My second Hikago fic. The idea just popped into my head one night when I was thinking about all sorts of stuff and I decided to write it down.
I always thought that these two were very sweet~
ANGSTY! (because that's what I'm all about)
You have been warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hikago.
She was used to waiting for him.
They used play on the swings together when they were little children, when her hair was still too short to be tied up and his without the golden dye. They had known each other since birth, and hanging out constantly with each other had resulted into a mutual love for the fresh, breezy wind that whizzed by them as they flew through space. They simply enjoyed the feeling of soaring freely like a bird, of embracing the sky, wild and carefree.
So they met each other out every day, and every time, Akari would wait quietly at the entrance of the neighborhood's park, sitting on top of the creaking, rusty metal gate with her chubby little legs hanging down. After a while she would grow impatient, jump down from her seat and look out on tiptoes for the lively figure of her best friend sprinting down the path, waving and calling her name.
She would see him coming, and her spirits would lift, beaming as bright as the stars in the sky.
When he came near, she would whack him on the head, reproaching him for making her wait.
And he would laugh without a trace of embarrassment, not bothering to apologize as he raced towards the swings, motioning her to follow.
She would laugh too, pardoning his rudeness, and outrun him.
She never went to the swings alone. It just wasn't the same, without him conquering the heavens by her side. It was a plain, straightforward fact that she loved, treasured and cherished being with him.
Years passed. Their schoolbags eventually grew heavier with books, worksheets and tests as they set off for a new journey in life, where teachers were no longer so lenient on disobedience, impoliteness and bad habits; much unlike in kindergarten, when the adults passed mischief off as healthy vivacity. His lack of the sense of punctuality often got him into trouble, especially when he only arrived to school by the end of the first lesson with reasons such as oversleeping, homework-rushing, and on occasion, forgetting.
Yet she still tolerated him. She would wait, she told herself, because he was her friend, the one she grew up with. She would wait, because vice could be changed and modified into good habits. She would wait, because the joy of finally seeing him running, panting heavily into view was greater than anything could provide.
She waited for him in the morning such that they were both punished for being late for school. She sprawled on her couch for a whole hour before he came knocking on her door to finish the History project they were working on. She invited him to a carnival and stood by the ticket office with freshly baked cookies until they turned cold.
She would pout, complain, whine endlessly about his tardiness, but she never resented him for it. She would threaten to go without him, to leave him behind, but she never did.
Sometimes the sun would shine fiercely above her, soaking her in stinking sweat and unbearable heat. She would fan herself with whatever she had in hand, but never to walk inside an air-conditioned building or shop that was at a distance from their meeting place, in case they missed each other when he arrived. Sometimes torrential rain would fall, drowning her in heavy wetness and bitter cold. She would try to shield herself from the millions of prickly, sharp needles that poured from the gloomy, grey clouds with her umbrella as her only protection, but never to attempt to find better shelter, in case he failed to spot her.
In other times, when there were no chairs available, her leg muscles would feel as if they were stretched agonizingly tight, her knees would turn jelly-like and wobble, and her feet would go numb. She never dared find a seat to rest her poor legs, afraid that if she sat down, Tokyo's shocking population and concentration would hide her from his view.
His lateness grew worse; he went as far as making her wander around on his doorstep for two hours before remembering his promise to bring her to his uncle's factory for her research and rushing home from the arcade.
When they reached junior high, he started making up lame excuses.
"My alarm clock broke."
"I was helping my mother with the chores."
"I needed to babysit my cousin."
"I was playing Go."
"The first thing in the morning? At 7 a.m.?" She would ask skeptically, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah…" He would mumble. It was a far-fetched reason, but she would see his tired, dreary stance, his exasperated tone, and she would sense truth in his words.
She continued to put him with him. She allowed him to borrow her chemistry essay for reference and managed not to feel too upset when he finally turned in both his and hers to the teacher, three days past the deadline (they got marks deducted off for that). She said nothing when he arrived at her birthday party after the cake had been cut and presents exchanged. She didn't even tell him off for turning up at the cinema fifteen minutes after the movie had started.
