Hikaru No Go Fic: Desynchronization Part XVI (Complete) Part I of II
Title: desynchronization. Part XVI of XVI (Complete)
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai, Hikaru, Akira
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. Occasional cursing and mild sensuality.
Word Count: 11,550
Total Word Count: 114,224
Notes: Much thanks to my betas.
Previous Chapters Here.
Note: Part I of II.
Ogata blinked dully at his computer monitor, wondering exactly how he'd arrived at a Wikipedia entry about HVAC, of all things. He'd logged on with the full intention of researching records from the Honinbou tournaments, but had found himself unable to focus. A quick glance at the computer's clock revealed that he'd just wasted the last two hours clicking about aimlessly... and that it had been a week and a half.
Fujiwara hadn't contacted him even once.
Initially, Ogata had thought that Fujiwara would return, after Fujiwara had gotten some space and a little time to recover. Fujiwara was inclined to be the forgiving sort; he had forgiven Ogata about the s a i incident, after all. And Fujiwara had been comfortable living with Ogata: he liked the condominium, his Chinese tutor lived next door, he knew the neighborhood, he had a job at that go salon, he had the fish... and he had Ogata. At the very least, Fujiwara had liked playing go with him. Even outside of go, they'd had some enjoyable experiences together.
But a week and a half? Logically, Ogata knew that he had to accept that Fujiwara wasn't coming back. Perhaps Fujiwara just couldn't forgive him, he thought, recalling that soft look of resignation in Fujiwara's eyes when he'd said goodbye -- as if the hurt had set in too deep, and Fujiwara had known it.
Scowling in irritation, Ogata closed the browser and rolled his chair back. There was no point in even attempting research if he couldn't concentrate. It was probably time to feed the fish their evening meal anyway.
He walked over to the aquarium display, and took out the containers of fish flakes and pellets from the storage space underneath the aquarium. First, he crumbled a few flakes into the tank, and watched as the fish began to converge towards the surface excitedly, the angelfish boldly seizing the largest chunks of food, while the tetras darted between them, nervously snapping up smaller bits. The male guppies were incapable of moving as quickly as the other fish because their ornamental tails slowed them down, so as always, he sprinkled in a little extra for them on the side while the other fish were distracted with the feeding frenzy at the center of the tank.
Next, Ogata dropped a pellet into the tank for the clown loach, smirking when the pellet landed directly on top of the lazy fish, startling it. “Maybe you ought to pay better attention, Kuwabara dearest,” he informed the fish dryly. He'd liked the fish's looks better before it had grown so fat, but Fujiwara seemed to favor it, crooning at it and calling it “cute.”
Had seemed to favor, Ogata corrected mentally, unable to stop himself from wondering if Fujiwara missed the fish. Probably.
He replaced the containers, and returned to his chair. He glanced at his cell phone, again considering sending Fujiwara a text. Nothing long, just a “how are you?” or even a “where are you?” But Ogata had ended up trashing all the drafts he'd started, paralyzed by a niggling feeling that he had somehow been the one in the wrong. Yet no matter how many times he replayed that conversation in his head, he couldn't see what he ought to have done differently, or what he should or shouldn't have said. The advice he'd given Fujiwara was sound and made out of concern for Fujiwara's best interests.
“I should have just lied,” Ogata muttered, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near the fish. They reminded him too much of Fujiwara, like just about every other damn thing in the apartment. He grabbed a book off the shelf at random, and flicked the lights off as he left the study.
Book in hand, Ogata settled into his favorite chair in the living room, but he'd only gotten a paragraph or so into the foreword when he became uncomfortably aware that Fujiwara had been the last person to sit in that chair. The same chair where he'd cried because Ogata couldn't believe him.
Ogata let out a slow breath, unpleasantly reminded that he'd always had a very logical reason for not inviting girlfriends over to his apartment. He hadn't wanted to deal with distasteful memories cluttering up his living space after the inevitable breakup.
Well, at least he hadn't been thoughtless enough to let his physical attraction towards Fujiwara develop into anything serious. Nothing beyond some casual flirting here and there. Their separation - no, that wasn't the right phrase, he thought with a grimace -- the termination of their arrangement -- had been bad, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. They'd both known all along that the arrangement was just a temporary one; he just hadn't expected it to end so abruptly and on such poor terms. That had... unsettled him. He'd lost his equilibrium.
The cure for that was simply time, and other pursuits to distract himself with. He had led a perfectly fulfilling life before Fujiwara, and he merely needed to resume that life. Business as usual. He still had his go, and it was stronger than it had ever been. The arrangement with Fujiwara had ultimately achieved Ogata's aims: he'd brought his game to the next level. Allowing himself to fret over insignificant details was pointless: in the end, only go mattered.
