AN: Aaaaand I'm back. After nearly a year. Wow, bad bad author! In my defense, it has been a very very busy year. This past spring semester? Yeah, I barely had time to sleep, let alone write. And this chapter was giving me issues. I rewrote it at least five times before I got what I have here, but it was definitely worth it!
As to future updates, I think I've already proven that my promises can't be trusted. However, I am going to do my very best to have this finished before I (hopefully) start my internship in the spring. I have an interview for it on August 8-9, so please pray for me!
Warnings: Very slight language. Nothing you wouldn't hear on a school bus.
Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Gravitation or Hikaru no Go. They belong to their respective genius creators.
Singing Stones
Interlude: Theme and Variations
Even with the windows propped open, the small, crowded classroom was unbearably hot and humid. Most of his classmates had surrendered to the summer heat wave and laid their heads sideways on the cool wood of their desks, without the energy to even pretend to listen to the afternoon announcements. Hiroshi had long since tied back his flowing red hair, and at the moment he felt as if his brain had been melted by the sun. When the dismissal bell finally rang, he wanted nothing more than to trudge home and shove his head in the freezer.
Unfortunately, the heat also had the unwanted effect of slowing his reaction time, so when Hiroshi had finally packed up his belongings and turned to rise from his chair, there was a body hovering above him and blocking his escape route. "Hey, Hiro-kun, Tanaka-sensei said you'd show me all the different clubs after class!"
Hiroshi stared blandly at the boy leaning on his desk. Shindou had been introduced that morning, and, true to his word, the redhead had been saddled with babysitting duty. Shortly after being introduced Shindou had taken to mangling his name, but 'Hiro' had been unable to muster up the willpower to protest thanks to the oppressing weather.
Heaving a resigned sigh, he pushed his chair away from he desk and stood, taking care not to bump heads with the new student. "Alright," he called, "c'mon, Shindou, clubrooms are this way."
Together the duo trekked through the hallways and school grounds, and by the time the tour was finished Shindou had coerced his guide to accompany him home, not in small part due to the promise of air conditioning. Somewhere between the high school and the city park, they had managed to bond over a common admiration for Nittle Grasper, and Hiro had been promised the loan of a rare tape in return for assisting the other in dying his hair. When they finally arrived at the Shindou residence, the two were eagerly debating which band member was best. (In Hiro's modest opinion Seguchi Tohma was a musical genius, but Sakuma Ryuuichi was god according to Shindou.)
"Mom, I'm home!"
"Welcome back, Hikaru!"
"It's Shuuichi, Mom!" The exchange passed as a ritual, without a pause as Shindou removed his shoes and tugged his guest up the staircase. "C'mon, Hiro-kun, the bathroom's this way."
A few short minutes later Hiro was snapping on a pair of latex gloves and examining the directions typed on the back of a package of hair dye. Shindou was seated backwards on the toilet, several towels wrapped around his shoulders and spread across the floor. "So," Hiro opened the conversation casually, pulling the bottle of product out of its box, "Is Hikaru a nickname or something?"
"Eh, not really." Shindou's face wasn't visible, but he reached one hand up to scratch at his cheek. "I kinda changed my name not long ago, and she's still not quite used to it, I guess."
"Uh-huh." One slender eyebrow arched, betraying Hiro's surprise at the unexpected answer. "And would that have anything to do with the fact that you're dying all of your hair pink as opposed to dying your bangs back to black?"
There was silence for a while, quite the contrast to that afternoon when the boy had hardly seemed to have a need for air, he was chattering so much. Hiro began his duties as impromptu hair stylist, not as please with the quiet as he would have been an hour earlier. But before long he challenged Shindou to a quiz on Nittle Grasper's albums, and any tension between the two was forgotten in lieu of each attempting to be the foremost authority on the band.
Somewhat unbelievably in Hiro's mind, a lasting friendship was formed that afternoon while bonding over music and hair care. Shuuichi had more than a few quirks, to be sure, but his upbeat personality and incurable optimism was a welcome distraction from the pressures of school and his family's expectations. Although, to be honest, every now and then his friend would say or do something that would make Hiro sit up and take notice . . .
. . . Such as two months later, when the two were partnered for a history project and Hiro spent the night at Shuuichi's home for the first time. Around eleven o'clock, when they both were yawning through their futile attempts to remain focused on the topic (or rather, Hiro was trying to stay focused while Shuuichi was perusing a manga), the short-haired boy began rubbing at his eyes before sighing and reaching into his desk drawer. "Aw, it's way too late for history," he groused, pulling a pair of contacts from his suddenly green eyes and storing them in their case.
