A/N: I was bored one Sunday afternoon. When I started, I had no idea what I was writing for. I was just writing to pass the time. I hope everyone likes.
Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by, including but not limited to, Konami and his affiliates.
Fuji-senpai
Written by: Shiruba Fokkusu
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The sky was overcast with dark clouds and impending rain. Neon signs and the occasional working streetlamp were the only lights on the streets. A light drizzle started, and soon enough, puddles were starting to form. The rain fell harder, soaking the solitary form walking slowly on the sidewalk. A truck passed by, and splashed him with water. The boy didn't seem to mind, because he continued his silent trek.
By looking at the stranger, one might have supposed he was going somewhere important. He had his head down, bangs covering his eyes, as he probably concentrated on the pavement before him. A smile graced his face. His dampened shoes seemed to know exactly where to take him.
Upon closer inspection, one would have realized that the boy, in fact, was walking aimlessly with no specific destination in mind. The bent head, mistaken for concentration, was actually the hopelessness of a despondent boy. The smile was a fake, planted there to dismiss any suspicion of him. His feet had no idea where they were taking him, but deceived others into avoiding the boy who looked like he knew exactly where he was going.
The boy paused under the rain when a bright neon sign caught his eye. Never before had he dared venture into an establishment such as the one before him, but never before had his misery felt so palpable. His face turned up to interpret the sign despite his muddled vision. His expression turned into an ironic parody of a smile. His soaked shoes took him through the doorway and into a world he had only seen in movies and rumors. It actually surprised him that he had never been to a store remotely alike to this one.
He scanned the occupants of the place and found a seat for himself. An almost bald man cleaning a glass looked at him from behind the bar. "You old enough?" he asked in a gravelly voice. The boy didn't reveal anything of himself, but he opened his eyes wide enough for the man to see the defiant blue orbs.
"Whatever," the bartender said. "What'll you have?"
The boy looked around, and found a young man a few seats down, drinking a safe-looking beverage. "I'll have what he's having," he said. The bartender shrugged and starting mixing drinks. The boy waited patiently for his drink and stared apathetically at a point that no one else could see, even though it seemed his eyes were closed. His thoughts were raging within him, threatening to break his last ties to reality. He almost succumbed to his memories and nightmares when a voice pulled him away from his darkening thoughts.
"What's got you down here?" the young man from before asked him.
He looked away from the point he had previously been staring at. "It doesn't matter," he answered. He looked at the other boy. For some reason, he looked familiar. The other took a long sip from his glass, and gently put it back on the bar. After doing so, the stranger moved two seats toward him, taking his drink along.
"No, I guess it doesn't matter. I was just curious." He picked up the glass again, but instead of drinking from it, he held it between three fingers. The stranger smirked at the swishing liquid.
He looked to the bartender, wondering why his drink was taking so long. The bartender was still adding drinks to the concoction. The boy beside him looked younger than himself, but he couldn't tell very well. He had a black cap on, obscuring his eyes and nose. Observing him further, he could also tell that he would be short if he stood up. He was wearing a collared shirt that would have looked very expensive if not for the wrinkles and dirt.
Still trying to remember where he'd seen the stranger before, his drink arrived. He muttered a soft, "Domo," and took a sip. He wrinkled his nose. "What is this?" he asked, disgust barely obvious in his voice.
The other boy laughed bitterly; a quiet chuckle belying his cynical amusement. "A mix of alcohols I happen to like," he said with a smirk. The bartender chuckled as well, giving a sidelong glance to the unfortunate boy.
He playfully glared at the two, and downed the entire thing in his next swallow. It wasn't that bad. "I'm starting to like it as well," he said.
The bartender took both glasses and started to refill them. "What's your name, kid?" he asked almost amiably.
"Fuji," he said. He didn't bother to say his first name. They didn't need to know exactly who he was. The boy beside him smirked.
"Fuji, huh?" the boy asked.
"Hai."
"Ne, Fuji-san, are you sure that it doesn't matter?" he asked. Fuji recognized the form in which the question was asked. He was nearly sure that the question was somehow wrong in the wording. "Some people find that talking helps." Now that he thought about, it wasn't so much the wording, as it was one thing that was bothering him.
Fuji contemplated the boy's words and took another sip from the alcoholic drink. He was finding that it didn't taste too horrible after the first few sips. "You are talking about your earlier question, right?"
