Chapter 54

"I'm back," Ogata called out as he slipped off his shoes in the entranceway, but Fujiwara didn't answer so Ogata went to his bedroom to put his suitcase down.

Fujiwara was in the study, staring at the aquarium so intently that he didn't turn his head when Ogata entered.

"Anyone get eaten?"

Fujiwara glanced up and smiled. "Welcome back! And of course not, I kept them well fed. Murakami was chasing Mishima again, and Ginko and Momiji are going to give birth again. I also cleaned the gravel and did a water change."

"You named the fish?"

"Well it's not as if I can just go around calling them "Pterophyllum altum Number One"and "Poecilia reticulata Number Three." That would be rude," Fujiwara said with a sniff that implied only a barbarian would disagree.

Ogata could hardly disappoint Fujiwara when he was making such a haughty expression and being a know-it-all as well. "They're fish. Naming cats and dogs makes sense because they'll come when you call and do tricks. Fish don't."

"This clown loach does tricks... well, he's tricky, at least. He floats on his belly and plays dead, and he steals food from the other fish."

Ogata stared at the black and orange striped fish in question, which was currently reclining on a plant, its belly distended with its ill-gotten gains. It stared back at him with a fishy smugness that somehow seemed familiar. Ogata smirked. "Well then, name this one Kuwabara."

"Oh, that's a nice name." Fujiwara pressed his nose against the tank, making cooing noises. "Kuwabara, you're a fat little cutie, aren't you? Yes you are!"

Ogata wondered if he'd ever be able to look at the old man with a straight face again, now that he had that lovely image burned into his mind. Probably not.

Fujiwara pulled himself away from the tank, wiping the smudge off with his jacket sleeve. "Let's have some tea, and you can tell me all about the demonstration game."

A few minutes later, Ogata had a cup of pekoe tea cooling in his hands. "The demonstration went fine, except Ashiwara-sensei made a weak move here," he said, leaning forward from the sofa to place the black stone on the goban.

"Because then you could cut Black off. Your next move was at 6-4, right?"

Ogata shook his head. "Actually, no. The game would have ended at around 120 moves then, and that would have been disappointing to the audience and sponsors. They expect an exchange between pros to last for a long time, and I don't mind being a little generous when it's not an official game. This is more like shidougo for the observers rather than a regular match."

Fujiwara tapped his fan against his lips in consideration. "Shidougo for observers... but surely the commentators noticed and criticized you."

"No, that isn't a possibility most would notice. That's why I chose not to make it. Ashiwara bugged me about it after the game, though. He's a good player, so he realized the mistake as soon as he'd finished placing the stone."

Ogata finished recreating the game, then said, "Now that this conference is out of the way, I don't have any major commitments until the Gosei Title match starts in two months. I was considering taking it easy for a few days. You seem to enjoy the fish a lot. How would you like to visit an aquarium museum? There's an excellent one in Yokohama."

"An aquarium museum?"

"Basically imagine a lot of fish tanks, except full of hundreds of fish and thousands of liters of water. Aquariums are also allowed to keep rare species, and dolphins and whales."

Fujiwara bounced in his seat, looking like he was about to burst from excitement. "Yes! Let's go! Let's go now! When is it open? Is it far?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' And I'm afraid it's too far to visit tonight," said Ogata, amused at Fujiwara's exuberance. Not that he'd expected a different reaction; after all, Fujiwara liked fish enough to have memorized entire passages of Ogata's copy of A Practical Guide to Freshwater Fish.

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As Ogata had thought, Fujiwara thoroughly enjoyed the Yokohama aquarium. It had been a few years since Ogata had last visited, so several of the exhibits were new to him as well. Ogata took pictures of some of the most attractive fish and arrangements, just in case he decided to set up his own saltwater tank in the future.

After they had finished viewing the aquariums on the third floor, it was almost starting time for the next "Marine Mammal Show" so they walked up to the open-air stadium on the fourth floor. The show had a definite slant towards families with young children (on cue, the sea lions made raspberry noises and clapped their fins together), but Ogata was still impressed by the expertise of the handlers, in particular with the dolphins and whales. The handlers had basically trained large, potentially dangerous animals to push them around the pool and flip them up into the air for a few fish, yet there was no hesitation on the part of the animals to obey, as if they had a strong bond of trust and cooperation with their handlers. (Either that, or the rewards were really, really tasty.)