Tomorrow was Thursday, which meant he had a match scheduled at the Go Institute. The winner of the match would advance to the next round of the Honinbou semi-finals. His opponent was Takeshima 9-dan, a player he had faced on several occasions. Ogata's record against Takeshima was four wins and two losses. The wins hadn't been as solid as Ogata preferred, but he knew that he had increased in strength significantly due to training with Fujiwara. He was expecting much better results for tomorrow's match.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven, so he decided to shower and turn in. He was accustomed to keeping late hours, but preferred to wake up earlier on match days. He abandoned the book on the chair's armrest with the resolve that he would continue reading it in that chair after his victory tomorrow. It was a very comfortable chair, and it would be ridiculous to allow himself to develop an aversion to it.
After all, Ogata prided himself on being reasonable.
* * *
After Ogata had answered enough questions from Kosemura to give the man enough material for a half-decent Go Weekly column, Ogata bowed again to his opponent, the officiator, and the recorder, and excused himself from the game room.
In the hallway, he rubbed at the crick in his neck, reveling in that unique mixture of fatigue and adrenaline that always accompanied a win. And of course, the urge for a good drag; his fingers always itched for a cigarette after a game. Depending on the outcome of the game, however, it was either a celebratory smoke, or a consolation smoke.
He eyed the stairs and the elevator, wondering which would result in him getting outside faster and thus getting his fix faster. He was up on the fifth floor: if the elevator stopped on every floor, then taking the stairs would be faster, especially if more than one person got on at each floor.
Ogata had started for the stairs when his attention was caught by the sight of a familiar figure emerging from one of the other game rooms. He was initially surprised to see Akira, but then he recalled that Akira had been promoted to 5-dan just three weeks prior. Akira's official matches were therefore held on Thursdays now, along with all the other upper dans -- like Ogata.
Akira was engrossed in examining the contents of the drink vending machine, his back turned to Ogata, so Ogata walked up to him noiselessly, waiting until he was almost directly behind Akira to speak: “Akira-kun.”
Ogata was perversely gratified to see Akira stiffen in surprise. Nice to know he still had the touch.
“Ogata-san,” Akira said, turning around, his face slightly pale, although composed.
“How was your match today? You played Tabuchi 7-dan, correct?”
“I won by three moku,” Akira said matter-of-factly, as if winning by such a large margin against a 7-dan veteran player was to be expected. For Akira, it was. Akira had never learned to expect any less of himself. That confidence was one of the reasons some players resented Akira, but Ogata found it one of Akira's endearing traits.
“Nice. Do you know if you'll be playing Shirakawa or Saeki next?”
Akira shook his head. “They haven't had their match yet. And how was your game today?”
“I also won. Takeshima made a mistake during chuuban, and he wasn't able to recover from it by the time we entered yose.” It was unnecessary for Ogata to mention that he'd spotted the mistake immediately, and exacerbated it ruthlessly. Akira already knew because he would have done exactly the same.
“I see. Congratulations.”
Ogata's eyes sharpened. There was strain in Akira's voice, and Akira was shifting his weight ever so slightly on his legs, a habit he only displayed when he felt awkward. For Akira to feel uncomfortable around Ogata -- someone Akira had known all his life - meant that Akira was concealing something.
Ogata had to know what it was.
“What's bothering you?” Ogata said softly. If he came at Akira aggressively, Akira would become evasive. The gentle approach was better for slipping under Akira's defenses.
“Ah, nothing really. I was just thinking about an upcoming match.” Akira's eyes slid to the side. “I really ought to get going; I'm meeting someone for lunch.”
Ogata knew that Akira was lying; Akira had always been too polite to look someone directly in the eyes when he was being deceptive. Ogata schooled his features into concern, and he leaned in, just enough to throw Akira off balance (Akira needed a lot of personal space). “Is it something I did?” In truth, Ogata didn't think any such incident had happened, not recently anyway, but Ogata needed to keep Akira talking. “If so, I apologize.”
Akira's face flushed, and he shook his head, flustered. “Not to me,” he said quickly. Then he pinched his lips together abruptly, as if he'd let too much slip.
Ogata wanted to rub his temples. Of course it was about Fujiwara. And here he'd been doing such a good job not thinking about the man, so well that his logic had failed to connect the dots. Of course Akira was still in touch with Fujiwara; Fujiwara had no reason to cut ties with Akira. Akira believed every single word of Shindou's crazy story. So it was only natural that Akira would feel awkward around Ogata; Ogata had rejected the ghost story, and had hurt Fujiwara.
Well, there was no point in further questioning. If Akira wanted to nurse a grudge based on a wild fairy tale, then it was hardly Ogata's business. Fujiwara had chosen to end their arrangement of his own volition, and Ogata was adult enough to accept that. Fujiwara was no longer his concern.
“Is he okay?”
Apparently, Ogata's mouth was not in agreement with his brain.
Akira's eyes widened. He did not answer for a long moment. “He's doing alright,” Akira finally said. “Better.”
“Where is he staying?” Ogata asked, reasoning that he'd already blown his resolve to ignore Fujiwara, so another question wouldn't make much of a difference.
Akira raised his chin ever-so-slightly. “Isn't that something you should ask Fujiwara-san yourself?”
