[bonito]
by ee970
Life Goes
It's his first trip in a plane, and the view is breathtakingly awesome: the sea sparkling blue, the cars tiny glints of light far below, the utterly familiar yet foreign skies, mountains, skyline when he lands. Peering out the window with youthful zeal, the first thing Hikaru thinks is 'Sai would love this,' with a wistful smile.
It isn't until late that night that he realizes he's thought of Sai without feeling that familiar pang, that dull pain beneath his breastbone that he can never quite rub away. This time it doesn't hurt.
And he feels cripplingly guilty for it.
+ + +
Once he knows it's happening, he recognizes it more and more often. His memories of Sai are fading. Things that would once trigger waves of sadness now prompt little more than a misty feeling of nostalgia. Even on May 5th, while he feels melancholy as he makes his sojourn to Shuusaku's grave, it's not raw and aching like it was that first year.
That same day, he takes a few calls; chats and even chuckles a bit at some of the banter. As he hangs up the phone, he wonders if he's somehow missing the point of this, the anniversary of losing one of the dearest people he has ever known. But, surely Sai would be proud of Waya for winning his latest match, and happy to hear of Touya Meijin's progress abroad...right? He isn't certain anymore.
Riding back to Tokyo, he lays out old games on his travel go board; some copied from kifu, others he knows by heart. They are his games with Sai, or games where he was Sai's proxy, but either way all theirs, all the way up to the last, unfinished match.
He allows his mind to drift, and thinks of endless days spent playing go together; a gentle voice, the graceful sweep of a fan, the whirr of cicadas and the scent of barley tea. He thinks of wide violet eyes sparkling with wonder, of baseball and PlayStation and learning to think with his mouth shut. He thinks of pale skin blanched further by desperation, of a voice clamoring for attention, of feeling vague annoyance and a sudden desire to be left alone...until the day he actually is. He thinks of how he can't quite recall the line of Sai's chin, the color of the piping on his robes...not even the exact last words he spoke to him.
Only now does he feel tears stinging his eyes.
+ + +
It's become too much.
Every day Sai's disappearance is less painful to bear. Every day the guilt from that realization grows. He is second-guessing himself and feeling awful, and he doesn't know what to do.
In the end, he doesn't have to do anything. His mother approaches him. "I know I haven't always known enough to give you the support you need," she says, voice regretful, expression tired. "But even I can see that you're struggling with something. If that means anything to you..." She trails off, leaving more unsaid than just the end of the sentence.
"Mom," he begins, uncertain if he wants to continue. She's right, they've certainly never been close. On the other hand, what does he have to lose? He takes a deep breath. "Have you ever...lost...someone important?"
She stares at him, hard. "I have," she answers slowly. "It hurts."
Hikaru purses his lips, ducks his eyes away. "What happens when it doesn't hurt anymore?"
She pauses, considering her answer. "Nothing lasts forever. Not pain...not even joy. But just because your memories may fade doesn't mean those experiences meant anything less. It doesn't make your feelings any less real."
"Do you really think so?" When he continues, his voice is very small. "...I feel like I'm betraying him."
"Oh, Hikaru," she sighs, cradling him to her chest. "If this person cared about you half as much as you care about him, he wouldn't think that at all, not so long as you're happy. And whether you know it or not, you've been changed forever by meeting and knowing him. So...there's a part of him you'll never leave behind because he's already part of you."
He lets out a barking chuckle that sounds more like a sob. "That...that sounds real corny, Mom," he sniffles.
"Maybe so," she admits, and hugs him closer.
+ + +
Time passes.
Much of his time with Sai still feels hazy, fuzzy at the edges like an old, worn photograph. But, corny or no, he takes his mother's words to heart. He lets the rest of his life go on. In a way it's just reaffirming what he'd learned from playing Isumi. But it's always taken him a while to get the hang of lessons that don't have much to do with games.
So, he plays go and pursues the Hand of God. He gains and loses titles, he instructs and learns from others. He attempts to bridge the past to the future. And while he'll never quite remember the exact tilt of Sai's eyes or the timbre of his voice, he's okay with that. The joy those eyes could hold, the warmth in that tone, and the depth of emotions they shared when they were together are things that he'll never forget.
