's hand under normal circumstances either, so he supposed that asking personal questions could hardly be breaking any worse taboos.
Fujiwara bit at his lip. “I... think so. But I don't understand it.”
“That doesn't matter, if you think you'd feel better sharing.”
Fujiwara started to turn his head as if to look at Ogata, but then he dropped it again, fixing his gaze on their hands instead. “I... had a dream, but I don't remember all of it. I know that I was with my friend. We were playing go. I remember the game, we didn't get very far... I think because my friend was so tired. I realized he was falling asleep, so I tried to speak to him.” Fujiwara gave a sharp sob then, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. “But he didn't answer. He didn't answer! I called and called, but he couldn't hear me anymore! Why didn't he answer?!”
Ogata furrowed his brows together, trying to puzzle out exactly why the dream had upset Fujiwara so much. So he'd been playing go with his friend, and his friend had fallen asleep: perhaps an annoying memory, but not nightmare quality. Unless, Ogata realized with a sensation of dread --
“I just wanted to say goodbye. I remember... I just wanted to say goodbye.”
--Fujiwara's friend had died. He had died, so he couldn't hear Fujiwara calling him anymore.
Fujiwara's grasp on Ogata tightened and Ogata winced, but he couldn't bring himself to mention it.
“I think we were very close. Because it hurts so much even though I can't remember his face.”
People were supposed to say something in situations like this, weren't they? Ogata's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “He was playing go with you. I'm sure he was happy.”
Fujiwara wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes. If I had to... pass on myself, I can't think of a better way to leave than while playing a talented opponent. Especially a friend.”
Fujiwara let a shaky breath out. “That doesn't sound too bad, when you phrase it like that. But I wish I could remember him better. I wondered why he... passed on. He was very young.”
“How do you know? Do you remember his voice?”
“No, he didn't speak in the dream. But I saw his hands; they were small. He was playing Black.”
Ogata nodded. After hearing the description of the nightmare, he had a very good idea about what had triggered it. The neurologist had suggested that exploring Fujiwara's interests might help his memories surface, and obviously the neurologist had been quite correct. Fujiwara's sympathy for that whale's isolation had triggered his memory of his friend's death. Somehow it seemed terribly unfair that the most complete memory Fujiwara had recovered was such a tragic one. Yet, it was perhaps the best lead Fujiwara would get. “Do you remember anything else?” Ogata asked gently.
Fujiwara shook his head. “Not right now.” Then Fujiwara's eyes went round as he apparently finally registered that he was indeed gripping Ogata's hand, and he hastily withdrew his hand. “Oh, please excuse me! I didn't mean to grab you like that!”
Fujiwara's apologies only became more profuse when he saw that he had left red marks on Ogata's wrist, and then he started apologizing over having awoken Ogata at such an inconvenient hour. Ogata cut Fujiwara off after he began repeating himself. “I don't have a match or a commitment tomorrow, and I'm hardly a delicate flower. So I give you permission to stop obsessing about it,” Ogata said dryly.
“I'm just glad I didn't bruise you,” Fujiwara said, embarrassed. “But I suppose you must want to get back to sleep, now...”
Ogata did not miss the note of hesitation in Fujiwara's voice. Fujiwara did not want him to leave, although Ogata knew Fujiwara wouldn't ask him to stay again, thinking he'd already imposed too much on Ogata. “No, I'm mostly awake now. Maybe I'll just take this opportunity to commandeer that book you've been hogging and read in here for awhile.”
“It's a very interesting book,” Fujiwara said as he retrieved it from his nightstand. “I'm actually rereading it.”
“Like I said, hogging it,” Ogata said, settling down into the chair near the window.
Fujiwara handed him the book. “You don't need your glasses? I've never seen you not wearing them.”
“I'm near-sighted, but I'm perfectly capable of reading a book or a computer screen or a goban without them. It's just inconvenient to need to look at something far away and not have them on, so I usually don't take them off.” Ogata hadn't thought about putting them on when he'd been woken up.
“Oh, I see,” Fujiwara said, his gaze flickering over Ogata's face with interest.
Ogata flipped the book open to Chapter 6, which was as far as he'd read before he had forgotten the book on the counter and Fujiwara had gleefully made off with it.
He was almost finished with Chapter 6 when he heard the bed covers rustle as Fujiwara slid back under them. Ogata noticed that Fujiwara had chosen to lie on his right side so he was facing Ogata.
By Chapter 9, Fujiwara's eyelids were fluttering shut.
Ogata was puzzling over a passage in Chapter 10 when Fujiwara's voice drifted in, faint and sleep-slurred. “I'll try to not be so weak. I don't want to be a burden.”
Ogata looked up sharply over the top of the book. Fujiwara's eyes were closed, and he seemed more asleep than awake. Still, Ogata took time to consider his response. Before he'd met Fujiwara, Ogata would have thought it disdainful for a man to be so openly emotional, willing to laugh or cry easily without reservation. Ogata would have found it especially foolish to expose oneself in a moment of vulnerability like a nightmare. But then there was Fujiwara - Fujiwara, who lacked the knowledge and discernment that his damaged memory couldn't provide. Yet Fujiwara still anticipated new experiences with eagerness instead of dread, and he was also comfortable enough with himself that he didn't find it necessary to censor his emotions. And perhaps there was a strength in being capable of deep trust as well, to have that much faith in another person.