Now that she was in secondary school, she was permitted a cell phone. She could call him way before the scheduled time, to remind him about their meeting in case it slipped his mind.
But she didn't, because apart from his parents, she knew him the best, and however forgetful, irresponsible, slothful and dense he might be, he never broke a promise. She counted on it to ensure that he would turn up at their appointments, if not being on time.
She chose to believe in him, to have faith in him, to have something to look forward to, to trust him not to let her down…
So she waited
…and waited…
…and waited…
…until one day, he faded away from her life. Go, once a bridge to strength their friendship, had turned against her and snatched him away to a place she could not possible reach.
He was never around her much, then. She watched distantly as the world fuzzed around him, transforming so fast she could barely keep up. The ancient science lab where the Go club was held changed into brightly coloured building of the Go institute. Their infrequent get-togethers for lunch had turned into official games with lower-dan players. Math and English study sections at her house were replaced by study sections at Morishita-sensei's. Interclass sports competitions which he always teamed up with her were substituted by competitive title matches.
He had become a pro, attending school three days out of five each week. He had his new circle of friends, colleagues, opponents and rivals. He had learned the significance of timekeeping, turning up well before his games.
Suddenly, she did not have to wait for him. She no longer had to bear for hours the blazing fury of the summer sun, nor the biting chill of winter's snow. She could hand in her homework on time and claim full credit for her articles. She wouldn't have to miss the beginning of a movie. There will be no more pain in her feet, no wasting of time and ingredients on cookies for a person who wouldn't come, no frustration and panic and disappointment when she was penalized for being late for his sake…
But she didn't have anything to look forward to.
Not anymore.
He decided that, maybe, just maybe, she deserved the truth.
She was his loyal supporter. He would run ahead of her, trip on a large stone, and tumble head-over-heels into the dust. He would lack the strength and willpower to climb back to his feet, but he would turn and always see her holding out a hand, ready to help.
It was automatic that he would turn to her for guidance when he faced a particularly difficult Math equation, or comfort and reassurance when his family was on the verge of breaking apart. It had always been like that.
His life gave a sharp u-turn the day he found himself a new best friend.
This new friend was able to give him a goal in life, a dream to achieve. He was introduced to Go, a game of stars in a galaxy, where he could literally reach out and grab a handful of radiance within his fingers. Passion and fondness for the game came easily to him, and with his fire and light that danced in his emerald green eyes he was able to ascend his way quickly towards the ultimate aim of a Go player – the Kami no Itte.
She started learning Go too, perhaps a way to keep up with him, but he topped her from the beginning, climbing higher and higher up the ladder while she stayed on the first steps.
He left her, dumped her, ditched her, chucked her out of his head for more space to take in tons and heaps of joseki, tsumego, yose strategies and room for the ghost.
He met new people and made good buddies with other players. Sometimes he would compare her to them and think about how they seem to understand his character a lot more than she ever did, despite the difference in time they had been together.
Then he would dismiss the thought and focus on his matches instead.
With the help of his ghost he caught himself a rival, and his flames rose and his determination raged to a even higher level. He wanted to play his own games, to improve, to chase after the one who would not look his way and prove to him his ability. Slowly, gradually, his friend who first took his hand and brought him into the world of Go was shunned away, shoved to the back of his mind, no longer required now that he had mastered the ways to strive forward.
He abandoned him, just the way he did to her.
He woozily opened his eyes one morning to find that his friend who had never left his side vanished into thin air. His denial caused him to turn Japan upside-down in his confusion and desperation to retrieve his mentor, his confidant, only to accept with a sword to the heart that he was truly gone, and the reason for his departure – his selfness.
Grieved, he swore never to touch Go again; Go – his occupation, the only thing he lived for.
His agony turned inside him and nearly drove him mad. His guilt was so heavy on his back his bones were sore and raw. His sorrow wafted around him and took away the gleam in his eyes.