Hiro blinked, surprised. "I didn't know you needed contacts," he stated, feeling a bit stupid.
"I don't," his friend yawned, blinking rapidly, "I just like the color."
The redhead simply stared tiredly, trying to wrap his sleep-deprived mind around this fact. "Uh-huh." Going from bright green to an outstanding shade of violet for no apparent reason. Right. Then again, he supposed, this was the same person who chose to dye his whole head an obnoxious shade of pink. This sorted, Hiro nodded to himself, slammed his book shut, and promptly declared it to be time for bed.
One day after school merely a week later, Shuuichi dragged his companion to a net-café, enthusiastically pulling up a website for Netgo, of all things. And then systematically proceeded to thrash nearly every opponent who challenged him!
This time, Hiro needed someone to connect the dots for him. After watching in silence as a third resignation appeared in the screen in just under half an hour, he decided to broach the topic. "Shuuichi, how on earth did you get so good at go?"
The other shrugged carelessly, replying to an instant message. "It's just always been easy for me."
"Huh."
A few more minutes passed as the boy at the terminal sifted through his emails. Another question came to Hiro, and he decided that if it wasn't answered to his satisfaction he would head home to restring his guitar.
"So," he asked, "why am I here? It's not like go is a tag-team game or anything."
"Hm?" Shuuichi never turned away from the screen, continuing to type and click at random intervals. "Well I thought I could help you set up an account so we could play each other, but there're a lot more challenges today than I usually get, and they kinda fill the screen so I can't do anything until I take care of them."
A strangled sound of exasperation escaped Hiro, and he gave in to the temptation of clapping a hand to his forehead. "Shuuichi," he sighed, "I've never played go before in my life. I don't even know how how game works!"
At this declaration Shuuichi finally turned toward his friend, a look of abject shock and horror on his face. "You've never played go?"
Hiro snorted derisively. "Most high-schoolers have no interest in an old man's game, you know."
His friend floundered, hanging jaw moving up and down like a fish's before it snapped shut and a flame of passion grew in his eyes. Hiro subtly shied away; he had seen that look several times in the past, usually before being dragged into something that got the both of them into more trouble than it was worth. "Well then," Shuuichi announced, "I'll just have to teach you!" That said he quickly logged out and dragged the go-ignorant to his home for some impromptu lessons.
For the next several months Hiro's afternoons were spent doing homework, watching Nittle Grasper videos, jamming with Shuuichi as his friend learned how to play the keyboard, and being thoroughly trounced at an ancient board game. They continued in this manner until, finally, an explanation was given to all of Shuuichi's strange quirks.
It was the first spring after his best friend's transfer, and the cherry trees in the school courtyard were just beginning to bud. Classes had been dismissed for the day, but Shuuichi was still sitting at his desk, doodling in a notebook. Hiro leaned over his shoulder, resting one hand on the desk, and quirked an eyebrow.
"Who's Sai?"
"Hm?" Shuuichi continued to scratch his pencil against the paper, once again lost in a trance, such as when he was composing or writing lyrics.
"Sai," Hiro deadpanned. "You know, the person whose name is scribbled all over your English notes?"
"Huh?" The other started and blinked, gazing vacantly at his scribbles as if only just having realized what he'd been doing. "Oh," he mumbled, and gave a half-hearted shrug. "I dunno."
Hiro's right eye began to twitch.
"Shuu," he groaned, "is there any reason in particular you're writing a random name over and over? You're not thinking of changing yours again, are you?"
"Nah, I like the one I've got now. Besides, I could never take Sai's name."
Twitch. Twitch.
"So you do know someone named Sai."
"No, not really."
Twitchtwitchtwitch. Sigh.
Hiro flopped himself backwards in to the chair in front of Shuuichi's so that he was facing him. "You're not making any sense. You say you don't know any Sai, but you act like you do. Which is it?"
"Mm. I guess maybe I do, but I don't really know anything about him."
"So what, he's like an acquaintance or something?"
"No, it's–urgh!" Shuuichi threw down his pencil, slumping in his seat to rest his neck over the back of his chair. He frustratedly blew at a clump of hair that had fallen in his face. "Look," he said, tension obvious in his voice, "I guess he must be someone I knew, but if I did, then I don't remember, okay? That's the thing about amnesia- it sucks."
