[Fanfic] Time Capsule Fairytale -Part 1-
Title: Time Capsule Fairytale
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Yukimura x Yanagi
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Semi-AU. This is the last fairytale on this little planet... That's why, we have to seal it in a time capsule.
概要: 讓我們把這小小星球上最後的童話保存在時光囊里。。。 （提供給鎖心桑的幸柳文）
Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.
A/N: The original title of this piece was "Paper Doll."
For those who made the doujinshi request: I'm sorry that some of you failed to receive the book in the mail. For those who did receive a copy, I apologize for the amount of errors and typos that resulted. So, please accept this as retribution.
NOTES: Fairy tale elements. Strangeness. Mild Sanada x Yanagi. Yukimura POV.
[BGM: Matsueda Noriko & Eguchi Takahito - "1000 Words (piano ver.)"]
[BGM: Honpo Furukawa feat. Hatsune Miku - "Alice -reprise-"]
Time Capsule Fairytale
Part I
"Open your eyes."
"…"
"Good morning."
"…Good morning."
"How do you feel?"
"Fine, thank you."
"Good. Do you remember who I am?"
"You are my creator."
"…Is that all you can recall?"
"Yes."
"…I see…"
"…I apologize. Was there something else I should be aware of?"
"…No… That was all…"
…
College graduation.
It wasn't so much a celebration to welcome the future, the time supposedly bright and full of optimism. It was really a remembrance, an obituary, dedicated to all the things the graduates have sacrificed to keep the short-lived past company in its grave.
And of course, there were also things that just stubbornly refused to die. Like suppressed memories.
To Yukimura Seiichi, walking upon the carpeted path in the auditorium on his way up to the podium to collect his honors and awards felt more like traveling on a journey through memory lane.
He disregarded all the envious and jealous stares of his classmates. He dismissed the looks of approval and admiration from his professors.
Everyone assumed he traveled a path full of glory and magnificence.
Only he knew, things differed from their appearances.
Memory's tidal wave rushed in to drown out the deafening applause.
…
The gift Renji received on his birthday in the year preceding their graduation from college was the diagnosis of advanced stage lymphoma.
Amusingly enough, it finally provided him a true explanation to his fatigue and pallor that prevented him from concentrating fully on his schoolwork in the previous year. It also provided the answer to the abnormal swelling around his abdomen and under his armpits that he had dismissed as his lack of exercise upon his entrance to college.
The oncologist suggested aggressive treatment of radiation combined with max dose chemotherapy (1).
Renji complied with the oncologist's management of care. He agreed even with his comprehension of the devastating treatment side effects the physician minimally introduced in his explanation. Doing so, he fully accepted his new identity as a hospital patient along with the secret label of pharmaceutical test subject.
His additional gift included a summer vacation of confinement within the white hospital walls.
He and Genichirou began visiting Renji once he settled in the hospital. Ironically, this situation served as a past reminder for him. Except, this time, Renji became the one confined to bed due to sickness instead of him.
The overwhelming side effects of chemotherapy ambushed the other without much of a warning. It was common for him to walk into Renji's room to see him hovered over an emesis basin, regurgitating what little remained inside his stomach.
But, commonality didn't stop him from rushing to the other's side. He ran a hand down his back, attempting to comfort him as best he could. From the corner of one eye, he spotted a middle-aged nurse injecting medication into the IV bag beside Renji's bed.
"Can you give him something to help control his vomiting?"
"I've already done that." The nurse withdrew the needle after the injection.
He examined the nurse carefully then, only to find dull apathy in her eyes left behind by time and experience. While he would have sympathized and easily dismissed the small inconvenience in an ordinary situation, his worry for his companion dissolved his usual passive and polite demeanor.
"Why isn't it working then?" He pressed further.
The nurse disposed of the syringe in the sharps box and stood at the garbage can to remove her latex gloves. "Well, the medication might be ineffective for him. Or his body might have not yet metabolized it. Or maybe, its effects might have already worn off."
The monotone of her voice made her seem as if she recited contents from a textbook. Verbatim.
Before he could retort with a sharp comeback, his companion diverted his attention with a light squeeze at his arm.
"I'll be back later." She passed them on her way out.
Disapproval wrinkled the space between his brows. Seiichi glared at the scrubbed figure disappearing down the hall. "Is that what she learned from nursing school?"
Straightening slowly, Renji made no comment to his statement as he staggered weakly back to bed.
Tossing all thoughts aside, he supported him in what seemed to the other like great adversity. He tucked him into the covers as gently as a mother preparing her child for bed. Afterwards, he found a chair to drag to the bedside. There, he would sit overseeing the other's slumber.
"Do you not have assignments to complete?" Renji turned away, showing him only the back of the knit cap once he lied down on the cheap saggy mattress. Seiichi knew, there was not a single strand of auburn hair left under there. Chemotherapy made sure of that. "You do not have to come so often."
The other's pride verbalized.
"There is always someone coming. It is always either someone from home, or you, or Genichirou. Perhaps it would have been better if I had kept this illness from the both of you in the first place."
"But we would have found out eventually. We have connections." It wasn't that he wanted to argue with a moody patient. He merely intended to remind him of the bond they shared.
"…"
He sighed inwardly. Pride existed as the reason for the other's sharp words, and it remained now also the reason for his silence.
Rising from his seat, he tucked away a side rail, a built-in safety device, to sit on the bed the other lied on. He resumed his speech, after removing what he felt was a blockade between them.
"I know you don't want us to see you like this. I know that you aren't really too happy about the disease progress and your appearance right now. I know, because I've been there too." He referred to his illness during junior high.
His hand reached out, stroking the other's arm. Human contact equaled the best treatment for patients who carried labels of sickness that isolated them from the rest of the population. "But, would we still be this close if we only knew of each others' perfections?"
His words must have made some kind of impact. For his companion turned slowly to peer at him then, however hesitant and unwilling he was.
Seiichi gazed at his face and noted how all the misfortunes from the other's recent experiences drained color from his face and casted shadows under his eyes. As if feeling the other didn't already appear older than his age, the illness squeezed the last traces of youth from Renji's façade.
