Written ginny who is suffering from a runny nose
five: glass conversations
She would not speak to him.
After that horrible conversation the other day, all conversation between the two had seemed to dry up. At least, any conversation coming from her. She refused to speak to him at all. Every time he knocked at the door when he came up to visit her, she would already have turned her back to him by the time he actually opened the door. Every time, he greeted her with his usual politeness as he brought a tray of food or tea to her bedside. Every time, she refused a response.
She would not even dare look at him.
Akira was starting to fall into this routine; his whole life was made up of routines. That was how he was programmed since he was barely a child. He woke up early and brushed his teeth before taking a shower. Then he would eat cereal or a microwave breakfast food—usually Minami Pankeiku—Akira was not one to experiment. Afterwards, he would read the morning paper while sipping on tea—he preferred Earl Grey himself. He'd see to any chores—grocery shopping on Tuesdays and Fridays, bills on Mondays, and tending to the garden on Saturdays. After lunch, Akira would usually watch the news or any Go program before he started reviewing yesterdays' games. Then, at five, he'd head to the go salon and catch dinner out with Hikaru and practice games until he walked home at nine.
Then there were the days when he had to attend a tournament—those days had a different routine.
Akira's life was made up of routines; he liked routines. They were organized, manageable, and kept him generally content and aware of what was going on in his life.
He did not, however, like this routine.
Akira did not like rapping on her door three times to notify his presence before opening the door and stepping towards the bed she lay in. He did not like bringing up her tray with the food she never ate and the tea she never drank—at least not in his company. He did not like sitting there, every once in a while attempting dull conversation, and he most definitely did not like her never responding to him. He did not like how she always turned his back to him; he did not like how he could never see her face.
He did not like how despite the fact he knew of her for many years, he didn't really know her. He didn't really know Fujisaki Akari at all—and he could feel it starting to drive him crazy.
For once in his life, the routine was not working for him in any way at all.
Akira knocked on her door, and after a few seconds he sighed. There was still no answer, but he did not really expect one in the first place. He entered and saw Akari had already turned away from him. She was still quite pale, but no longer the ghostly white she was when he first brought her to his home. Back then, he had admittedly been a bit afraid she was already half-dead. Though, he was beginning to understand that perhaps she had already been half-dead for a while now.
He put down the tray he was carrying on the bedside. Her dinner was neatly piled in dishes on the tray, the best Akira could conjure up with his poor cooking skills.
"Fujisaki-san, do you feel better today?" Akira asked courteously, as always.
No response.
He did not know why he even bothered. She never gave him a response. First she was angry, then she was bitter, and now she was utterly blank. Akira expected the first, and he preferred the first most of all. At least when she was angry, she was expressing emotion. The bitterness was truly a shock, he had never expected the cheerful girl he knew to be so distasteful of life… but then again, he never really did know her.
It was the blankness that was the worst. It seemed to him that she was hardly alive, even though her body was getting better. Akira was practical; he was never dumb, but neither was he ever a philosopher. He did not engage in long reflections about human nature, so it was not until he faced her blankness that he realized that humans weren't meant to be emotionless. It wasn't until now that it occurred to him that humans were supposed to feel.
"Fujisaki-san, you should eat," Akira attempted again.
No response.
He sighed and began to exit the room, glancing back at her back before he stepped out of the door. He halted mid-step. Akari would not speak to him, but that didn't mean Akira would not speak to her.
He spoke, this time with sincerity.
"Fujisaki-san, you said you don't belong alive. But that's not true. I think…." Akira paused, searching for the right words to express what he felt. He had wanted to speak to her pertaining to the subject for a while, but he hadn't quite worked up the courage until now. Akira decided he couldn't let it go on any longer.
This was one routine he had to break.
He stared at the small of her back and smiled gently, thoughtfully. Even though she could not see him, he continued to smile. He still did not know what to say, or how to say it, but he had to say something—anything.
"I think… everyone deserves to live. I don't think anyone deserves to die," Akira hesitated. "Not you, not anyone."
He continued to stare at her for a while longer before he exited the room and closed the door. As he left, he wondered what she was thinking.
The door closed and Akira could not see, but Akari started to cry
A/N: I updated! Finally.