That was rich, coming from the boy who'd more or less spent his junior high years practically stalking Shindou. Not that Ogata had disagreed with Akira's methods or aims - hell, he'd encouraged it -- but Ogata found Akira's sudden air of righteousness irritating.
Akira's phone vibrated from inside his messenger bag. Akira did not take it out, but instead frowned. “I'm running late. Please excuse me.”
Ogata ignored Akira, instead placing a light hand on Akira's shoulder. “Under normal circumstances, you'd be absolutely correct. I ought to ask Fujiwara myself. However, given that the last time I spoke to Fujiwara, I only made him upset - despite my best intentions -- I didn't want to risk upsetting him again. Surely you can understand that, considering the various instances you relied on others to inform you about Shindou. Don't tell me you've already forgotten.”
Akira glared, his eyes flashing fire, and Ogata arched an eyebrow. Really, Akira did have such a fierce expression when he was riled. Ogata would have probably found it a little scary if he didn't have a distinct memory of a two-year-old Akira wearing a ridiculously pink bib and smearing most of his dinner on his face.
“Really, Akira-kun? Are the dragon-eyes called for?” Ogata drawled.
Akira stepped sideways so Ogata's hand slid off his shoulder. “I don't think the situations are comparable.”
Ogata sighed. Akira wasn't interested in making it easy. “I'm not going to try to see Fujiwara. I have no interest in intruding where I'm not welcome. But I know he isn't ready to live on his own, so I would simply like know that he's... in a safe situation.”
The anger dissipated from Akira's face, and he gave Ogata a measured glance. “Fujiwara-san is staying at my house for now. I asked him to, since it's large for me to maintain by myself while my parents are gone.”
Relief flooded Ogata. So, Akira had managed to overcome Fujiwara's pride by phrasing the offer as a request for help. Smart boy. The Touya residence was an ideal place for Fujiwara, and Ogata knew that Fujiwara would be welcome to stay as long as he needed. Ogata did find it odd that Fujiwara hadn't opted to stay with Shindou, as close as Fujiwara was to Shindou. Regardless, it was definitely better that Fujiwara stay with Akira instead.
“Thank you,” Ogata said, grateful for the peace of mind. Even though Akira had been duped by Shindou, Akira was still a good child at heart.
“OK Touya, now you'd better stop bugging me all the time about running late.”
Shindou was standing at the head of the stairwell, leaning against the wall with a lazy smile, but Ogata could read anger in the taut lines of Shindou's shoulders and neck. Anger directed straight at him, of course. Shindou had probably heard Akira tell him about Fujiwara's location.
Akira started. “I'm sorry! I lost track of time,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “If we hurry, we can still catch the next rapid.”
Shindou snorted. “I can. Dunno about you, granny legs.”
“Shindou!” Akira huffed, his face flushing red again, but in a way that suggested he rather enjoyed the teasing on some level. “Have a good afternoon, Ogata-san,” he said cordially, then took off for the stairs.
Shindou let him pass. “I'll give you a head start, you know, senior citizens' handicap!” he called after Akira's retreating back. When the sounds of Akira's footfalls had faded, Shindou turned his gaze back towards Ogata. He smiled again, a hard and bright expression that had no warmth to it.
“Need something?” Ogata said nonchalantly.
“Actually, yeah,” Shindou said in a low voice. “For you to stay away from Sai. Haven't you already been enough of a jerk to him, or have you got a quota to fill?”
Ogata eyed Shindou coolly, impressed that Shindou had mustered up enough nerve to stare him down - granted, from a distance, but still admirable considering the boy used to dash off at the mere sight of him. Idly, Ogata noted that Shindou had finally hit a major growth spurt; he'd probably added at least ten centimeters this year. “I told Fujiwara-san the truth, Shindou-kun. I hope you aren't expecting me to apologize for being honest.”
Shindou clenched his jaw. “I know better than to expect an apology from you. You're never wrong, are you? Must be nice.” Shindou turned to leave, then he stopped abruptly. “Sai never really did tell us what you said to him. He tried, but he couldn't stop crying. Cried so much he made himself sick. Thought you'd like to know.”
Ogata had nothing to say.
“I hate you,” Shindou said calmly. Then he was gone.
Ogata found he no longer wanted a victory cigarette. He just wasn't in the mood anymore.
* * *
After he left the Go Institute, Ogata ate an early dinner. There wasn't anywhere he felt like going, so he decided to simply return to his condominium.
The book was still sitting on the armrest, looking rather forlorn. Ogata picked it up, flipping to the table of contents, surprised to find it was a book about Beijing. He didn't remember buying it. Perhaps the book had been a gift - maybe from Akiko or Sensei? Ogata often got books as presents, although not books about go or fish; his friends knew that if an interesting go or fish book was published, Ogata probably already owned it. Ogata started reading. The book wasn't strictly a travel guide; granted, it had the usual glossy photographs of famous sites and scenic places, but there was also detailed information about the history of the city as well as the various social issues that had shaped it.
