title: physical reminders of what
word count: 2,207
summary: He wears a mask. But Eiji sees cracks beginning to form. Underneath is a Fuji no one ever imagined existing. But Eiji knows.


physical reminders of what

If you think about it, if snapshots were only happy fragments of memories, then snapshots would be nothing but lies. Near his bed, on the corner of his nightstand, by the lamp, standing in frames of wood, accented with cacti in tiny plastic pots, were some of his favorite snapshots, all smiling and warm. There was one of the team, Echizen in the middle, proudly holding the trophy they won at the Kantou regionals. There was another of the seniors, Takashi flashing a big thumbs-up, Oishi blushing and Tezuka and Inui holding up the plaque Oishi won for being the top of the exams, beating Tezuka by a mere margin of 1 point. Near a cactus that bloomed with light purple flowers was a photo taken outside his house on the first day of middle school, Eiji's big grin and an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder, their heads tilted towards each other.

If your eyes were good, if you weren't distracted by the beauty of composition in each of the pictures (how the sun was caught shimmering against the trophy, how wind was frozen, forever striking Tezuka's hair lightly over his glasses), you would notice that there was a light crack in the corner of the frame of the snapshot that stood near a flowering cactus. It was tiny enough that eyes could pass over it, but large enough to warp the shadow of reflection across the photo.

And when you hold it up to the overhead light, to take a closer look at the crack, he'll probably direct your attention to the photos he took of his family, hanging like trophies by his bookcase. Or he'll mention lightly how dinner might be ready (if you went over for dinner that is), or how you better start doing homework (if you came over to study). At the very most, he'll grab you lightly by the wrist and smile, his warm smile washing over you like a sea of amnesia.

You'll place the photo back on the nightstand and forget it completely.
--

There was only one person who never forgot.

Only one person knew why Fuji kept that photo in a damaged frame.

It was during the last, bitter cold week of December. He found out exactly what that crack meant and how snapshots were more than happy memories, but physical reminders of what used to be and in that way, filled with not just regret, but also the hope to change.
--

His grandma was born in the mountains, and similar to families with cold in their blood, all his brothers and sisters could not stand the snow. Because he was his grandma's favorite, because he spent a winter living with his grandparents in their house before they moved to Tokyo, Eiji loved the snow, content on going out and rolling around in the backyard, with Boo, Toga's dog, barking and sending snow flying with his paws and nose. They used to let Eiji play, turning on the backyard lights and watching him from the window, his sisters complaining how sick he might get, his mother blaming his grandma's eager chuckle at the fact that for dessert, they'll have to eat snow ice-cream.

And still, they stood inside, pressed up against the screen window, outlined in light, watching Eiji play, Boo's tail wagging hard, harder with each of the snowballs Eiji threw.

"EIJI-CHAN!"

Eiji paused in mid-roll, the snowman's torso pushing lightly against Boo's barking, yapping side. "Yeah? Oka-san, what, what?" He stuck out his tongue at Boo, gripping the side of the snowball with both hands.

"Syusuke's coming over now."
"YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!""

He threw up his hands, letting the snowball fall completely on Boo. The snowman was abandoned as Eiji hurried to run back into the house, kicking snow off his boots and removing his hat before coming inside.

The warmth of the living room smelled sweet, the dinner Toga and Chihiro was cooking drifting from the kitchen made Eiji's face blush. His mother smiled, tilting her head as Eiji tore off his jacket, throwing his gloves onto the floor.

"My, you're excited."

His socks clung to his bare feet, and to pull them off, Eiji almost rolled off the couch into his mother's giggling arms. "Hoi, hoi! It's Fuji! For the whole weekend, too. My aniki-tachi have nothing on him."

"HEY, I HEARD THAT, OTOU-JI!"

Eiji grinned at Toga's voice, hugging his mother with both arms. "Oka-san, Toga-nii lied. He was late because he was on a date. A date, a date! Who's the baka now, nya?"