It was so painful, but he could not ease it, because it would mean revealing his secret, something he could not afford to do. He bore the entire burden of driving his friend away on himself; he did not care if it was killing him from the inside.
Then, when he thought he could not suffer any longer, that he would not be able to make it, she shuffled up to him nervously during break one Friday, and gave his arm a squeeze.
"You looked like you needed a hug," she said.
It could hardly pass by as a cuddle, much less an embrace, but he knew she was only trying to avoid too much embarrassment on his part, especially when they were surrounded by other students. Still, he saw that she must have seen his frantic need for consolation, and she, like always, was the one to provide refuge in the storm.
He felt warmth. Like a lost, hungry traveler in the forest at night, he saw a flicker of light far ahead.
"You're hurting," she said gently yet sadly, and he wondered how she noticed it. "Tell me what's hurting you so much."
His trauma had caused him to tumble on the ladder of Go, with only one hand still holding on loosely. He realized, and is soothed to know, that if ever he fell off, she would be there to catch him.
"Please tell me," she begged. Her voice was somewhat broken and pleading. "It pains me to see you hurt like that."
He thought of his ghost, and how he forced him away. He thought of her, how he had thrown their friendship aside, and how she could, one day, disappear from his life too.
So he decided to walk towards the light, and he saw a small cottage filled with life and people who would take him in from the chill and give him food to relieve his hunger.
But he could not walk towards them; he was afraid.
What if she didn't believe him?
He did not need rejection; he did not need to be called a liar. He did not want to be regarded with pity reserved for a person who is insane. His story with his ghostly friend was unusual, peculiar and out of human logic, not easily accepted by any sane person.
His heart was broken enough already. One more poke, and it would be shattered beyond recovery.
She asked him again and again the reason he in pain. She begged him to share his anguish with her.
"You can't bear it alone," she would whisper and shake her head brokenheartedly. "I'm always here."
He would look at her forlornly, his sadness reflected in her brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he would choke out. "I really am."
She would turn away, and so would he. Tears would spring to both their eyes, one out of helplessness, the other out of shame.
He loathed himself for inflicting pain on her, but he knew not what to do.
It was one September afternoon when he returned home to find her waiting for him in his living room. He remembered that she used to wait for him all the time when they were younger.
"Why are you afraid?" She said when she saw him. "Why are you running away from me?"
"What is it that you can't tell me?"
His voice was stuck in his throat. He could not answer.
"You're scared," she continued softly. "You're afraid that I won't believe you."
She stared right into his emerald green eyes. He saw that she was wounded.
"Don't you have any faith in me at all?"
One plain statement, and it hit precisely his wavering spot.
It took him all the courage he could muster, but he made up his mind in the end.
"When are you going to tell me?"
"Tomorrow."
She was the one alongside him when it all started in his grandfather's attic, after all.
He smiled his first smile in weeks as he watched her surprise spread across her face. He scribbled a note, and handed it to her.
Meet me at the swings at noon.
She took it silently, read it, and nodded.
She left.
Tomorrow came, and he was ready.
He recalled guiltily that he had never been punctual to any of their meetings. He left his house at eleven-forty-five for a five minute walk to the park.
This would be a first.
He would not, COULD NOT be late.
He would tell her about his holy encounter; he would tell her about his life with the ghost. He would not hesitate to talk about how his story ended in a tragedy because of his sins.
And after that, he would tell her how much he is grateful that she was always there for him.
He never noticed the oncoming traffic.
She watched the sun set in the far west, bright red against the pink-purplish clouds that layered the skies.
She had been there for hours, swaying slightly on her swinging, rubber seat. She had been looking patiently toward the direction of his house, still and soundless.
She hugged her paper bag tightly against her chest. It consisted of two bento boxes she had prepared for their lunch. She knew they must have turned cold by now, but she would not eat until he arrived.
She would wait, because this was important to both him and her. She would wait, because he was still her best friend. She would most definitely continue waiting, because she believed, she knew that he would come.
Because he promised.
Because he never, never broke a promise.