Idly, Ogata wondered if he ought take a vacation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a nice long vacation. There'd been that trip with his mother to London back when he was still in high school, but he hadn't been out of the country since. If he scheduled the vacation at the right time, he could avoid missing any critical matches. Hell, he could probably convince the Institute to work around his schedule with minimal persuasion. Ogata was a title-holder now, after all. The majority of the Institute's publicity and profits were generated by the handful of pros who made it to the top, so the Institute was inclined to treat those select few with some favoritism.
Ogata bookmarked a few pages before setting the book aside. He'd think about it. He needed something to amuse himself with.
On his way to the bathroom, he noticed that the door to Fujiwara's room was slightly ajar. Instead of closing the door, he went inside.
Unsurprisingly, the room was clean: the bed made, the books all neatly aligned on the shelves, and the surfaces dusted. There was little evidence that the room had been lived in, except for a single hanging scroll with a depiction of koi in a tea garden pond. Fujiwara hadn't spent much time in the bedroom, though, so it wasn't surprising that he hadn't put much effort into the décor. But perhaps Fujiwara had also felt reluctant to alter the room since he knew his stay was temporary. Honestly, Ogata wouldn't have cared if Fujiwara had redecorated; Ogata had never used the room before, other than as extra space for his bookcases.
Inside the closet was another story: Fujiwara had left what appeared to be the majority of his clothes. Ogata scowled, recalling the size of the suitcase that Fujiwara had taken when he'd left. Of course Fujiwara hadn't been able to fit all his wardrobe into that small suitcase. Ogata pinched at the bridge of his nose, exasperated. It wasn't a matter of Fujiwara not liking the outfits he'd left behind; he'd picked them all out himself, after all. Fujiwara had probably thought he shouldn't take too much since Ogata had paid for them, which was ridiculous. Ogata certainly wasn't going to wear Fujiwara's clothes. Even if they had the same tastes in fashion - and they didn't -- Fujiwara was about two sizes smaller.
Well, Ogata would just have to pack the clothes up, and drop it by the Touyas' at some point, preferably when Fujiwara was out. If Akira asked Ogata about it, he would say that he needed the closet space. Fujiwara could throw the clothes away or give them away if he really didn't want them; the point was, the clothes didn't belong in Ogata's apartment.
Ogata pulled all the clothes out and placed them on the bed, careful to keep them flat. When he'd finished folding them, he put them into a cardboard box. As an afterthought, he rolled up the wall scroll and placed it on top of the clothes. Ogata then set the box by the entranceway with a feeling of accomplishment. Good riddance.
Accomplishment, naturally, deserved a reward. Ogata still didn't feel like a cigarette, but a beer seemed tempting. He hadn't been able to enjoy the free alcohol at that sponsors' mixer, thanks to that editor with no concept of personal space. Instead Ogata had spent his time engaged in chemical warfare via secondhand smoke. But now that he was in the safety of his own apartment, Ogata had the urge to get absolutely hammered. He hadn't been good and drunk since that conference ages ago, when some fans had treated him for winning the Juudan title.
A brief search revealed four cans of Yesibu inside the refrigerator, and a completely untouched 6-pack inside a cabinet. Ogata wasn't surprised to find so much beer; he'd drunk very little the entire summer because he had always been playing Fujiwara, and hadn't wanted to dull his mental edge. Ogata took all the cold cans out, then shoved the pack inside the freezer so it would be ready to drink sooner.
Ogata settled down into his chair in the living room and popped a can open. He wondered if Fujiwara drank. He'd never seen Fujiwara drink during all the time they'd lived together, but maybe Fujiwara just didn't like beer, which was the only alcohol Ogata usually kept stocked. Considering Fujiwara's tastes, perhaps he preferred something more traditional, like sake or shochu.
Not that Fujiwara's preferences were of any further concern, Ogata reminded himself sternly. Really, it was rather embarrassing that his thoughts kept gravitating to Fujiwara. As a go professional, Ogata prided himself on exercising excellent control over his concentration, both on and off the board. (That little “move sealing” incident during the Honinbou finals had taught Ogata the hard way what happened if he let his control slip for even a moment, damn that old monkey Kuwabara.)
Fujiwara, though, was proving hard to push aside. Ogata considered the problem for a good moment. He had been rather fixated - obsessed, to be honest - with all things s a i for years. He had researched every Internet rumor, had tracked down kifu, and had even pumped people for information. Thinking about s a i had become a regular part of Ogata's life: a habit. A habit that had now lost its usefulness. If Ogata didn't check it, the habit might even become detrimental to that mental sharpness he had to maintain.
Well, habits could be broken, just as readily as they could be formed. All breaking a habit required was determination, a quality Ogata possessed in spades. He just needed to distract himself every time he was tempted to think about Fujiwara.
Setting his jaw in grim determination, Ogata turned the TV on. He flipped the channel to one of the more popular and particularly mindless variety shows. Sober, he couldn't stand the show. Tonight, Ogata decided, was an excellent night to figure out exactly how many beers it took before he actually found the show entertaining.
