He wonders if anyone has noticed, or if it is just his imagination.
Fuji's eye colour changes according to his mood.
Cerulean would be when he is calm and collected - "I'll show you the last of my Triple Counter"; deep ultramarine when he is seething with anger - "thank you for taking care of my brother"; electrifying cobalt blue when he feels challenged and excited - "even in this rain, I can still play"; and then a paler, almost melancholic shade of peacock blue when he is upset, disappointed, or heartbroken - "hope you'll enjoy Germany...".
Perhaps that is why Fuji hides his eyes, narrowing them until under first a layer of dark lashes, then a layer of unruly fringe, they look almost closed. Fuji never likes giving away too much; it shows in his play style, counter-punching only when he is sure of his opponent's abilities. It makes him wonder why Fuji does not show the same care when it comes to him. Why it seems to him that Fuji is diving in head-first into the deep end and not caring what will greet him when he hits the bottom. He wants to know why because he does not know what is down at the bottom either.
You need to reach for me too; I can't do this alone. But your hand is too busy holding on to something.
Sometimes the blue reminds him of Yves Klein's paintings, canvases full of just blue paint, endless, unfathomable, the shade of colour never too dark or too light for anyone who looks at it. He stares at the colour and it overwhelms him, slowly, as if he is standing in water and the tide is rising, the progress seemingly slow and harmless in the beginning, but before he realises, he can no longer move, trapped in the water, trapped in the colour, and he thinks he is going to drown. He forgets about fighting back, forgets that he can swim, because he just wants to be washed away.
You take on too much. Why don't you close your eyes once in a while and let things take care of themselves?
Fuji hears too much in the silences between them. Fuji speaks too much and brainwashes him with his philosophies. Fuji sees too much with those hidden blue eyes and touches within him something he never knows is there, right down at the bottom.
What are you so afraid of? Please, let it go.
He is afraid of how much he wants to do what Fuji suggests him to. He is afraid of looking closer at the canvas and seeing more shades of blue than he is already seeing, more than he is supposed to see. He is afraid of those eyes, the colour that seems to swallow him whole. He is afraid that he really will drown.
He wonders if it is all his imagination. Perhaps nothing is happening between them, really. Just to prove that, and to overcome his fears, he loosens his grip on reason and control. And he realises how weary he truly feels, holding on, trying to hold on for so long.
Let me take care of you.
And the tide that is Fuji takes him, the water cleanses him, and he finds himself not drowning, but being lifted. He floats in the endless, but no longer unfathomable sea of blue.
What's your favourite colour? ... What, I don't think that was a weird thing to ask. Come on, tell me.
And he wonders what has taken him so long.
[end]