Bearing witness to such a sight, he had to restrain himself, to clench his teeth together so tightly that his jaws started aching, to keep from breaking down.
…
"Sanada Genichirou."
Was it possible for one's spirit to become detached from one's body?
Before, he wouldn't have known the answer to such a question because it never occurred to him personally.
He watched the other rise ceremoniously from his seat beside his, walk the same carpeted lane he walked, putting on the same tepid expression he forced on his face before.
He didn't know whether or not one's spirit could really detach from one's body.
But, watching his friend's steps made him feel as if he became the spirit that wandered away from the other's body. The spirit now watching Genichirou's every movement.
Seiichi recognized Genichirou traveling through the same memory lane he traveled through.
…
Just as everyone cultivated unique talents, everyone had something he was incapable of accomplishing.
The same rule applied even to those who appeared gifted in almost all that they did.
As capable as Renji remained as an intelligent learner, there was one thing he continued to fail at: the simple act of bidding farewell to someone he would no longer be seeing.
Seiichi knew of the other's lack of talent in saying goodbyes because the other never said goodbye. To his former doubles partner from elementary school. Neither to him nor to Genichirou.
He and Genichirou visited Renji again two weeks before their final exams.
By that time, the usual tall, athletic-built Renji swelled up so much due to the abnormal cell proliferation in his lymph nodes that the loose pajamas he brought with him to the hospital no longer fit him. He had to switch into one of a larger size.
Self-conscious, he usually hid his figure under the covers when the two of them came to visit. It took some gentle coaxing and patient waiting for him to finally face them and hold somewhat of a normal conversation.
"Final exams draw near. You two should focus on your studies."
Seiichi grinned, a speck of mischief twinkling in his eyes. "Ne, do you realize how much you sound like Genichirou when you said that?"
The subject of his mischief only blinked.
Since Renji turned his back to them as he looked out the window, he couldn't see his expression directly. He did, however, see mirth lift a corner of the other's lips in his reflection on the glass.
Perhaps it was how tranquil and comfortable everything seemed that day that he neglected an important detail. He should have known that people usually tried to hide something, to prevent their countenances from betraying them when they talked with their backs turned.
He should have known that the other hid something from them that day.
"So, what is the doctor planning?" After some small talk, he redirected the conversation to its main course.
"The physician suggested surgery."
With brows knit and arms cross, Genichirou inquired. "What are your chances?"
"...Fifty-fifty."
He and Genichirou exchanged looks. They began, "Renji…"
"It's fine." The other cut them off. He finally turned around. "I will be fine."
Their companion managed a smile that wouldn't have been defined as attractive to strangers. But to them, that smile formed a sign of optimism that appealed to them like a glimpse of light in darkness.
And that, along with the other's reassurance, was enough to convince the both of them.
Over the next few days, he concentrated on his studies with Genichirou like Renji had suggested. He dove so deep into his studies that he hardly took time for breaks. Though, during certain points in time, when his wandering concentration began pursuing the thought of his sick friend, he would pick up his cell phone to text him.
Sometimes he received a reply to the messages he sent. Sometimes he didn't.
A strange feeling of anxiety plucked at the end of his nerves during those times when the other failed to reply.
When he attempted to verbalize that uneasiness, Genichirou only suggested it to be anxiety for the finals. His worries, dismissed, just like that. Or rather, the two of them were just attempting to suppress their uncertainties. That's all.
Deep down inside, still, his intuition consistently demanded for attention.
It was until Renji stopped replying to his texts altogether that he finally addressed his fears.
He rushed to the hospital immediately after his final exams. For the first time, he became aware of the sluggish speed the train proceeded at. His eyes lost their focus in the utility poles and the roof tops and trees passing outside when his mind pondered a single matter refusing to untangle itself from his thoughts.
If surgery had been an option, then why didn't the physician present such an option in the first place? That way, the other wouldn't have to suffer for so long.
Unless...
Realization became the iciness that swept through his sweat glands.
Unless, possibility already pushed surgery out of the picture when Renji was diagnosed (2).
Everything dissolved into a blur around him then. When he dashed out the train at his stop. When he pushed his way through the crowd. Everything fogged up to a disarray of colors and shapes around him.
His vision cleared again only when he arrived outside the hospital.
The room he entered and exited countless times in the last year, the same room he was capable of coming to in the depths of his slumber, transformed into an entirely different environment.
The pile of books he brought the other disappeared. The blanket Genichirou's mother crocheted for the other vanished. Most importantly, the other was nowhere in sight.
Only tidy white sheets stretched across an unoccupied bed.
Renji's silent farewell echoed through the empty hospital room.
…
In the future, if anyone curiously interviewed him of the hardest part he found about his four-year college experience, he would have replied mirthlessly, "The graduation ceremony."
Then, he would add, "Especially the graduation speeches." Especially that one particular speech.
"I just want to take a moment to make a special dedication to a student who recently passed away."
He knew it was coming. He saw it in the school director's sudden change in expression. When he should have paid serious attention like everyone else while the man spoke, he diverted his attention to entertainment of the man's talent in acting, in pretending.
His friend stiffened in his seat beside his. The other remained in his rigid position in the entirety of the man's elaborate speech about that person's achievements, about his potentials, about his future and finally, about the misfortune that denied him of all life's possibilities.
"It was an honor." At last, the closing line.
If it had been a debate rather than a speech, he would have shot up immediately to rebuttal when the other finished.
"Did you know who he was when you spoke of him on such personal terms? Did you know about his struggles, his pains, his disappointments, his regrets? What was he to you but a tool, an advertisement, for you to gain fame and recognition for the school?"
Yet, he made no move at rebelling. He sat through the speech. And ones that followed.
It didn't matter how they idealized reality with their fake, flowery presentations. This would be one of those places he planned never to return to, a memory he wouldn't ever revisit after this day, anyway.
…
Reaching home after the graduation ceremony, he locked himself in his room, his little private world of darkness. Seiichi confined himself to an unoccupied corner and made a dock out of his cell phone to transport his messages and carry his longing from his world to another destination.
How are you?
He waited. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes.
