fragmentation;
03.
"My father," Akira begins, clearing his throat, "was a... man of dignity."
The funeral is held on a cloudy day about two weeks later. Akira is wearing his best black suit, the one he's only ever worn once to a game. His mother watches him from where he stands, a handkerchief neatly folded in her lap and her eyes glimmering with a small sense of pride. Akira isn't prepared, for any of the words that are supposed to be coming out of his mouth.
"He loved Go," Akira continues, reaching for his tie and loosening it. Had it been that tight that morning? What in the world is he saying? "He loved playing it, watching it on television, and associated himself with anything to do with it. He was very involved in its matters." He clears his throat once more. "I guess some of the public called him... a maniac."
There are some chuckles in the audience. Akira looks up and scans the crowd. Ogata-san looks the same, dressed in a similar style of black suit as he. His eyes are downcast, though, and Akira takes the bit of time he has to briefly wonder what he's thinking about. Kuwabara-sensei is there too, his head bowed in respect, his hairless head visible to everyone around him.
"He..." he trails off. What more was there to say? His father was wonderful, and his life had revolved solely around his family and his love for the game of Go. "He loved my mother," he adds lamely. From the corner of his eye, he can see his mother smile, a little bit. "He loved her very much."
"He was... he is my hero." He smiles fondly to himself. "My father... my father was a person, despite his strict, outward appearance, cared more than anyone could imagine. He was both a person who kept to himself and a person who shared himself with his peers. He was... a person that nobody could have disliked, even for a little while."
Shindou is in the crowd, too. Akira only sees him when he looks up that one last time, his blonde bangs contrasting the dull colours of the day. Shindou looks up at him, and suddenly, Akira loses his words. A drop of rainwater hits his forehead.
"I loved him," he whispers, head dropping, bangs covering his eyes, his face. "I loved him. I loved my father. I loved him too much to let him go and I wish every day I could go back in time and do something different to change his fate, let him know that I appreciated every single bit of him in the world, that I could thank him for bringing me up and—"
Akira goes on and on and on, his eyes squeezed shut, until his ramblings melt into the background noise and he no longer knows what he's saying. It isn't until his mother is next to him, stroking his arm, telling him to calm down, moving him forward, that he realizes that wet tears are streaming down his cheeks.
He isn't alone; the sky cries with him.
to be continued.