And before Toga could answer, before his mother could turn around to scold Toga for lying and Eiji for tattling, he was off, running upstairs as fast as he could.
--

He stood blinking in the rectangle of light, his hands still wrapped lightly around the handle of his bag, the other holding onto the umbrella that dripped snow. They screamed all at once,

"WELCOME FUJI!"

Eiji's grandpa rushing forward to grab a hold of his bag, Eiji's older brothers complaining that he shouldn't overexert himself, Eiji's mother bowing, trying to clear the way so he could walk into the hallway, his sisters giggling behind closed hands and his father placing a hearty hand on Fuji's shoulder, nearly knocking Fuji to the ground with his robust gesture of welcome.

Fuji's head spun with joy. And then footsteps were heard, another booming voice and Eiji flew down the staircase, wrapping his arm around Fuji's shoulder and pulling him out of the cold, the gathering dark into the light of a happy home.

"Ne, ne Fuji, what did Yumiko bake for us?"
"NEKO-CHI! DON'T YOU HAVE ANY MANNERS!"

"SHUT UP, TOMO-NII."

Fuji smiled as Eiji's mother bowed slightly. "I hope this weekend will not be more trouble than you would wish it to be."

"No, Kikumaru-dono. Thank you for letting me stay here." He bowed deeply, from the waist as a gnarled hand tugged at his wrist. Fuji turned to smile into a face weathered and marked with wrinkles, eyes as bright as Eiji's own.

"Oba-san." Fuji bowed again as Eiji's grandma laughed, shooing everyone into the dinner room, Eiji's hand still wrapped around his shoulders.

"Please think of this as your home."

Fuji's smile lightly lifted the corners of his eyes, "You always say that."

Eiji chirped brightly, his voice matching the warmth of the kitchen, the living room, the whole house, "Oba-chan never says something she doesn't mean!"

"Hoi, hoi." And Fuji had to laugh, how Eiji learned his characteristic saying from his grandma, the little gnarled woman whose eyes still shone brightly, her laugh loud and unrestricted and beautiful, like the falling snow.

"OTOU-JI! BOO'S STILL OUTSIDE."
"Oh shit."
--

They slept together on the floor, placing futons an arm-width's apart from each other, Boo and Chihiro's cat, Sen curled in the space between. Fuji knew dinners at the Kikumarus was a buffet, six or seven dishes passed around, the animals eating scraps that Eiji threw onto the floor. Fuji placed a hand on his stomach, feeling how full he was as the other gently ran down Boo's ears, tugging lightly at the ends in a way that made the dog murmur in peace.

Eiji's heels kicked against the floor as he read his manga, eating the last slice of cake Yumiko baked as a thank-you for hosting her younger brother for the weekend. He was so absorbed in his comic, Fuji thought Eiji would never notice him quietly reaching out to ruffle through his bag, shaking a small pill into his open palm. It was only after Fuji swallowed his pill that Eiji looked up, his voice soft.

"What's that for, Fuji?"

He wanted to smile it away, the deep pang twisting in his stomach like a knife. He wanted to be quiet, hiding behind his frozen, almost stoic smile.

"Nothing."

Eiji sat up, throwing the manga against the wall as he shuffled near Fuji's lying figure. "You lie."

"Doesn't matter."

Fuji turned on his side, wishing Eiji a good night as he gathered Sen into his arms, bringing the warmth closer to his own shaking body. He prayed Eiji wouldn't press the matter, he prayed that tonight wasn't the night he'll break down and let that mask crumble into bits.

Eiji's hand on Fuji's back was warm, just like the rest of his existence, his family, his life. "You lie, Fuji."

It took all of Fuji's willpower not to break down, to collapse into that patch of warmth, so blindingly inviting, filling all the dark corners of Fuji's life. It took all of what made Fuji to stop him from opening his mouth and tell.