No one replied.
His fingers moved quickly over the small keypad again.
Graduation was today. You earned yourself a lot of awards again. Your parents were proud.
He launched the message. This time, he didn't wait passively for a reply. He continued typing on the miniature keypad, his thumbs tapping around, dancing to a mad melody.
Genichirou and I are proud of you too. You kept your part of the promise. You kept up with us.
He unloaded the last sentence from the message box. It sounded as if the other fell behind them all this time, as if he didn't contribute as much effort as they did.
We kept up with each other.
Yeah, that seemed more fitting. He kept typing.
Now that graduation is over, I guess I should give you your graduation present. Well, it's not really from me. It's from both Genichirou and I. We hope you'll like it.
He chuckled, thinking of his surprise.
I know you'll like it.
He waited an entire afternoon for a reply.
When the wall clock chimed to remind him of all those hours he spent waiting, his cell phone finally slipped from his hand to land on the floor with a soft thud. He slumped from exhaustion's ambush.
His shoulders trembled when he buried his face in his arms. And the world felt like it was shaking and falling apart too.
…
Everyone had kept secrets.
Some secrets couldn't be told because of the judgment and punishment people were afraid to bring upon themselves if told. Then, there were secrets that had to be kept because no one believed in their validity.
Seiichi had a secret that fit into the latter category.
He recalled one incident during his childhood where he discovered a dying dunnock in his garden. He prepared the bird a proper burial, digging its grave with his own bare hands.
At that time, the hot summer sun parched the earth. Each lump of solid soil stuck together, unyielding to his efforts.
He dug and dug until his nails cracked and blood dripped from his hands to become moisturizer for the dry land. Yet, determination continued driving him on in the hardship.
He received a scolding from his mom later on when she cleaned him up and bandaged his hands. After that, his let his memory of the bird decompose with its corpse.
Until, one day, he found at the tiny funeral mound in his garden a single red tulip bulb. Red, like the blood that had fertilized the soil when he conducted the animal's burial.
The day it finally blossomed, a bird, one identical to the one he buried, took to the sky breaking though the confining petals.
The dunnock had been revived. He brought it back to life.
When he realized the miracle he conceived, he shared his discovery with his mom. He had no intention of keeping such a thing a secret, for revelation, he expected, would bring him praise.
His mother, however, dismissed his words as part of the silly make-up games children played.
"Birds come from eggs. Flowers come from seeds. The two are completely different things." She explained patiently.
At that age, if your own mother didn't believe you, then you thought, the rest of the world probably didn't either. Maybe, you might not even believe yourself.
So, that secret remained a secret.
Until now, until he dug it out, brushing off the years of neglect it collected.
…
Seiichi didn't mourn openly at his friend's death.
The silence of solitude spread through the chambers of his heart. And the spindle of his mind spun until it wove a completed plan from yarns of denial. Or was it yarns of reason?
What difference did it make anyway?
He didn't despair over Renji's death, because, he would find a way to bring Renji back.
If Dr. Frankenstein could bring new life onto this world, he thought, then he could as well.
However, knowing that Dr. Frankenstein created a monster, he feared he would make the same mistake. He didn't want to create a monster. He wanted to create a masterpiece, another Yanagi Renji. Yet, he knew he couldn't recreate a masterpiece like the other, as much as he wanted to.
He lacked the tools. He lacked the resources. He lacked a sophisticated scientific mind. Though most importantly, he was unwilling to use parts of dead corpses. Those didn't belong to Renji.
So he tried using the skill he developed through years of practice: planting. Seiichi was a gardener. He was used to planting and burying things. All the things he buried before sprouted from their origins from within the deep earth and grew to impressive heights.
His eyes finally settled back onto the hands he raised before him: the grooves and contours of his palms, his clean cut nails and slender fingers. These hands he would use to bring back his deceased companion.
He began by gathering Renji's belongings he requested from the other's mother and sister: his tennis racquets, tennis balls, calligraphy brushes, yukatas, matcha bowls, tea whisks… Next, he moved onto his own belongings that carried the other's memories: his prized photo albums including the one meant as a graduation present, the scented sachets the other made him, the calligraphy scrolls he hung on his wall…
All the things he gathered became seeds he buried in his backyard.
It was funny how the same hands that created were also the hands that destroyed. By the time he planted all the possessions, the flowers he had worked hard on planting lied around in broken fragments of stems, roots and petals.
His parents and his little sister, thinking he attempted to occupy his mind after his companion's death, only stood by passively.
They sent grief and condolence through their silent gazes at his busy figure. The same grief and condolence he snapped carelessly like the split blossoms lying in heaps around him.
…
What boundary, what line, existed to separate the past from the future?
Maybe, it didn't exist.
Five years later, some people changed, some things transformed, some places shifted.
Yet, to other people, other things, the period of five years came like a harmless itch that went away with a little scratch. Nothing altered.
When he opened his eyes in salutation to the morning, he found himself leaning against a wooden pillar at the veranda overlooking his large garden.
The bright colors he saw peeking from the new green growth hinted at the arrival of spring. Watching the scene made him feel like he too was a plant awakening from its long winter slumber.
He shifted in his seat. Then he noticed the blanket that covered him and protected him from the remains of winter lingering in the air.
The blanket served as the best reminder of spring's true arrival.
In the garden, at a distance, a willow tree stood like a guardian to his greenery. He admired it, almost to the point of obsession.
Soft footsteps pattering on the wooden floor sounded from behind him.
"Seiichi." A light, feather-like touch brushed his shoulder.
Recognition lifted his lips at both corners. He made no move to meet the familiar figure behind him. His gaze wouldn't surrender the sight of the willow tree whose swaying branches gestured at him an invitation for company.
Unable to spare a single look over his shoulder, he reached to place his hand on top the hand on his shoulder instead.
The tree he spent two years growing stood before him. This was the tree he grew going through pounds and pounds of fertile soil. The tree he nourished with his own crimson essence of life. The tree he transported along with all his belongings when he moved out of his parents' house. The tree he replanted in the backyard of his own house. The tree that finally helped him recover what he'd lost in the past.