* * *
Part II, Tally Ho!.
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai, Hikaru, Akira
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. Occasional cursing and mild sensuality.
Word Count: 11,550
Total Word Count: 114,224
Notes: Much thanks to my betas.
Previous Chapters Here.
Note: Part I of II.
Ogata blinked dully at his computer monitor, wondering exactly how he'd arrived at a Wikipedia entry about HVAC, of all things. He'd logged on with the full intention of researching records from the Honinbou tournaments, but had found himself unable to focus. A quick glance at the computer's clock revealed that he'd just wasted the last two hours clicking about aimlessly... and that it had been a week and a half.
Fujiwara hadn't contacted him even once.
Initially, Ogata had thought that Fujiwara would return, after Fujiwara had gotten some space and a little time to recover. Fujiwara was inclined to be the forgiving sort; he had forgiven Ogata about the s a i incident, after all. And Fujiwara had been comfortable living with Ogata: he liked the condominium, his Chinese tutor lived next door, he knew the neighborhood, he had a job at that go salon, he had the fish... and he had Ogata. At the very least, Fujiwara had liked playing go with him. Even outside of go, they'd had some enjoyable experiences together.
But a week and a half? Logically, Ogata knew that he had to accept that Fujiwara wasn't coming back. Perhaps Fujiwara just couldn't forgive him, he thought, recalling that soft look of resignation in Fujiwara's eyes when he'd said goodbye -- as if the hurt had set in too deep, and Fujiwara had known it.
Scowling in irritation, Ogata closed the browser and rolled his chair back. There was no point in even attempting research if he couldn't concentrate. It was probably time to feed the fish their evening meal anyway.
He walked over to the aquarium display, and took out the containers of fish flakes and pellets from the storage space underneath the aquarium. First, he crumbled a few flakes into the tank, and watched as the fish began to converge towards the surface excitedly, the angelfish boldly seizing the largest chunks of food, while the tetras darted between them, nervously snapping up smaller bits. The male guppies were incapable of moving as quickly as the other fish because their ornamental tails slowed them down, so as always, he sprinkled in a little extra for them on the side while the other fish were distracted with the feeding frenzy at the center of the tank.
Next, Ogata dropped a pellet into the tank for the clown loach, smirking when the pellet landed directly on top of the lazy fish, startling it. “Maybe you ought to pay better attention, Kuwabara dearest,” he informed the fish dryly. He'd liked the fish's looks better before it had grown so fat, but Fujiwara seemed to favor it, crooning at it and calling it “cute.”
Had seemed to favor, Ogata corrected mentally, unable to stop himself from wondering if Fujiwara missed the fish. Probably.
He replaced the containers, and returned to his chair. He glanced at his cell phone, again considering sending Fujiwara a text. Nothing long, just a “how are you?” or even a “where are you?” But Ogata had ended up trashing all the drafts he'd started, paralyzed by a niggling feeling that he had somehow been the one in the wrong. Yet no matter how many times he replayed that conversation in his head, he couldn't see what he ought to have done differently, or what he should or shouldn't have said. The advice he'd given Fujiwara was sound and made out of concern for Fujiwara's best interests.
“I should have just lied,” Ogata muttered, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near the fish. They reminded him too much of Fujiwara, like just about every other damn thing in the apartment. He grabbed a book off the shelf at random, and flicked the lights off as he left the study.
Book in hand, Ogata settled into his favorite chair in the living room, but he'd only gotten a paragraph or so into the foreword when he became uncomfortably aware that Fujiwara had been the last person to sit in that chair. The same chair where he'd cried because Ogata couldn't believe him.
Ogata let out a slow breath, unpleasantly reminded that he'd always had a very logical reason for not inviting girlfriends over to his apartment. He hadn't wanted to deal with distasteful memories cluttering up his living space after the inevitable breakup.
Well, at least he hadn't been thoughtless enough to let his physical attraction towards Fujiwara develop into anything serious. Nothing beyond some casual flirting here and there. Their separation - no, that wasn't the right phrase, he thought with a grimace -- the termination of their arrangement -- had been bad, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. They'd both known all along that the arrangement was just a temporary one; he just hadn't expected it to end so abruptly and on such poor terms. That had... unsettled him. He'd lost his equilibrium.
The cure for that was simply time, and other pursuits to distract himself with. He had led a perfectly fulfilling life before Fujiwara, and he merely needed to resume that life. Business as usual. He still had his go, and it was stronger than it had ever been. The arrangement with Fujiwara had ultimately achieved Ogata's aims: he'd brought his game to the next level. Allowing himself to fret over insignificant details was pointless: in the end, only go mattered.