For now, this will have to be enough.
Life Goes
It's his first trip in a plane, and the view is breathtakingly awesome: the sea sparkling blue, the cars tiny glints of light far below, the utterly familiar yet foreign skies, mountains, skyline when he lands. Peering out the window with youthful zeal, the first thing Hikaru thinks is 'Sai would love this,' with a wistful smile.
It isn't until late that night that he realizes he's thought of Sai without feeling that familiar pang, that dull pain beneath his breastbone that he can never quite rub away. This time it doesn't hurt.
And he feels cripplingly guilty for it.
+ + +
Once he knows it's happening, he recognizes it more and more often. His memories of Sai are fading. Things that would once trigger waves of sadness now prompt little more than a misty feeling of nostalgia. Even on May 5th, while he feels melancholy as he makes his sojourn to Shuusaku's grave, it's not raw and aching like it was that first year.
That same day, he takes a few calls; chats and even chuckles a bit at some of the banter. As he hangs up the phone, he wonders if he's somehow missing the point of this, the anniversary of losing one of the dearest people he has ever known. But, surely Sai would be proud of Waya for winning his latest match, and happy to hear of Touya Meijin's progress abroad...right? He isn't certain anymore.
Riding back to Tokyo, he lays out old games on his travel go board; some copied from kifu, others he knows by heart. They are his games with Sai, or games where he was Sai's proxy, but either way all theirs, all the way up to the last, unfinished match.
He allows his mind to drift, and thinks of endless days spent playing go together; a gentle voice, the graceful sweep of a fan, the whirr of cicadas and the scent of barley tea. He thinks of wide violet eyes sparkling with wonder, of baseball and PlayStation and learning to think with his mouth shut. He thinks of pale skin blanched further by desperation, of a voice clamoring for attention, of feeling vague annoyance and a sudden desire to be left alone...until the day he actually is. He thinks of how he can't quite recall the line of Sai's chin, the color of the piping on his robes...not even the exact last words he spoke to him.
Only now does he feel tears stinging his eyes.
+ + +
It's become too much.
Every day Sai's disappearance is less painful to bear. Every day the guilt from that realization grows. He is second-guessing himself and feeling awful, and he doesn't know what to do.
In the end, he doesn't have to do anything. His mother approaches him. "I know I haven't always known enough to give you the support you need," she says, voice regretful, expression tired. "But even I can see that you're struggling with something. If that means anything to you..." She trails off, leaving more unsaid than just the end of the sentence.
"Mom," he begins, uncertain if he wants to continue. She's right, they've certainly never been close. On the other hand, what does he have to lose? He takes a deep breath. "Have you ever...lost...someone important?"
She stares at him, hard. "I have," she answers slowly. "It hurts."
Hikaru purses his lips, ducks his eyes away. "What happens when it doesn't hurt anymore?"
She pauses, considering her answer. "Nothing lasts forever. Not pain...not even joy. But just because your memories may fade doesn't mean those experiences meant anything less. It doesn't make your feelings any less real."
"Do you really think so?" When he continues, his voice is very small. "...I feel like I'm betraying him."
"Oh, Hikaru," she sighs, cradling him to her chest. "If this person cared about you half as much as you care about him, he wouldn't think that at all, not so long as you're happy. And whether you know it or not, you've been changed forever by meeting and knowing him. So...there's a part of him you'll never leave behind because he's already part of you."
He lets out a barking chuckle that sounds more like a sob. "That...that sounds real corny, Mom," he sniffles.
"Maybe so," she admits, and hugs him closer.
+ + +
Time passes.
Much of his time with Sai still feels hazy, fuzzy at the edges like an old, worn photograph. But, corny or no, he takes his mother's words to heart. He lets the rest of his life go on. In a way it's just reaffirming what he'd learned from playing Isumi. But it's always taken him a while to get the hang of lessons that don't have much to do with games.
So, he plays go and pursues the Hand of God. He gains and loses titles, he instructs and learns from others. He attempts to bridge the past to the future. And while he'll never quite remember the exact tilt of Sai's eyes or the timbre of his voice, he's okay with that. The joy those eyes could hold, the warmth in that tone, and the depth of emotions they shared when they were together are things that he'll never forget.
For now, this will have to be enough.