"Good morning, Renji." Finally, he turned to his companion beside him like shifting his attention from the past to the present.
This was the one he gave life to. The one he moved far from Kanagawa for. The one who stayed beside him the last three years. The one who replaced loneliness as his companion.
The other's face became a clear reminder of those facts. In reaching out to caress his cheek, he confirmed the truth, verified the reality in which he lived in. It was the unchanged face from seven years ago: the oval face, the auburn hair with a neatly trimmed fringe, the long nose, the neutral line set between his lips. And also, characteristically, the eyes that hid almost completely behind eyelids.
He possessed the exact resemblance of his deceased companion. The resemblance before it crumbled away in the last few months of his life. The one standing before him now a Renji, forever twenty-one.
"...Seiichi." The other called quietly.
Renji's open-eyed gaze aborted his thoughts. Even the color of the other's eyes matched Renji's in his memories-crystalline amber. Like looking at the willow tree in his garden, he could look into those eyes and be mesmerized, be eternally frozen in the moment.
Yet, he chose to avert his gaze and rise from his seat.
"It's another lovely day." He stretched, fingers laced and arms reaching far up and behind him. His joints groaned, loosening from their stiffness.
The other bent to retrieve the blanket on the floor. Straightening, he folded the rectangular throw over an arm.
Seiichi turned to walk into the house. He stopped halfway, when another aroma overpowered the earthy smell of outdoors. The dense smokiness of grilled fish and the saltiness competing with the ocean that could only be produced from miso soup.
"You made breakfast." The bluenet commented.
"Aa. It is ready on the table."
"I really missed your cooking." He added softly, sincerely, almost as if he didn't want the other to hear him.
Renji strolled up beside him, sending a serene smile in his direction. "Aa. Thank you."
Seiichi returned the smile, knowing the deeper meaning of their exchange that existed beyond their mundane small talk about cooking and food.
…
Their work began after a morning of quiet breakfast.
They drove in Seiichi's mini pickup truck to a local greenhouse.
The greenhouse was situated on a piece of vacant lot Seiichi rented after his greenery had taken up his entire garden at home down to the littlest corner. It had been empty ground put on lease for a long time because no one knew what to do with it. A cluster of average-sized homes crowded nearby. A children's playground fitted into the tight-packed neighborhood somehow as well.
When Seiichi rented the space, he had joked about how things just seemed to have fallen under Fate's control. Certain things belonged to certain people no matter what. While everyone saw the land as useless space, he used it fittingly to his advantage.
After they recovered whatever they needed for the day, they set off to Seiichi's flower shop. Set near an busy industrial area, there were always people hurrying past the little shop. Like the greenhouse with its odd presence among the cluster of residences, the flower shop and its coziness seemed like another oddity among the luxurious stores that tempted customers with strident and flamboyant appeals.
They started with simple arrangements around the shop. As soon as they double-checked the stock and placed plants accordingly to color complimentary, Seiichi unlocked the front glass doors. The little flower shop began accepting customers at ten o'clock sharp each day.
Customers coursed in one by one shortly after.
Contradictory to appearances, their flower shop grew to be rather popular in the area. Most of their clients were females, eager and talkative as they don't hesitate in initiating spontaneous conversations with him and Renji.
Their compliments included the usual, "Your flowers last exceptionally long, Yukimura-kun!" Or, "Your bouquets are just so beautiful!"
Aside from giving them compliments, some customers advanced to asking about other things. More personal things. Like the flowers they liked. Or if they had girlfriends. Or their hobbies. …And their cell phone numbers. He answered most of their questions with a dazzling smile. And to the questions he felt inappropriate about giving away the answers to ("Where do you live, Yukimura-kun?"), he simply redirected the conversation to a different direction, usually asking a few light, conversation-starting questions on his own instead.
Out of the female client population, the majority return, bringing along new faces.
When he waved goodbye to the last client, he realized that it was already two hours past noon and neither of them had yet had a break. He turned about the idea of hiring for help in his mind.
For lunch, the two of them sat at a small round table supporting a glass surface eating sandwiches Renji made and drinking freshly brewed lavender green tea. The flowers encompassing them, in buckets on the floor and hanging in baskets from the ceiling, made it appear as if they were situated within a botanical cafe.
During their meal, Seiichi noticed Renji staring out the window to pick out the traces of pink cherry blossoms in the sea of dark-colored business attires.
Smiling, he made a suggestion. "We should go sightseeing soon."
Renji spared him a brief glance, then turned back to the window. "Aa."
It was a tradition they developed. To go sightseeing once the flowers budded in spring's arrival.
Imitating his companion beside him, he too turned to look out the window to admire the blossoming new life. A certain passerby entered his field of vision. He would have dismissed him like any other passerby if it hadn't been the other's appearance. Seiichi recognized him instantly even after all these years.
He watched the passerby's eyes widen. But the man wasn't looking at him; his entire expression incredulous as he peered at the one beside him.
So he followed the passerby's gaze, turning to Renji and seeing him nod at the man politely.
But of course, the other had no idea of the passerby's identity.
The passerby disappeared from sight. A moment later, the door chimes announced a newcomer.
Renji stood to greet the newcomer. While, he remained in his seat, simply sipping his tea nonchalantly.
"Yukimura...and..."
He finally turned to the newcomer, the passerby he and his companion saw through the window before. Disregarding his direct and prying gaze on his companion, he greeted the other naturally.
"How are you, Genichiriou?"
END NOTES:
(1) - The part where Yanagi agreed to the "max-dose" chemotherapy treatment was actually inspired by a moving movie called Wit, starring Emma Thompson. It was assigned to our clinical group, and we had an entire discussion on it regarding the research conducted on medications. Drugs will always do some harm first before they can benefit the sick.
(2) - Usually, surgical intervention is only for the excision of solid, localized tumors. In cases where cancer is scattered all over the body in advanced lymphoma, surgery is no longer an option.
The original title and story are inspired by Shimizu Yuki's manga, C-Ze-. The "paper dolls/people"are created to carry the burden of their hosts' injuries. Then, it turns out, some hosts just use them as tools, while other hosts value them more than their own lives.