“The only kind of person who's truly weak is a coward who runs from his problems or obligations instead of facing them,” Ogata said. “You are neither weak nor a burden. Although you are a shameless book thief and you placed my bookmark God knows where, and some of us don't have an eidetic memory and actually need bookmarks.”
The only response Ogata received was the sound of Fujiwara's steady breathing: he'd finally fallen asleep. Ogata shut the book and moved to turn the bedside lamp off, but almost stepped on Fujiwara's hair. Fujiwara was lying too close to the edge of the bed and his hair trailed off the bed, falling onto the floor in long loops. Your hair might be too long if it presents a roadblock to foot traffic, Ogata thought, amused. He'd wanted to ask Fujiwara why he wore his hair so long, but he hadn't, assuming Fujiwara probably wouldn't recall the reason. Maybe Fujiwara simply liked the way his hair looked on him, enough to spend the time required to maintain it. He probably wouldn't be happy if he woke up in the morning and realized that his hair had been on the floor all night.
Ogata decided to be considerate and move Fujiwara's hair. So he could actually reach the table to turn off the lamp, of course. He crouched down and carefully slid his hands through the hair, gathering it up into a bunch to make it easy to pick up. It was soft and felt like silk against Ogata's skin. No wonder Fujiwara wore it long, if it felt that nice against his neck and face. There was enough of it, though, that the hair had some heft, like hair a model would have, Ogata decided, running his fingers through it.
Ogata's ears suddenly grew hot as he realized he was more or less playing with his sleeping roommate's hair, and it would be somewhat awkward to explain if said roommate happened to wake up. He hastily draped the hair over Fujiwara's bed covers, then clicked the lamp off and left the room (taking the book, of course.)
So much for his resolve to eschew attachments.
~ ~ ~
Part I, Author's Notes:
I had fun writing Kurata. I hope no one is too disappointed that I had him lose the Gosei Challengers' Match. ^^;; But he still has his Ouza title!
Waya - I was nervous about switching POV, especially to a character I'm not so familiar with. So I spent a lot of time rereading Waya's manga scenes. He's an interesting character - he can be rude, very blunt, and prone to outbursts, yet he also has some strict standards about "proper" behavior and he's quite deferential to his superiors, even calling Isumi "-san." Waya also believes strongly in obligations (remember when he's losing to Hikaru during the pro match arc? He thinks of his teacher.) I hope this ideas came across in the chapter.
Amateur rankings: I got my information from Wikipedia and Sensei's Library. Basically 7-dan is as high as you can go in Japan's Amateur rankings, although there is an 8-dan special title. In truth, Fujiwara hasn't "earned" any amateur ranking at all, the owner at Iwamoto is just trying to find a way to rank him for handicapping purposes.
Why didn't Sai mention that he *does* actually play a pro on a regular basis? Maybe Chen Lian-san said it would be tacky, like he's bragging. Sai strikes me as the type to try to avoid that, unless he's teasing his friends.
Sai reminds Waya of Touya Akira a lot. I noticed in the series that Sai really seemed to like Akira and understand him, so I figure he has some similarities to Akira.
Sai is obviously uncomfortable with Waya's questions because he doesn't know the answers to them, and he doesn't like the idea of lying or making up answers.
Part II Notes:
Ogata is the sort of man to not only check his fire alarm batteries, but also keep a schedule for his routine maintenance. Just saying.
Murakami and Mishima are angelfish, and Ginko and Momiji are guppies.
I used to keep freshwater and saltwater tanks with my dad. I didn't name those fish, but I did have names for the bettas (Siamese fighting fish) I kept. Some fish will "come" when they see you approach the tank in order to beg for food. I also had a betta who would flare his gills out at me to demand food.
Please anticipate the scene in which Fujiwara meets Kuwabara, and blurts out "Oh, we have a fish named Kuwabara!"
http://www.seaparadise.co.jp/aquaresorts/ Yokohama Hakkeijima Sea Paradise is a real aquarium. I've visited it twice, the last time with my beta, aiwritingfic! There are indeed many wonderful aquariums in and around Tokyo.
National Geographic rocks. Too bad the subscription for it is very expensive in Japan (because I have to read it in English.)
Sai does make a really darn cute puffy face. I just wanna pinch his cheeks!
We'll learn a little more about Ogata's father later on. The scene with Ogata's mother wouldn't have fit in well into this chapter.
The nightmare scene was tricky to write. Thankfully my betas helped me smooth it out. I hope it is understandable. These last two scenes are fairly ambitious since I advance the relationship between Sai and Ogata a lot. I hope I kept them in character. ~~;;
This will be the last desynch chapter of the year, but I hope the length makes up for it a little. Heheh. I've got to finish my fifthmus, and then I'm going back to America for several weeks.
Feedback, comments, criticism, etc. are always welcomed!