The show finished, so the only place they hadn't visited yet was the "Dolphin Fantasy" building, an unfortunate name that invoked images of a hyper twelve-year-old girl with pink bedroom walls emblazoned with a mural of neon purple dolphins. But the building itself, thankfully, was painted a sensible ocean blue, and although there was a dolphin mural on its walls, the dolphins were a natural gray shade with nary a hint of neon in sight. Directly inside the building's entrance was a small gift shop, but Ogata's eye was drawn past it to the magnificent glass tunnel that stretched down the length of most of the building. The glass had been molded in one solid piece so visitors underneath were provided with a seamless view of the dolphins darting about the tunnel. At the very end of the tunnel was a small, dark room with a cylindrical tank in which a solitary white beluga floated.

"Oh wow!" Fujiwara looked like he could barely restrain himself from pressing up against the glass and smudging it. "The show was wonderful, but here you can get much closer to the dolphins," Fujiwara said as a small, white-sided dolphin floated down to his eye-level. The dolphin regarded him with one black eye for a long moment, apparently equally as curious as its human visitor. "They seem extremely intelligent."

"After humans, dolphins are thought to be the smartest animals," Ogata said. "They have very complex social behaviors, and each dolphin even has its own distinct name." According to National Geographic, that was. Ogata had subscribed mostly because the monthly ran informative articles about aquatic life in just about every other issue.

Fujiwara watched the dolphin dart away to rejoin a pod drifting in formation. "I wonder what that cute little fellow's name is?"

"Whistle-Click-Click-Squeal the Second," Ogata said, completely deadpan.

"Really?! Where do you see his name?" Fujiwara glanced up and down the tunnel, looking for a sign.

Ogata pulled his park guide out of his back pocket. "Right here, didn't you read this earlier?"

"Yes, I must have missed it!" said Fujiwara, taking the guide.

"The names are right next to the 'Dolphin' pronunciation chart," Ogata offered helpfully as Fujiwara scoured the guide. Ogata bit back a smirk, aware that it was probably a sign of a deep moral depravity that he could derive pleasure from teasing an amnesiac. Luckily, Ogata had never been overly concerned with ethics because he didn't particularly want to stop the teasing; Fujiwara was just so earnest and curious and as a bonus, he made very amusing faces when he was indignant. Ashiwara also made entertaining expressions when teased, but Ogata had to be careful not to torment Ashiwara too much, or people would shoot him looks usually reserved for puppy-kickers. Ogata also had a special fondness for the way Akira's face flushed the most endearing shades of red when he was embarrassed, but lately Akira-kun had grown increasingly difficult to unsettle. Accursed teenage cynicism.

"Ogata-sensei is a horrible, horrible man." Fujiwara had closed the guide and was rapping it against his palm sharply, but his affronted tone was belied by upturned corners of his mouth.

Ogata shrugged. "It's true, but I can't accept full responsibility when you make those faces."

"I don't make faces. That would be childish. And unrefined." Fujiwara folded his arms and pursed his lips.

"That's my second favorite face. I call it your 'Indignant Schoolmistress' expression. All you need are bifocals and a bun to complete it."

Fujiwara smacked Ogata on the elbow with the guide. "I do not look like a schoolmistress."

Ogata continued on as if he hadn't noticed the assault on his elbow. "My favorite, though, is when you puff your cheeks out. You look just like those puffer fish we saw earlier."

"How awful, comparing me to a prickly fish and an old schoolmistress! Ogata-sensei must think I'm ugly!" Fujiwara aimed another blow at Ogata's elbow, but Ogata snagged Fujiwara's wrist this time and pulled forward, unbalancing Fujiwara enough that Fujiwara almost bumped into him.

"I never said I thought schoolmistresses were ugly, and I find puffer fish rather…delicious." Ogata said softly into Fujiwara's ear before extracting the guide from Fujiwara with his other hand.

"Oh! That's... interesting," Fujiwara said breathlessly before tugging free. He whirled around to face the tank, but not before Ogata saw that his cheeks were flushed.

Not surprising. Even if Fujiwara hadn't grasped the precise innuendo, the man could have hardly failed to notice Ogata's tone; he had been more or less purring in the other man's ear. Ogata reprimanded himself mentally; he hadn't intended to escalate the teasing quite like that. It had just happened – an excuse which sounded spectacularly stupid, even to his own ears. Ogata did not "do" unplanned, especially when it went against something he'd decided. Although Ogata had never explicitly told Fujiwara not to touch him after the hugging incident, Fujiwara seemed to have decided on his own that he shouldn't, perhaps simply from following Ogata's lead. For all his childish exuberance, Fujiwara was quite concerned with proper behavior and etiquette, so he'd obviously been flustered by the unexpected physical contact.

Ogata hadn't realized that he'd grown overly relaxed with Fujiwara, although in retrospect he ought to have been on his guard: he'd been living with Fujiwara for some time, after all. It had been almost a month, then. Ogata didn't have any prior experience living with other people, he'd lived by himself ever since graduating high school. So he hadn't expected to get... attached. Well, Ogata resolved, he'd simply have to keep a tighter rein on himself. Attachments were messy, especially ones involving roommates. Mutually beneficial relationships shouldn't be allowed to devolve into attachments.