The story will conclude in the next chapter.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Yukimura x Yanagi
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Semi-AU. This is the last fairytale on this little planet... That's why, we have to seal it in a time capsule.
概要: 讓我們把這小小星球上最後的童話保存在時光囊里。。。 （提供給鎖心桑的幸柳文）
Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.
A/N: The original title of this piece was "Paper Doll."
For those who made the doujinshi request: I'm sorry that some of you failed to receive the book in the mail. For those who did receive a copy, I apologize for the amount of errors and typos that resulted. So, please accept this as retribution.
NOTES: Fairy tale elements. Strangeness. Mild Sanada x Yanagi. Yukimura POV.
[BGM: Matsueda Noriko & Eguchi Takahito - "1000 Words (piano ver.)"]
[BGM: Honpo Furukawa feat. Hatsune Miku - "Alice -reprise-"]
Time Capsule Fairytale
Part I
"Open your eyes."
"…"
"Good morning."
"…Good morning."
"How do you feel?"
"Fine, thank you."
"Good. Do you remember who I am?"
"You are my creator."
"…Is that all you can recall?"
"Yes."
"…I see…"
"…I apologize. Was there something else I should be aware of?"
"…No… That was all…"
…
College graduation.
It wasn't so much a celebration to welcome the future, the time supposedly bright and full of optimism. It was really a remembrance, an obituary, dedicated to all the things the graduates have sacrificed to keep the short-lived past company in its grave.
And of course, there were also things that just stubbornly refused to die. Like suppressed memories.
To Yukimura Seiichi, walking upon the carpeted path in the auditorium on his way up to the podium to collect his honors and awards felt more like traveling on a journey through memory lane.
He disregarded all the envious and jealous stares of his classmates. He dismissed the looks of approval and admiration from his professors.
Everyone assumed he traveled a path full of glory and magnificence.
Only he knew, things differed from their appearances.
Memory's tidal wave rushed in to drown out the deafening applause.
…
The gift Renji received on his birthday in the year preceding their graduation from college was the diagnosis of advanced stage lymphoma.
Amusingly enough, it finally provided him a true explanation to his fatigue and pallor that prevented him from concentrating fully on his schoolwork in the previous year. It also provided the answer to the abnormal swelling around his abdomen and under his armpits that he had dismissed as his lack of exercise upon his entrance to college.
The oncologist suggested aggressive treatment of radiation combined with max dose chemotherapy (1).
Renji complied with the oncologist's management of care. He agreed even with his comprehension of the devastating treatment side effects the physician minimally introduced in his explanation. Doing so, he fully accepted his new identity as a hospital patient along with the secret label of pharmaceutical test subject.
His additional gift included a summer vacation of confinement within the white hospital walls.
He and Genichirou began visiting Renji once he settled in the hospital. Ironically, this situation served as a past reminder for him. Except, this time, Renji became the one confined to bed due to sickness instead of him.
The overwhelming side effects of chemotherapy ambushed the other without much of a warning. It was common for him to walk into Renji's room to see him hovered over an emesis basin, regurgitating what little remained inside his stomach.
But, commonality didn't stop him from rushing to the other's side. He ran a hand down his back, attempting to comfort him as best he could. From the corner of one eye, he spotted a middle-aged nurse injecting medication into the IV bag beside Renji's bed.
"Can you give him something to help control his vomiting?"
"I've already done that." The nurse withdrew the needle after the injection.
He examined the nurse carefully then, only to find dull apathy in her eyes left behind by time and experience. While he would have sympathized and easily dismissed the small inconvenience in an ordinary situation, his worry for his companion dissolved his usual passive and polite demeanor.
"Why isn't it working then?" He pressed further.
The nurse disposed of the syringe in the sharps box and stood at the garbage can to remove her latex gloves. "Well, the medication might be ineffective for him. Or his body might have not yet metabolized it. Or maybe, its effects might have already worn off."
The monotone of her voice made her seem as if she recited contents from a textbook. Verbatim.
Before he could retort with a sharp comeback, his companion diverted his attention with a light squeeze at his arm.
"I'll be back later." She passed them on her way out.
Disapproval wrinkled the space between his brows. Seiichi glared at the scrubbed figure disappearing down the hall. "Is that what she learned from nursing school?"
Straightening slowly, Renji made no comment to his statement as he staggered weakly back to bed.
Tossing all thoughts aside, he supported him in what seemed to the other like great adversity. He tucked him into the covers as gently as a mother preparing her child for bed. Afterwards, he found a chair to drag to the bedside. There, he would sit overseeing the other's slumber.
"Do you not have assignments to complete?" Renji turned away, showing him only the back of the knit cap once he lied down on the cheap saggy mattress. Seiichi knew, there was not a single strand of auburn hair left under there. Chemotherapy made sure of that. "You do not have to come so often."
The other's pride verbalized.
"There is always someone coming. It is always either someone from home, or you, or Genichirou. Perhaps it would have been better if I had kept this illness from the both of you in the first place."
"But we would have found out eventually. We have connections." It wasn't that he wanted to argue with a moody patient. He merely intended to remind him of the bond they shared.
"…"
He sighed inwardly. Pride existed as the reason for the other's sharp words, and it remained now also the reason for his silence.
Rising from his seat, he tucked away a side rail, a built-in safety device, to sit on the bed the other lied on. He resumed his speech, after removing what he felt was a blockade between them.
"I know you don't want us to see you like this. I know that you aren't really too happy about the disease progress and your appearance right now. I know, because I've been there too." He referred to his illness during junior high.
His hand reached out, stroking the other's arm. Human contact equaled the best treatment for patients who carried labels of sickness that isolated them from the rest of the population. "But, would we still be this close if we only knew of each others' perfections?"
His words must have made some kind of impact. For his companion turned slowly to peer at him then, however hesitant and unwilling he was.
Seiichi gazed at his face and noted how all the misfortunes from the other's recent experiences drained color from his face and casted shadows under his eyes. As if feeling the other didn't already appear older than his age, the illness squeezed the last traces of youth from Renji's façade.