Tomorrow was Thursday, which meant he had a match scheduled at the Go Institute. The winner of the match would advance to the next round of the Honinbou semi-finals. His opponent was Takeshima 9-dan, a player he had faced on several occasions. Ogata's record against Takeshima was four wins and two losses. The wins hadn't been as solid as Ogata preferred, but he knew that he had increased in strength significantly due to training with Fujiwara. He was expecting much better results for tomorrow's match.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven, so he decided to shower and turn in. He was accustomed to keeping late hours, but preferred to wake up earlier on match days. He abandoned the book on the chair's armrest with the resolve that he would continue reading it in that chair after his victory tomorrow. It was a very comfortable chair, and it would be ridiculous to allow himself to develop an aversion to it.
After all, Ogata prided himself on being reasonable.
* * *
After Ogata had answered enough questions from Kosemura to give the man enough material for a half-decent Go Weekly column, Ogata bowed again to his opponent, the officiator, and the recorder, and excused himself from the game room.
In the hallway, he rubbed at the crick in his neck, reveling in that unique mixture of fatigue and adrenaline that always accompanied a win. And of course, the urge for a good drag; his fingers always itched for a cigarette after a game. Depending on the outcome of the game, however, it was either a celebratory smoke, or a consolation smoke.
He eyed the stairs and the elevator, wondering which would result in him getting outside faster and thus getting his fix faster. He was up on the fifth floor: if the elevator stopped on every floor, then taking the stairs would be faster, especially if more than one person got on at each floor.
Ogata had started for the stairs when his attention was caught by the sight of a familiar figure emerging from one of the other game rooms. He was initially surprised to see Akira, but then he recalled that Akira had been promoted to 5-dan just three weeks prior. Akira's official matches were therefore held on Thursdays now, along with all the other upper dans -- like Ogata.
Akira was engrossed in examining the contents of the drink vending machine, his back turned to Ogata, so Ogata walked up to him noiselessly, waiting until he was almost directly behind Akira to speak: “Akira-kun.”
Ogata was perversely gratified to see Akira stiffen in surprise. Nice to know he still had the touch.
“Ogata-san,” Akira said, turning around, his face slightly pale, although composed.
“How was your match today? You played Tabuchi 7-dan, correct?”
“I won by three moku,” Akira said matter-of-factly, as if winning by such a large margin against a 7-dan veteran player was to be expected. For Akira, it was. Akira had never learned to expect any less of himself. That confidence was one of the reasons some players resented Akira, but Ogata found it one of Akira's endearing traits.
“Nice. Do you know if you'll be playing Shirakawa or Saeki next?”
Akira shook his head. “They haven't had their match yet. And how was your game today?”
“I also won. Takeshima made a mistake during chuuban, and he wasn't able to recover from it by the time we entered yose.” It was unnecessary for Ogata to mention that he'd spotted the mistake immediately, and exacerbated it ruthlessly. Akira already knew because he would have done exactly the same.
“I see. Congratulations.”
Ogata's eyes sharpened. There was strain in Akira's voice, and Akira was shifting his weight ever so slightly on his legs, a habit he only displayed when he felt awkward. For Akira to feel uncomfortable around Ogata -- someone Akira had known all his life - meant that Akira was concealing something.
Ogata had to know what it was.
“What's bothering you?” Ogata said softly. If he came at Akira aggressively, Akira would become evasive. The gentle approach was better for slipping under Akira's defenses.
“Ah, nothing really. I was just thinking about an upcoming match.” Akira's eyes slid to the side. “I really ought to get going; I'm meeting someone for lunch.”
Ogata knew that Akira was lying; Akira had always been too polite to look someone directly in the eyes when he was being deceptive. Ogata schooled his features into concern, and he leaned in, just enough to throw Akira off balance (Akira needed a lot of personal space). “Is it something I did?” In truth, Ogata didn't think any such incident had happened, not recently anyway, but Ogata needed to keep Akira talking. “If so, I apologize.”
Akira's face flushed, and he shook his head, flustered. “Not to me,” he said quickly. Then he pinched his lips together abruptly, as if he'd let too much slip.
Ogata wanted to rub his temples. Of course it was about Fujiwara. And here he'd been doing such a good job not thinking about the man, so well that his logic had failed to connect the dots. Of course Akira was still in touch with Fujiwara; Fujiwara had no reason to cut ties with Akira. Akira believed every single word of Shindou's crazy story. So it was only natural that Akira would feel awkward around Ogata; Ogata had rejected the ghost story, and had hurt Fujiwara.
Well, there was no point in further questioning. If Akira wanted to nurse a grudge based on a wild fairy tale, then it was hardly Ogata's business. Fujiwara had chosen to end their arrangement of his own volition, and Ogata was adult enough to accept that. Fujiwara was no longer his concern.
“Is he okay?”
Apparently, Ogata's mouth was not in agreement with his brain.
Akira's eyes widened. He did not answer for a long moment. “He's doing alright,” Akira finally said. “Better.”
“Where is he staying?” Ogata asked, reasoning that he'd already blown his resolve to ignore Fujiwara, so another question wouldn't make much of a difference.
Akira raised his chin ever-so-slightly. “Isn't that something you should ask Fujiwara-san yourself?”