It took all of Fuji not to let Eiji in.
--

The rest of the weekend was all the loud sorts of happiness, Eiji's sisters insisting on filling Fuji up with food so sweet, he could taste sugar on their breath when they talked. Eiji's father took 'the boys' as well as their smiling, crimson-scarf-wearing Grandma for a day trip to go snowboarding, Toga completely failing to make it past the bunny slope, Eiji and Fuji both taking double diamond trails with free-falling flips and screams.

And because Fuji-Kikumaru, as Grandma and Grandpa fondly called him, was going to celebrate New Years overseas with his father, the Kikumarus had their own celebration, a week early. When Eiji's father pulled into the driveway, Eiji nearly broke Fuji's arm, ushering him into his house, where Grandpa and Eiji's mother spent all day cleaning up and decorating.

Fuji almost cried when the lights dimmed, Eiji lighting up candles on a lopsided cake and the whole family wishing Fuji a fantastic New Year and Happy ("early, early, nya!") Birthday.

It was towards dawn that Fuji, dressed in a winter's yukata, ascended to Eiji's room, his arms filled with wrapped food to bring back home, gifts he promised not to open until New Year's and Sen, who for the duration of the two days Fuji came over, refused to leave his side.

Everyone was either still downstairs, drinking and eating and singing off-key karaoke, or asleep. It was better that way, Fuji thought as he emptied his gifts onto the top of his bag, dropping Sen lightly on the pillow of his futon. He tried to not spend time with Eiji alone, just in case Eiji pushed Fuji once more on the verge of telling.

No one needed to know.

He reached for the side pocket of his bag when suddenly, something light struck Fuji squarely on the back. His shoulders stiffen as his eyes widen in surprise.

"I didn't know you were that kinda sick, nya."

If Fuji turned, he would have seen Eiji sitting at the edge of his bed, bare feet barely skimming the clean floor, Boo's tail loyally thumping against his ankle. If Fuji turned, he would have to bend over to pick up his canister of Zoloft pills, his eyes meeting Eiji's. He would have known that Eiji knew.

But Fuji stood still, his back an arrow, his shoulder squared against the pain. He waited for Eiji's accusations, how long he was on antidepressants, what exactly was he depressed about, why didn't he tell anyone? He waited for Eiji to talk, to robustly demand what the hell was going on.

What happened instead was the floor creaked slightly with his footsteps, Boo walked over to gently nudge against Fuji's side and Eiji gathered Fuji in his arms, a hug that took the place of the deathly silence.

And when Fuji spoke, his voice wavered, "Sometimes, Eiji, I get sad. Sometimes, I feel completely alone, even here --"

And Eiji listened, watching Fuji's mask crack, then crumble into fine, invisible dust before his eyes.
--

If you wondered why there's a crack in the frame of the photo that showed Eiji and Fuji smiling, arms forever linked in a show of friendship, know this; it wasn't something full of angst, with Fuji hysterically crying and hiding in shadows. It wasn't a fight between brothers, resulting with Yuuta accusing Fuji of loving his best friend over his family. It wasn't even Fuji, in an overt show of how much he really missed his traveling father, trying to break down what was good in his life.

There's a crack there because of the nights Eiji ran to Fuji's front door, carrying Sen in his arms, because Fuji couldn't stand sleeping alone with his mother visiting his father in China or America, his sister away in Kyoto or Hiroshima or somewhere because of volleyball or debate and Yuuta wasn't coming home from St. Rudolph. Eiji, who greeted Fuji with a ceaseless amount of cheerfulness and energy, saying the same thing he always does,

"You okay today, Fuji?"

There's a crack in the picture frame that holds the photo of Eiji and Fuji on their very first day of middle school because it showed the first person to break the mask Fuji wore, day in and day out.

"A little better than yesterday, Eiji."

It was a physical reminder of what used to be, that crack creating a divide between regret of what was, and the hope that things were going to change.
---

auhtor's notes: Don't worry. There's going to be a dramatic one-shot around Eiji next time I update. Thanks for the support, though the review numbers don't indicate it -- this fic's getting a decent amount of hits. Thank you so much.