Fujiwara was still pretending to be preoccupied with the dolphins, so Ogata walked to the beluga tank by himself. The whale looked particularly stunning with its white skin glowing in the dimly lit room, although the lights were likely dimmed for the animal's comfort and not for the aesthetics. Belugas lived in the Arctic and spent much of their time submerged in dark, ice-covered water, which meant they were light-sensitive. Ogata frowned at his digital camera, wondering if he could take a decent picture with his flash turned off. The cylindrical shape of the tank would also probably cause some distortion if he tried to take a full-body shot. Maybe a postcard would be a better idea.

Ogata looked up from his camera and noticed that Fujiwara had wandered into the room while he'd been busy fiddling with the settings. Fujiwara stood still and silent, watching as the whale turned around and around in endless circles, gliding through the water like an apparition. Shadows flickered across Fujiwara's face as the whale's movements diffracted the tank's lighting.

Ogata's blood chilled at the unbidden memory of Fujiwara floating in the canal, long white sleeves billowing out in the dark water.

"Don't whales have names too? A language?" Fujiwara's voice was somber, devoid of the joy he'd displayed while watching the dolphins.

"I don't know if they have names, but they do have songs, so I suppose they must have a language," Ogata said.

"Why is this one all by himself? There are seven dolphins in that other tank."

"Whales need more space than dolphins. And it certainly seems to be healthy; look at how active it is. It's been swimming the whole time." If captive marine mammals were pining, they usually became listless and refused to eat, but this one was energetic and well-nourished. Obviously, there was nothing wrong with it, and frankly, Ogata cared a lot less about the whale's hypothetical well-being than shaking that odd, irrational sensation that had come over him. It should not matter one iota that Fujiwara was standing next to a tank. A secured tank was definitely not a deserted canal; people couldn't stumble into tanks.

"But no one can hear him sing."

"There are other ways to communicate. I spotted it blowing air bubbles at that little girl who was in here earlier. It seemed at least as amused as she was." The little tableau had been disgustingly cute, like something that would get plastered on a sappy greeting card.

"Being seen, being able to see... but he's still separate. Untouchable. That seems like such a lonely existence, doesn't it?" Then Fujiwara looked over his shoulder to offer Ogata a sheepish, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Ogata-sensei. I don't know why I keep asking annoying questions!"

Those eyes. Fujiwara was smiling, but his eyes were brimming with a sorrow that seemed too ancient to belong in Fujiwara's young face. Ogata had met those strikingly incongruous eyes before - but only over the goban, and only during particularly fierce struggles. Ogata had come to associate the look with some inner reservoir of Fujiwara's talent surfacing, so meeting that expression outside of go was unsettling. Even more unsettling, Fujiwara himself seemed completely unaware of that presence he possessed. Had the amnesia fractured Fujiwara that badly?

"Your questions aren't annoying," Ogata said. "You have an interesting perspective."

"...are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. It's natural for you to ask a lot of questions, given your condition." Fujiwara's questions were definitely odd sometimes, but Ogata welcomed the opportunity to gain insight into how the other man's brilliant mind worked. And perhaps enough of the right questions would be the key to Fujiwara recalling a piece of critical information.

Fujiwara looked relieved. "I do like this aquarium. If we lived closer, I'd be tempted to visit every day."

"You're in luck: there are several aquariums off the Yamanote Line; they just aren't as big as this one. I'll have to take you to the one in Shinagawa since you like dolphins so much." Ogata glanced at his watch. "Anyway, we're about finished now. Let's get dinner," he said, rather eager to leave. The mental image of Fujiwara half-drowned was still a little too fresh in his mind for him to feel comfortable staying any longer.

"Can we visit a Chinese restaurant? I want to practice ordering in Chinese. I think I'm improving because yesterday Lian-san said 'you don't make me wince in pain so much anymore.' "

Ogata arched an eyebrow. "Coming from her, that's practically a compliment. Just do me a favor and don't offer to help her improve her Japanese."

Fujiwara agreed with a laugh, and they walked towards the park exit, that inexplicable sadness gradually dissipating from Fujiwara's eyes as they talked. What could have possibly happened, Ogata wondered, that Fujiwara could be affected by the pain without the actual memory itself? And how would Fujiwara react when he did remember? Fujiwara gave off an air of vulnerability, like he'd never learned how to properly filter out the world when necessary, never learned how to absorb its shocks. Maybe it was a side-effect of being too trusting.

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Credits to: Ontogenesis (Desynchronization)