Bearing witness to such a sight, he had to restrain himself, to clench his teeth together so tightly that his jaws started aching, to keep from breaking down.
…
"Sanada Genichirou."
Was it possible for one's spirit to become detached from one's body?
Before, he wouldn't have known the answer to such a question because it never occurred to him personally.
He watched the other rise ceremoniously from his seat beside his, walk the same carpeted lane he walked, putting on the same tepid expression he forced on his face before.
He didn't know whether or not one's spirit could really detach from one's body.
But, watching his friend's steps made him feel as if he became the spirit that wandered away from the other's body. The spirit now watching Genichirou's every movement.
Seiichi recognized Genichirou traveling through the same memory lane he traveled through.
…
Just as everyone cultivated unique talents, everyone had something he was incapable of accomplishing.
The same rule applied even to those who appeared gifted in almost all that they did.
As capable as Renji remained as an intelligent learner, there was one thing he continued to fail at: the simple act of bidding farewell to someone he would no longer be seeing.
Seiichi knew of the other's lack of talent in saying goodbyes because the other never said goodbye. To his former doubles partner from elementary school. Neither to him nor to Genichirou.
He and Genichirou visited Renji again two weeks before their final exams.
By that time, the usual tall, athletic-built Renji swelled up so much due to the abnormal cell proliferation in his lymph nodes that the loose pajamas he brought with him to the hospital no longer fit him. He had to switch into one of a larger size.
Self-conscious, he usually hid his figure under the covers when the two of them came to visit. It took some gentle coaxing and patient waiting for him to finally face them and hold somewhat of a normal conversation.
"Final exams draw near. You two should focus on your studies."
Seiichi grinned, a speck of mischief twinkling in his eyes. "Ne, do you realize how much you sound like Genichirou when you said that?"
The subject of his mischief only blinked.
Since Renji turned his back to them as he looked out the window, he couldn't see his expression directly. He did, however, see mirth lift a corner of the other's lips in his reflection on the glass.
Perhaps it was how tranquil and comfortable everything seemed that day that he neglected an important detail. He should have known that people usually tried to hide something, to prevent their countenances from betraying them when they talked with their backs turned.
He should have known that the other hid something from them that day.
"So, what is the doctor planning?" After some small talk, he redirected the conversation to its main course.
"The physician suggested surgery."
With brows knit and arms cross, Genichirou inquired. "What are your chances?"
"...Fifty-fifty."
He and Genichirou exchanged looks. They began, "Renji…"
"It's fine." The other cut them off. He finally turned around. "I will be fine."
Their companion managed a smile that wouldn't have been defined as attractive to strangers. But to them, that smile formed a sign of optimism that appealed to them like a glimpse of light in darkness.
And that, along with the other's reassurance, was enough to convince the both of them.
Over the next few days, he concentrated on his studies with Genichirou like Renji had suggested. He dove so deep into his studies that he hardly took time for breaks. Though, during certain points in time, when his wandering concentration began pursuing the thought of his sick friend, he would pick up his cell phone to text him.
Sometimes he received a reply to the messages he sent. Sometimes he didn't.
A strange feeling of anxiety plucked at the end of his nerves during those times when the other failed to reply.
When he attempted to verbalize that uneasiness, Genichirou only suggested it to be anxiety for the finals. His worries, dismissed, just like that. Or rather, the two of them were just attempting to suppress their uncertainties. That's all.
Deep down inside, still, his intuition consistently demanded for attention.
It was until Renji stopped replying to his texts altogether that he finally addressed his fears.
He rushed to the hospital immediately after his final exams. For the first time, he became aware of the sluggish speed the train proceeded at. His eyes lost their focus in the utility poles and the roof tops and trees passing outside when his mind pondered a single matter refusing to untangle itself from his thoughts.
If surgery had been an option, then why didn't the physician present such an option in the first place? That way, the other wouldn't have to suffer for so long.
Unless...
Realization became the iciness that swept through his sweat glands.
Unless, possibility already pushed surgery out of the picture when Renji was diagnosed (2).
Everything dissolved into a blur around him then. When he dashed out the train at his stop. When he pushed his way through the crowd. Everything fogged up to a disarray of colors and shapes around him.
His vision cleared again only when he arrived outside the hospital.
The room he entered and exited countless times in the last year, the same room he was capable of coming to in the depths of his slumber, transformed into an entirely different environment.
The pile of books he brought the other disappeared. The blanket Genichirou's mother crocheted for the other vanished. Most importantly, the other was nowhere in sight.
Only tidy white sheets stretched across an unoccupied bed.
Renji's silent farewell echoed through the empty hospital room.
…
In the future, if anyone curiously interviewed him of the hardest part he found about his four-year college experience, he would have replied mirthlessly, "The graduation ceremony."
Then, he would add, "Especially the graduation speeches." Especially that one particular speech.
"I just want to take a moment to make a special dedication to a student who recently passed away."
He knew it was coming. He saw it in the school director's sudden change in expression. When he should have paid serious attention like everyone else while the man spoke, he diverted his attention to entertainment of the man's talent in acting, in pretending.
His friend stiffened in his seat beside his. The other remained in his rigid position in the entirety of the man's elaborate speech about that person's achievements, about his potentials, about his future and finally, about the misfortune that denied him of all life's possibilities.
"It was an honor." At last, the closing line.
If it had been a debate rather than a speech, he would have shot up immediately to rebuttal when the other finished.
"Did you know who he was when you spoke of him on such personal terms? Did you know about his struggles, his pains, his disappointments, his regrets? What was he to you but a tool, an advertisement, for you to gain fame and recognition for the school?"
Yet, he made no move at rebelling. He sat through the speech. And ones that followed.
It didn't matter how they idealized reality with their fake, flowery presentations. This would be one of those places he planned never to return to, a memory he wouldn't ever revisit after this day, anyway.
…
Reaching home after the graduation ceremony, he locked himself in his room, his little private world of darkness. Seiichi confined himself to an unoccupied corner and made a dock out of his cell phone to transport his messages and carry his longing from his world to another destination.
How are you?
He waited. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes.
No one replied.
His fingers moved quickly over the small keypad again.