That was rich, coming from the boy who'd more or less spent his junior high years practically stalking Shindou. Not that Ogata had disagreed with Akira's methods or aims - hell, he'd encouraged it -- but Ogata found Akira's sudden air of righteousness irritating.
Akira's phone vibrated from inside his messenger bag. Akira did not take it out, but instead frowned. “I'm running late. Please excuse me.”
Ogata ignored Akira, instead placing a light hand on Akira's shoulder. “Under normal circumstances, you'd be absolutely correct. I ought to ask Fujiwara myself. However, given that the last time I spoke to Fujiwara, I only made him upset - despite my best intentions -- I didn't want to risk upsetting him again. Surely you can understand that, considering the various instances you relied on others to inform you about Shindou. Don't tell me you've already forgotten.”
Akira glared, his eyes flashing fire, and Ogata arched an eyebrow. Really, Akira did have such a fierce expression when he was riled. Ogata would have probably found it a little scary if he didn't have a distinct memory of a two-year-old Akira wearing a ridiculously pink bib and smearing most of his dinner on his face.
“Really, Akira-kun? Are the dragon-eyes called for?” Ogata drawled.
Akira stepped sideways so Ogata's hand slid off his shoulder. “I don't think the situations are comparable.”
Ogata sighed. Akira wasn't interested in making it easy. “I'm not going to try to see Fujiwara. I have no interest in intruding where I'm not welcome. But I know he isn't ready to live on his own, so I would simply like know that he's... in a safe situation.”
The anger dissipated from Akira's face, and he gave Ogata a measured glance. “Fujiwara-san is staying at my house for now. I asked him to, since it's large for me to maintain by myself while my parents are gone.”
Relief flooded Ogata. So, Akira had managed to overcome Fujiwara's pride by phrasing the offer as a request for help. Smart boy. The Touya residence was an ideal place for Fujiwara, and Ogata knew that Fujiwara would be welcome to stay as long as he needed. Ogata did find it odd that Fujiwara hadn't opted to stay with Shindou, as close as Fujiwara was to Shindou. Regardless, it was definitely better that Fujiwara stay with Akira instead.
“Thank you,” Ogata said, grateful for the peace of mind. Even though Akira had been duped by Shindou, Akira was still a good child at heart.
“OK Touya, now you'd better stop bugging me all the time about running late.”
Shindou was standing at the head of the stairwell, leaning against the wall with a lazy smile, but Ogata could read anger in the taut lines of Shindou's shoulders and neck. Anger directed straight at him, of course. Shindou had probably heard Akira tell him about Fujiwara's location.
Akira started. “I'm sorry! I lost track of time,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “If we hurry, we can still catch the next rapid.”
Shindou snorted. “I can. Dunno about you, granny legs.”
“Shindou!” Akira huffed, his face flushing red again, but in a way that suggested he rather enjoyed the teasing on some level. “Have a good afternoon, Ogata-san,” he said cordially, then took off for the stairs.
Shindou let him pass. “I'll give you a head start, you know, senior citizens' handicap!” he called after Akira's retreating back. When the sounds of Akira's footfalls had faded, Shindou turned his gaze back towards Ogata. He smiled again, a hard and bright expression that had no warmth to it.
“Need something?” Ogata said nonchalantly.
“Actually, yeah,” Shindou said in a low voice. “For you to stay away from Sai. Haven't you already been enough of a jerk to him, or have you got a quota to fill?”
Ogata eyed Shindou coolly, impressed that Shindou had mustered up enough nerve to stare him down - granted, from a distance, but still admirable considering the boy used to dash off at the mere sight of him. Idly, Ogata noted that Shindou had finally hit a major growth spurt; he'd probably added at least ten centimeters this year. “I told Fujiwara-san the truth, Shindou-kun. I hope you aren't expecting me to apologize for being honest.”
Shindou clenched his jaw. “I know better than to expect an apology from you. You're never wrong, are you? Must be nice.” Shindou turned to leave, then he stopped abruptly. “Sai never really did tell us what you said to him. He tried, but he couldn't stop crying. Cried so much he made himself sick. Thought you'd like to know.”
Ogata had nothing to say.
“I hate you,” Shindou said calmly. Then he was gone.
Ogata found he no longer wanted a victory cigarette. He just wasn't in the mood anymore.
* * *
After he left the Go Institute, Ogata ate an early dinner. There wasn't anywhere he felt like going, so he decided to simply return to his condominium.
The book was still sitting on the armrest, looking rather forlorn. Ogata picked it up, flipping to the table of contents, surprised to find it was a book about Beijing. He didn't remember buying it. Perhaps the book had been a gift - maybe from Akiko or Sensei? Ogata often got books as presents, although not books about go or fish; his friends knew that if an interesting go or fish book was published, Ogata probably already owned it. Ogata started reading. The book wasn't strictly a travel guide; granted, it had the usual glossy photographs of famous sites and scenic places, but there was also detailed information about the history of the city as well as the various social issues that had shaped it.