"Hai."
Fuji opened his eyes to stare at the drink. After his nineteen years of existence, he still didn't like talking to strangers. Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity before Fuji found a response suitable enough for an unfamiliar person. "My Otouto died."
The other boy raised his glass. "My condolences." Fuji nodded. He saw that the other boy's glass was still extended, so he picked up his own and clinked it against the boy's. He found himself wanting more communication with the stranger.
"He was innocent…"
"Most are."
"He had so much to live for…"
"Mhm."
"And he just dies."
The other boy didn't respond. Fuji took two more sips from his glass and looked to the boy. "He never spoke much, unless it was to insult someone, but he was still my Otouto. He was planning to go pro next year. He had it all planned out. And then one day, he just dies…like that," Fuji said, emphasizing the word 'that' by snapping his fingers once. The boy still didn't respond, and he was actually fine with it. He sipped slowly every now and then, only mildly disturbed by the silence in the bar.
"You're brother dies, and you get to wallow in self pity," the boy muttered. Fuji was surprised by the vindictiveness in the other boy's voice. He was also annoyed that the boy called it 'self pity'. It was not self pity; it was mourning.
"What will you do, Fuji-san?" the boy asked him. Fuji didn't know. He could always just go back to his old life, but his old life was nothing if Yuuta was not there.
"Will you find another bar; drink some other unidentified drink; talk to some other stranger willing to hear your pathetic stories?" he asked. Fuji almost choked. What right did this child have to judge him?
"Or will you accept the stupid death, move on, and fulfill both your dreams and his?" he put his glass back on the table. Fuji was speechless.
"Fuji-san, judging by everything, your Otouto didn't die yesterday, or a month ago. You have to let go at some point." Fuji looked up hopelessly. This boy had no idea what he was talking about.
He angrily directed his smoldering blue eyes to the boy. "You don't know what you're talking about," he hissed.
"I think I do. You're young, and not a college graduate yet. It's a school night, so you'd rather get drunk than go to school refreshed or on time. Your hair is oily, you have bags under your eyes, and your body language screams 'pity me!' People like you end up hurting more when they dwell on the past and can't move on. Hurry up, live life, and graduate college, Fuji-…-san"
Fuji didn't fail to notice the slight slip at the end. The boy had wanted to call him something else. Chan, or kun, or maybe the boy almost forgot to add an honorific entirely. The boy's accent was a little American. "You want me to forget my Otouto," Fuji said. His eyes met the other's, and he was caught in their depths.
The boy shook his head, breaking the enchantment of his eyes. "Remember, but do not dwell."
Fuji drowned his drink and sighed. The boy was right. Yuuta had been dead for over a year, and he still couldn't let go. He didn't want to. Fuji started, "Demo…"
The other boy stopped him with a hand. He shook his head again. Fuji opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out. The other boy dropped some paper money onto the table. "That's for both of us," he told the bartender. The bartender waved to the boy as he got up from the stool.
"Yuuta-san would not have you destroying yourself over his death, Fuji-san." And with those words, the other boy pulled his jacket closer to himself and walked toward the exit.
"Ochibi…" Fuji muttered. He finally realized why the boy was so familiar.
The boy looked back with sparkling golden orbs and a sad smile. "Mada mada da ne, senpai." He left the door swinging behind him. Fuji finally smiled.
"That kid…you're probably the eighth person he's talked to this week," the bartender said, shaking his head in amusement.
Fuji looked to him. "Indeed?"
"Yep," he nodded, "And you're the second person who could stand that concoction he calls the 'Cyclone Smash'. The other was some tall creepy guy with square glasses and a notebook full of statistics."
Fuji laughed. "That boy…"
The bartender laughed as well, albeit a little gruffly. "And every time he leaves, he says to those guys, 'Mada mada da ne, senpai.'"
"So he's rounding us all up, after all these years," Fuji said to himself, "You had me going there." He directed the words to the exit of the store. Fuji smiled and left the bar. With higher spirits, Fuji left the door swinging behind him. He looked around, searching for the boy he knew to be nearby.
Fuji's smile widened when he saw his old kouhai leaning against the building. "Echizen," he acknowledged.
"You're really slow, Fuji-senpai."
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9:36 P.M. September 11, 2006
Shiruba Fokkusu-しるばーふぉっくす