Graduation was today. You earned yourself a lot of awards again. Your parents were proud.
He launched the message. This time, he didn't wait passively for a reply. He continued typing on the miniature keypad, his thumbs tapping around, dancing to a mad melody.
Genichirou and I are proud of you too. You kept your part of the promise. You kept up with us.
He unloaded the last sentence from the message box. It sounded as if the other fell behind them all this time, as if he didn't contribute as much effort as they did.
We kept up with each other.
Yeah, that seemed more fitting. He kept typing.
Now that graduation is over, I guess I should give you your graduation present. Well, it's not really from me. It's from both Genichirou and I. We hope you'll like it.
He chuckled, thinking of his surprise.
I know you'll like it.
He waited an entire afternoon for a reply.
When the wall clock chimed to remind him of all those hours he spent waiting, his cell phone finally slipped from his hand to land on the floor with a soft thud. He slumped from exhaustion's ambush.
His shoulders trembled when he buried his face in his arms. And the world felt like it was shaking and falling apart too.
…
Everyone had kept secrets.
Some secrets couldn't be told because of the judgment and punishment people were afraid to bring upon themselves if told. Then, there were secrets that had to be kept because no one believed in their validity.
Seiichi had a secret that fit into the latter category.
He recalled one incident during his childhood where he discovered a dying dunnock in his garden. He prepared the bird a proper burial, digging its grave with his own bare hands.
At that time, the hot summer sun parched the earth. Each lump of solid soil stuck together, unyielding to his efforts.
He dug and dug until his nails cracked and blood dripped from his hands to become moisturizer for the dry land. Yet, determination continued driving him on in the hardship.
He received a scolding from his mom later on when she cleaned him up and bandaged his hands. After that, his let his memory of the bird decompose with its corpse.
Until, one day, he found at the tiny funeral mound in his garden a single red tulip bulb. Red, like the blood that had fertilized the soil when he conducted the animal's burial.
The day it finally blossomed, a bird, one identical to the one he buried, took to the sky breaking though the confining petals.
The dunnock had been revived. He brought it back to life.
When he realized the miracle he conceived, he shared his discovery with his mom. He had no intention of keeping such a thing a secret, for revelation, he expected, would bring him praise.
His mother, however, dismissed his words as part of the silly make-up games children played.
"Birds come from eggs. Flowers come from seeds. The two are completely different things." She explained patiently.
At that age, if your own mother didn't believe you, then you thought, the rest of the world probably didn't either. Maybe, you might not even believe yourself.
So, that secret remained a secret.
Until now, until he dug it out, brushing off the years of neglect it collected.
…
Seiichi didn't mourn openly at his friend's death.
The silence of solitude spread through the chambers of his heart. And the spindle of his mind spun until it wove a completed plan from yarns of denial. Or was it yarns of reason?
What difference did it make anyway?
He didn't despair over Renji's death, because, he would find a way to bring Renji back.
If Dr. Frankenstein could bring new life onto this world, he thought, then he could as well.
However, knowing that Dr. Frankenstein created a monster, he feared he would make the same mistake. He didn't want to create a monster. He wanted to create a masterpiece, another Yanagi Renji. Yet, he knew he couldn't recreate a masterpiece like the other, as much as he wanted to.
He lacked the tools. He lacked the resources. He lacked a sophisticated scientific mind. Though most importantly, he was unwilling to use parts of dead corpses. Those didn't belong to Renji.
So he tried using the skill he developed through years of practice: planting. Seiichi was a gardener. He was used to planting and burying things. All the things he buried before sprouted from their origins from within the deep earth and grew to impressive heights.
His eyes finally settled back onto the hands he raised before him: the grooves and contours of his palms, his clean cut nails and slender fingers. These hands he would use to bring back his deceased companion.
He began by gathering Renji's belongings he requested from the other's mother and sister: his tennis racquets, tennis balls, calligraphy brushes, yukatas, matcha bowls, tea whisks… Next, he moved onto his own belongings that carried the other's memories: his prized photo albums including the one meant as a graduation present, the scented sachets the other made him, the calligraphy scrolls he hung on his wall…
All the things he gathered became seeds he buried in his backyard.
It was funny how the same hands that created were also the hands that destroyed. By the time he planted all the possessions, the flowers he had worked hard on planting lied around in broken fragments of stems, roots and petals.
His parents and his little sister, thinking he attempted to occupy his mind after his companion's death, only stood by passively.
They sent grief and condolence through their silent gazes at his busy figure. The same grief and condolence he snapped carelessly like the split blossoms lying in heaps around him.
…
What boundary, what line, existed to separate the past from the future?
Maybe, it didn't exist.
Five years later, some people changed, some things transformed, some places shifted.
Yet, to other people, other things, the period of five years came like a harmless itch that went away with a little scratch. Nothing altered.
When he opened his eyes in salutation to the morning, he found himself leaning against a wooden pillar at the veranda overlooking his large garden.
The bright colors he saw peeking from the new green growth hinted at the arrival of spring. Watching the scene made him feel like he too was a plant awakening from its long winter slumber.
He shifted in his seat. Then he noticed the blanket that covered him and protected him from the remains of winter lingering in the air.
The blanket served as the best reminder of spring's true arrival.
In the garden, at a distance, a willow tree stood like a guardian to his greenery. He admired it, almost to the point of obsession.
Soft footsteps pattering on the wooden floor sounded from behind him.
"Seiichi." A light, feather-like touch brushed his shoulder.
Recognition lifted his lips at both corners. He made no move to meet the familiar figure behind him. His gaze wouldn't surrender the sight of the willow tree whose swaying branches gestured at him an invitation for company.
Unable to spare a single look over his shoulder, he reached to place his hand on top the hand on his shoulder instead.
The tree he spent two years growing stood before him. This was the tree he grew going through pounds and pounds of fertile soil. The tree he nourished with his own crimson essence of life. The tree he transported along with all his belongings when he moved out of his parents' house. The tree he replanted in the backyard of his own house. The tree that finally helped him recover what he'd lost in the past.
"Good morning, Renji." Finally, he turned to his companion beside him like shifting his attention from the past to the present.
