Chapter Fourteen

It was late afternoon; Fuji Syusuke sat quietly in the living room, frowning in concentration as he stared at the newspaper on the table before him, a black pen in his hand as he bent forward occasionally to make neat notes on the countless little boxes that covered the sheet of paper.

It had been slightly more than a week since their return to Japan and Atobe had gone back to work. Their relationship had returned largely to the way things had been in England, the issue of the past and that tennis match was never mentioned; their conversations became once more light-hearted and careless.

The only visible difference was that Fuji made regular visits to his parents, fulfilling his duty as a son, trying his best to make up for the six long years that he had missed and assuring them that he was happy and healthy now. He had recovered his health in the months he spent in England, and while still slightly frail, was far from the pallid creature he was when he first regained consciousness.

In fact, he was now looking through the classified sections of the newspaper, hoping to find a job now that he was back in the country and able to communicate in the local language.

Bending down, he made a neat cross beside one of the boxes.

It appeared that everything was fine, as if the past no longer mattered.

Yet, they both knew the truth. Beneath the calm surface, the mutual trust that they had once shared was slowly eroding, there was a fear of revealing too much, of bringing about once more the awkward issues that existed in their relationship, of hastening the time of revelation and thus separation. The seemingly careless remarks exchanged over dinner were carefully scripted, any reference to the past studiously avoided, their easy laughter was forced and hollow, as if trying to preserve the relationship they once shared, pretending that nothing had changed.

He had carefully avoided mentioning his search for a job to Atobe, aware that his recovery and return to mainstream life will only make their previous relationship seem further and their parting nearer. He stirred clear too from talking about his family, feeling somehow that it will serve only to make the shadow of the past darker, he chose to ignore the fact that Atobe was no longer the only person he loved and cared for. Yet, perhaps the most important thing he kept from Atobe, and the truth he protected most strongly and faithfully, was the fact that his memory was slowly coming back, the recollections of the past was slowly returning to him.

The images came slowly, along with the uncomfortable sense of vague familiarity that confronted him in certain situations, when seeing certain items. It was nothing similar to what happened in the dramatic soaps they showed on television so often, the memories didn't begun flooding back in a flash, they came gradually, with the occasional sudden outburst, in the form of sudden pictures and sounds that made no sense to him, scenes that he tried his best to connect and make sense of.

It was hardly the first time that he was getting such images, hints that he had a past; rather it had begun long ago when they were still in Britain. Yet, the images came more rapidly now and more clearly than ever, and his thoughts were clearer now with the background picture than Atobe had provided, his mind more able to put together the bits of his memory.

He had a vague picture of his childhood life by now, remembering the most insignificant yet important details, the occasional family holidays to the seaside, the time they spent together watching television every evening, the family breakfasts at the long dining table every morning. He recalled too the long route he took to school everyday, the lessons he had sat through patiently, the times he had played tennis in the public courts with his brother.

"Yuuta."

A smile crossed his lips as he spoke the name out loud.

He put the pen on the table, leaning back to take a break.

He had yet to meet his brother, the younger man was away in Korea for work-related matters and was unable to return last week despite the urgent insistence of his mother. Instead, he was returning tomorrow and Fuji was scheduled to join them for dinner tomorrow night.

He looked forward to seeing his brother; he knew somehow that while he was close to his parents and sisters, Yuuta was the person he was closest to. He remembered clearly the times they shared as children; the countless happy moments, and he felt sure that even with his long absence, the intimacy they once enjoyed will remain unchanged. In fact, he felt somehow that they might spend the entire night talking away.

Yet, just as that thought crossed his mind, a troubled expression entered the clear blue eyes.

He had not yet mentioned it to Atobe. It had crossed his mind a few times but he never mustered enough courage to say the words, to make the existence of the outside world, the world that contained more than just them, more real. He was afraid of Atobe, afraid of his reaction, or rather his lack of a reaction, his silent acceptance and the resignation in his dark eyes.

Yet, he knew he had no choice.

Straightening up, he closed the newspaper and looked up at the clock of the wall.

It was nearly six.

Walking into the kitchen, he started to prepare dinner.

Cooking was a talent that seemed to be innate. Out of everything he had forgotten, he remembered how to cook, grasping the time that a fish should stay in a pot to get sufficiently cook without tasting overcooked down to the second. In less than an hour, he had completed the entire preparation and cooking of their dinner, using the ingredients he bought from the supermarket in the morning.

At seven o'clock, the doorbell sounded. Atobe was back.

Dinner was an unusually silent affair. Atobe made a few weak attempts at conversation, but Fuji responded only half-heartedly, careful considering how to broach the subject in the least painful manner. Picking slowly at his foot, he waited for his chance to speak, dreading the moment that he knew will come. Finally, he could wait no longer, they were near the end of their meal; most of the food was gone.

"Keigo."

He broke the silence, looking up to meet Atobe's gaze.

"Yuuta is returning tomorrow, I'll be going home for dinner."

There was no immediate response. It was as if the man before him was still trying to absorb the information.

"My brother."

He felt the need to add suddenly.

"I know."

The voice that finally spoke was low and husky, the dark eyes turned back towards the plate.

"Go ahead, I won't be back for dinner anyway, there's some work I need to finish up. "

His tone was deliberately light as he stared down at his food.

Fuji nodded slowly, as if to himself, for he knew Atobe was not looking in his direction at all.

Standing up slowly, he begun to clear the table, bring the emptied dishes to the kitchen and placing them in the sink. Atobe joined him a moment later and they did the washing together as they always did, the only difference was that it was done in silence today.

The absence of words continued for the rest of the evening.

Atobe retreated to his room immediately after completing the washing. His eyes were carefully lowered as he mumbled an excuse about being tired, his voice low and guarded, as if afraid to reveal too much, the cold mask was back in place.

Watching the door close behind the other man, Fuji returned to his own bedroom silently. Wrapping his arms around himself, he closed his eyes and willed himself to be tired, ignoring the annoying ache that gnawed at him, waiting for sleep to claim him.