Hiro's mouth formed a silent 'o' as everything he'd thought odd over the past year began clicking into place. "So then the go–"
"I must've played it before the crash."
"And the name–"
"I didn't want to try to be someone I couldn't even remember."
"And the hair and the contacts–"
"Made it easier. Sai had purple eyes, I think."
"Right. Of course."
An awkward silence fell between the two. Shuuichi picked up his pencil from where it had rolled onto the floor beneath the desk and haphazardly tossed it and his notebook into his bag. Hiro walked back to his desk to grab his own things. They walked out of the school side by side, neither saying a word.
When they reached the corner where they usually separated, Hiro turned to head home. He was abruptly stopped, however, by Shuuichi's voice. "Where are you going?"
Hiro turned, a bit puzzled. "Huh?"
Shuuichi frowned nervously. "Aren't you coming over to help me with math?"
"O-oh, yeah." Hiro grinned and ran a hand through his hair, returning to his friend's side as they began chatting about writing a song together.
A little over three years later, Hiro was awakened at two o'clock in the morning by an irritatingly cheery ring tone. He sluggishly dragged himself from his warm bed as he listened to the young man on the other end, intent upon grabbing a can of soda to keep himself awake and aware. After about an hour (sixty-eight minutes thirty-two seconds, according to his cell's call log) he finally hung up, tired mind spinning from the conversation.
So Shuuichi had finally come across someone from his mysterious past. Hiro wasn't quite certain what to make of this turn of events. On the one hand, he knew how much stress the not knowing had caused his bandmate over the past three years; but at the same time, he knew how much effort his friend had put into creating a new life for himself separate from Shindou Hikaru. If he did try to find these people, he would be forced to live up to their expectations as someone he couldn't even remember, which was what had spurred his identity switch in the first place.
And he also supposed that deep inside, he himself was terrified at the prospect of Shuuichi becoming someone unknown.
After all, it was Shuuichi who had brought him and Fujisaki together to form Bad Luck; it was Shuuichi with whom he had entertained the girls in their school with their infamous "best friends and secret lovers" routine; it was Shuuichi who always knew when Hiro needed a good smack upside the head. Hiro didn't know Shindou Hikaru– he was a complete stranger to him.
What if Shuuichi met this young man and decided he would rather be Hikaru once more? If that happened, did Hiro have any right to take that away from him? No, he supposed he didn't, but if the day came to pass that his best friend really did with to leave Bad Luck and live his life as Hikaru again, Hiro didn't know that he would have it in him to let him go without a fight, to send him off with a smile.
Then again, maybe he wouldn't have to; after all, Yuki-san surely wouldn't let his lover escape him so easily. It was strange, then, how Yuki-san was encouraging Shuuichi to do this, to find some answers, just as Hiro was. Then again, he wasn't exactly encouraging him, per se, but he wasn't demanding that he stay away from the strange men altogether, either, which coming from Yuki was encouragement in and of itself.
The novelist had become insanely jealous and overprotective of the kid ever since he'd out his own messy past behind him, although he showed it in his own possessive, easily agitated way. Perhaps it was because Yuki knew what it was like to have something so important haunt you for years on end, or maybe he actually had faith that Shuuichi would never abandon him so easily. Maybe he was inexplicably, unbelievably trying to be a supportive boyfriend for once. Whatever the reason, Yuki-san wasn't holding Shuuichi back from what he needed.
Hiro snorted, and a sardonic smirk crossed his face as he rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of his seat, slowly rising and stretching his tired body. His own feelings aside, he would support his best friend whatever his decision, whether it was to confront his past or to continue running from it. After all, he certainly couldn't allow Yuki Eiri of all people to be the strong one for Shuuichi!
That decided, Hiro turned out the light and returned to the comfort of his bed for a few more hours of sleep before that morning's recording session.
AN: Hm. Still not satisfied with the flow of this chapter; but I guess that's what happens when you write one piece over the course of a year. If anyone's interested in being a beta reader for me to help let me know where I need to fix these kinds of things, please PM me.
That aside, I hope you all enjoyed this very long overdue chapter. Please review and let me know your thoughts; those helpful little bursts of praise and guilt alway help spur me into writing more!
-Sugarpony
Edit: 09/22/12