This was the one he gave life to. The one he moved far from Kanagawa for. The one who stayed beside him the last three years. The one who replaced loneliness as his companion.
The other's face became a clear reminder of those facts. In reaching out to caress his cheek, he confirmed the truth, verified the reality in which he lived in. It was the unchanged face from seven years ago: the oval face, the auburn hair with a neatly trimmed fringe, the long nose, the neutral line set between his lips. And also, characteristically, the eyes that hid almost completely behind eyelids.
He possessed the exact resemblance of his deceased companion. The resemblance before it crumbled away in the last few months of his life. The one standing before him now a Renji, forever twenty-one.
"...Seiichi." The other called quietly.
Renji's open-eyed gaze aborted his thoughts. Even the color of the other's eyes matched Renji's in his memories-crystalline amber. Like looking at the willow tree in his garden, he could look into those eyes and be mesmerized, be eternally frozen in the moment.
Yet, he chose to avert his gaze and rise from his seat.
"It's another lovely day." He stretched, fingers laced and arms reaching far up and behind him. His joints groaned, loosening from their stiffness.
The other bent to retrieve the blanket on the floor. Straightening, he folded the rectangular throw over an arm.
Seiichi turned to walk into the house. He stopped halfway, when another aroma overpowered the earthy smell of outdoors. The dense smokiness of grilled fish and the saltiness competing with the ocean that could only be produced from miso soup.
"You made breakfast." The bluenet commented.
"Aa. It is ready on the table."
"I really missed your cooking." He added softly, sincerely, almost as if he didn't want the other to hear him.
Renji strolled up beside him, sending a serene smile in his direction. "Aa. Thank you."
Seiichi returned the smile, knowing the deeper meaning of their exchange that existed beyond their mundane small talk about cooking and food.
…
Their work began after a morning of quiet breakfast.
They drove in Seiichi's mini pickup truck to a local greenhouse.
The greenhouse was situated on a piece of vacant lot Seiichi rented after his greenery had taken up his entire garden at home down to the littlest corner. It had been empty ground put on lease for a long time because no one knew what to do with it. A cluster of average-sized homes crowded nearby. A children's playground fitted into the tight-packed neighborhood somehow as well.
When Seiichi rented the space, he had joked about how things just seemed to have fallen under Fate's control. Certain things belonged to certain people no matter what. While everyone saw the land as useless space, he used it fittingly to his advantage.
After they recovered whatever they needed for the day, they set off to Seiichi's flower shop. Set near an busy industrial area, there were always people hurrying past the little shop. Like the greenhouse with its odd presence among the cluster of residences, the flower shop and its coziness seemed like another oddity among the luxurious stores that tempted customers with strident and flamboyant appeals.
They started with simple arrangements around the shop. As soon as they double-checked the stock and placed plants accordingly to color complimentary, Seiichi unlocked the front glass doors. The little flower shop began accepting customers at ten o'clock sharp each day.
Customers coursed in one by one shortly after.
Contradictory to appearances, their flower shop grew to be rather popular in the area. Most of their clients were females, eager and talkative as they don't hesitate in initiating spontaneous conversations with him and Renji.
Their compliments included the usual, "Your flowers last exceptionally long, Yukimura-kun!" Or, "Your bouquets are just so beautiful!"
Aside from giving them compliments, some customers advanced to asking about other things. More personal things. Like the flowers they liked. Or if they had girlfriends. Or their hobbies. …And their cell phone numbers. He answered most of their questions with a dazzling smile. And to the questions he felt inappropriate about giving away the answers to ("Where do you live, Yukimura-kun?"), he simply redirected the conversation to a different direction, usually asking a few light, conversation-starting questions on his own instead.
Out of the female client population, the majority return, bringing along new faces.
When he waved goodbye to the last client, he realized that it was already two hours past noon and neither of them had yet had a break. He turned about the idea of hiring for help in his mind.
For lunch, the two of them sat at a small round table supporting a glass surface eating sandwiches Renji made and drinking freshly brewed lavender green tea. The flowers encompassing them, in buckets on the floor and hanging in baskets from the ceiling, made it appear as if they were situated within a botanical cafe.
During their meal, Seiichi noticed Renji staring out the window to pick out the traces of pink cherry blossoms in the sea of dark-colored business attires.
Smiling, he made a suggestion. "We should go sightseeing soon."
Renji spared him a brief glance, then turned back to the window. "Aa."
It was a tradition they developed. To go sightseeing once the flowers budded in spring's arrival.
Imitating his companion beside him, he too turned to look out the window to admire the blossoming new life. A certain passerby entered his field of vision. He would have dismissed him like any other passerby if it hadn't been the other's appearance. Seiichi recognized him instantly even after all these years.
He watched the passerby's eyes widen. But the man wasn't looking at him; his entire expression incredulous as he peered at the one beside him.
So he followed the passerby's gaze, turning to Renji and seeing him nod at the man politely.
But of course, the other had no idea of the passerby's identity.
The passerby disappeared from sight. A moment later, the door chimes announced a newcomer.
Renji stood to greet the newcomer. While, he remained in his seat, simply sipping his tea nonchalantly.
"Yukimura...and..."
He finally turned to the newcomer, the passerby he and his companion saw through the window before. Disregarding his direct and prying gaze on his companion, he greeted the other naturally.
"How are you, Genichiriou?"
END NOTES:
(1) - The part where Yanagi agreed to the "max-dose" chemotherapy treatment was actually inspired by a moving movie called Wit, starring Emma Thompson. It was assigned to our clinical group, and we had an entire discussion on it regarding the research conducted on medications. Drugs will always do some harm first before they can benefit the sick.
(2) - Usually, surgical intervention is only for the excision of solid, localized tumors. In cases where cancer is scattered all over the body in advanced lymphoma, surgery is no longer an option.
The original title and story are inspired by Shimizu Yuki's manga, C-Ze-. The "paper dolls/people"are created to carry the burden of their hosts' injuries. Then, it turns out, some hosts just use them as tools, while other hosts value them more than their own lives.
The story will conclude in the next chapter.