Idly, Ogata wondered if he ought take a vacation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a nice long vacation. There'd been that trip with his mother to London back when he was still in high school, but he hadn't been out of the country since. If he scheduled the vacation at the right time, he could avoid missing any critical matches. Hell, he could probably convince the Institute to work around his schedule with minimal persuasion. Ogata was a title-holder now, after all. The majority of the Institute's publicity and profits were generated by the handful of pros who made it to the top, so the Institute was inclined to treat those select few with some favoritism.
Ogata bookmarked a few pages before setting the book aside. He'd think about it. He needed something to amuse himself with.
On his way to the bathroom, he noticed that the door to Fujiwara's room was slightly ajar. Instead of closing the door, he went inside.
Unsurprisingly, the room was clean: the bed made, the books all neatly aligned on the shelves, and the surfaces dusted. There was little evidence that the room had been lived in, except for a single hanging scroll with a depiction of koi in a tea garden pond. Fujiwara hadn't spent much time in the bedroom, though, so it wasn't surprising that he hadn't put much effort into the décor. But perhaps Fujiwara had also felt reluctant to alter the room since he knew his stay was temporary. Honestly, Ogata wouldn't have cared if Fujiwara had redecorated; Ogata had never used the room before, other than as extra space for his bookcases.
Inside the closet was another story: Fujiwara had left what appeared to be the majority of his clothes. Ogata scowled, recalling the size of the suitcase that Fujiwara had taken when he'd left. Of course Fujiwara hadn't been able to fit all his wardrobe into that small suitcase. Ogata pinched at the bridge of his nose, exasperated. It wasn't a matter of Fujiwara not liking the outfits he'd left behind; he'd picked them all out himself, after all. Fujiwara had probably thought he shouldn't take too much since Ogata had paid for them, which was ridiculous. Ogata certainly wasn't going to wear Fujiwara's clothes. Even if they had the same tastes in fashion - and they didn't -- Fujiwara was about two sizes smaller.
Well, Ogata would just have to pack the clothes up, and drop it by the Touyas' at some point, preferably when Fujiwara was out. If Akira asked Ogata about it, he would say that he needed the closet space. Fujiwara could throw the clothes away or give them away if he really didn't want them; the point was, the clothes didn't belong in Ogata's apartment.
Ogata pulled all the clothes out and placed them on the bed, careful to keep them flat. When he'd finished folding them, he put them into a cardboard box. As an afterthought, he rolled up the wall scroll and placed it on top of the clothes. Ogata then set the box by the entranceway with a feeling of accomplishment. Good riddance.
Accomplishment, naturally, deserved a reward. Ogata still didn't feel like a cigarette, but a beer seemed tempting. He hadn't been able to enjoy the free alcohol at that sponsors' mixer, thanks to that editor with no concept of personal space. Instead Ogata had spent his time engaged in chemical warfare via secondhand smoke. But now that he was in the safety of his own apartment, Ogata had the urge to get absolutely hammered. He hadn't been good and drunk since that conference ages ago, when some fans had treated him for winning the Juudan title.
A brief search revealed four cans of Yesibu inside the refrigerator, and a completely untouched 6-pack inside a cabinet. Ogata wasn't surprised to find so much beer; he'd drunk very little the entire summer because he had always been playing Fujiwara, and hadn't wanted to dull his mental edge. Ogata took all the cold cans out, then shoved the pack inside the freezer so it would be ready to drink sooner.
Ogata settled down into his chair in the living room and popped a can open. He wondered if Fujiwara drank. He'd never seen Fujiwara drink during all the time they'd lived together, but maybe Fujiwara just didn't like beer, which was the only alcohol Ogata usually kept stocked. Considering Fujiwara's tastes, perhaps he preferred something more traditional, like sake or shochu.
Not that Fujiwara's preferences were of any further concern, Ogata reminded himself sternly. Really, it was rather embarrassing that his thoughts kept gravitating to Fujiwara. As a go professional, Ogata prided himself on exercising excellent control over his concentration, both on and off the board. (That little “move sealing” incident during the Honinbou finals had taught Ogata the hard way what happened if he let his control slip for even a moment, damn that old monkey Kuwabara.)
Fujiwara, though, was proving hard to push aside. Ogata considered the problem for a good moment. He had been rather fixated - obsessed, to be honest - with all things s a i for years. He had researched every Internet rumor, had tracked down kifu, and had even pumped people for information. Thinking about s a i had become a regular part of Ogata's life: a habit. A habit that had now lost its usefulness. If Ogata didn't check it, the habit might even become detrimental to that mental sharpness he had to maintain.
Well, habits could be broken, just as readily as they could be formed. All breaking a habit required was determination, a quality Ogata possessed in spades. He just needed to distract himself every time he was tempted to think about Fujiwara.
Setting his jaw in grim determination, Ogata turned the TV on. He flipped the channel to one of the more popular and particularly mindless variety shows. Sober, he couldn't stand the show. Tonight, Ogata decided, was an excellent night to figure out exactly how many beers it took before he actually found the show entertaining.
* * *
Part II, Tally Ho!.