Title: Memory (how original!)
Time: approx. 180 min
Warnings: Hinted shounen-ai
Disclaimer: These kawaii characters are the property of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi obata. If they were mine, there would be a lot less Go and a lot more man-love:winks:
"The heart that truly loves can never forget." -Proverb
He had been here many times before, sitting quietly amongst the rusting, iron giants and woodchips swollen with rainwater that populated his prestigious elementary school's courtyard. He could still remember the earthy, metallic small of the air, the laughing and creaking and splashing that made he air heavy with noise. He sat again in the yard today, reminiscing about the past.
The playground held mostly nasty memories for Kimihiro. He gazed out solemnly at the paved expanse of the asphalt basketball court almost feeling again its' harshness, the way it scraped so easily through his delicate skin. He had been shoved, dragged, round against the pavement by his former assailants many a time, all for a petty prize of a few hundred yen or a box of pocky, and he had plenty of scars to show for it.
Kimihiro was, for the most part, ignored in those times, save for his scuffles with the bullies. He as never picked for Red Rover, dodgeball, or flurried games of team-tag. His days at recess, when not at the nurse's office, were spent on the very picnic table he sat on at the present, still as worn and chipped as before, red paint peeling and chipping from the wooden surfaces. His short legs dangled toward the ground, and his hands were preoccupied with a book or a few sheets of origami paper, leaving them only to push his oversized glasses up his nose.
He tried to convince himself that he enjoyed being alone, unnoticed. After all, could you taste defeat while burying yourself in 'The Chronicles of Narnia"? Could the springtime sun, while shaded under the limbs of a sakura tree, burn you? However, the empty, hollow feeling gnawed at his heart. He continued his solemn days at the playground, accompanied once or twice by a childhood friend or two, until they themselves drifted off to a new crowd. However, Kimihiro's luck would go from worst to better, all while being dragged yet again across the hard pavement, in the form of Kaga Tetsuo.
He had heard the name a hundred times-destined to be a heartthrob in the eyes of women and men alike, doomed to be wild, uninhibited and mischievous. Kaga was admired by all, save the instructors and teachers who were on the receiving end of his practical jokes and sarcastic comments. Tsutsui, too, indulged in watching him from afar. When miniature basketball stars pounded the asphalt with their sneakers, the small boy watched Kaga's muscular legs pump up and down, seen him slick his hair into spikes while cooling off at the sidelines. He was entranced by the end of the week, and he wished only for him to notice him. For once, his beatings against the ground did him a favour, and his dream came true, dawning to the sound of screeching metal and broken glass.
Kaga had trounced two of he idiots who tried to resist, chased the other three away with a look, and still managed to swipe his lunch money from the largest boy's pocket. Afterwards, Kimihiro had tried to escape, thinking maybe he was after him himself, when he extended a sweaty hand toward him to lift him off of the pavement. He took it, and thus took the hand of his very first real friend.
Years later, during their final year at the school, Kimihiro had folded a paper airplane while sitting alone at his old picnic bench, when Kaga sauntered gaily over to him, grinning handsomely and looking more like a god than ever. The sun filtered through his coal hair, which he had grown long, complaining that the short haircut his father had given him had been too completely ordinary. His smile made his dark eyes crinkle endearingly at the edges. Tsutsui had left his obsession behind him, but somehow, the sight of him still sent shivers down his spine. He wondered why he was here. Why not go wit his other friends, play one last game of basketball or…something! His eyes widened as Kaga draped his strong arm over his narrow shoulders as he realized that he was really, truly his friend. Not that he hadn't made others since they had met…but Kaga was special somehow. It would take him years to figure out just how much.
Those years rolled on quickly and saw many things: Kaga's first drag, a huge argument or three, meeting Hikaru and creating their haven in the old Chemistry lab, the several tournaments which they entered. Yuuki Mitani (whom he greatly disliked) joined and rejoined the team, he himself leaving for good to study for his high school exams. High school flew, and here Kimihiro was, sitting at the old table where it all began.
The bench had obviously been nearly forgotten. The last paint job it had been given seemed to have been white, but the light tan of the wood dominated over the few chips of it left. Names, couples, and hatreds had been carved into the wood, Kimihiro's and Kaga's among them; remembering how he had been suspended for a week fro bringing his pocketknife to school, he laughed to himself. He'd miss it, in a way: it was a testament to all of his memories, even after his graduation from the playground. He hoped he would forget some of them, though. He doubted he would-he still had scars from his escapades on the asphalt.
"Kimihiro! Wait!" He turned, hearing slapping footsteps on the pavement behind him, and turning to see Kaga breathing heavily and beaming that wide smile directly at him.
"What the hell are you doing here? I had almost forgotten this old thing was here." He tapped the bench with his foot.
"Well, we are leaving today, remember? That trip to Hokkaido you've been planning for months? And this is the bus station."
"Oh, yeah!" He scratched the back of his neck and chuckled good-naturedly.
"You really can't remember anything, can you? It's those stupid-"
"Yeah, yeah…" He trailed off. Kimihiro sighed; he had given him the "smoking speech" many a time. Kaga slowly walked around the table, running his hands over the grooves in the rough wood, smirking before sitting next to the other, draping an arm over him.
"Memories are a bitch, aren't they?"
He laid his head on the taller man's shoulder.
"Yeah, sometimes."
ooo
AN: This story went through a great series of twists during the writing process! First, it was going to be a Yami no Matsuei fic about Muraki's early days. It then transformed into a break-up fic about Kagaand Kimi-kun, with the memory scene above. Finally this is the final product.I added more stuff in and such as well.
Ciao!