Warnings and Disclaimer are in the first chapter.
Chapter 10
Ryou spent the next days avoiding anything to do with Shuichi Shindou. Every morning he got up and manned the store, then went to train with Takao until dusk, when he'd drag himself home to eat dinner before going to bed. Reporters stopped by a few times to ask him about what had happened after, Ryou presumed from scanning the newspaper daily, they didn't get any information from the others involved in the concert. Each time that happened someone was there to turn them away, whether it was Mr. Mizuhara claiming that his son didn't need to be harassed or Takao telling people to get off his property or he'd call the cops.
Despite all of this, Ryou found more of Shuichi's memory's creeping up on him every day. It was the little things at first, minor memories that really didn't impact him that much but still served to tell him that his last year of life was a lie. After those few days of avoiding everyone but his friends, however, he began noticing things that, taken separately, wouldn't have been very noticeable.
Given the fact that he had a full-fledged spaz attack over a pack of strawberry pocky one day during practice, Ryou thought that it might be time to stop ignoring the obvious. No matter how hard he'd tried to deny it, his memory was returning and he couldn't deal with it on his own.
It was because of this that he found himself once again at NG studios, staring up at the building with a mixture of trepidation and impatience. He hadn't realized it but he'd been eager to get back to the studio, even as he told himself that he wasn't there to magically become a singer again. He was here for a set reason, and, that firmly in mind, he entered the building and punched the elevator button for the top floor.
Even without an appointment, Ryou noted with amusement, Seguchi Tohma was more than happy to see him. He entered the CEO's office cautiously, casting about for a pink bunny-wielding singer, but to his relief Tohma was alone.
"Welcome, Ryou," the blonde greeted, laying down his pen and smiling warmly at the man in front of him. "What can I do for you today?"
"Sorry for the sudden visit," Ryou murmured, looking away from the other and at the decorations on the wall. Now that he was here he felt rather foolish. "I've been… well, it's hard to describe. It's like déjà vu on an epic scale. So, well…"
"You wanted to talk to someone?" Tohma asked.
"Something like that," Ryou agreed, relieved that he didn't have to explain it. "And I don't think I can take Ryuichi right now."
"He can be a bit of a handful," Tohma mused. "Well, have a seat and let's hear what's on your mind."
At first Ryou was a bit uncomfortable, but Tohma's quiet presence soon had him talking to fill the silence. As it had been with Yuki that first morning, telling Tohma about everything helped him sort it all in his head, and several hours passed without him realizing. It was in the midst of telling the elder blonde about the latest happening involving the strawberry pocky and one Bladebreakers captain glaring evil eyes at him the rest of the day that there was a knock at the door. Ryou paused midsentence, suddenly realizing just how much time he'd taken from the obviously busy CEO.
"Sorry," he said a bit miserably after Tohma called for whoever it was to come in.
"It's quite all right," the other assured, even as Ryuichi popped his head in and surveyed the room critically.
"Ah, Ryou!" the singer chirped, waving Kumagoro's arm in greeting. "I didn't know you were here! You didn't say hi, either. Kumagoro's mad at you! Kumagoro BEAM!"
Ryou yelped and ducked the flying plush before it nailed him in the head. "Sorry!" he cried, hands over his head to fend off any more flying fur. "I won't do it again!"
Ryuichi bounced over and retrieved his plush, smiling brightly. "We forgive you!"
Tohma cleared his throat, though it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "What did you need, Ryuichi?"
"Eh?" The singer blinked in confusion before realization dawned on him. "Oh! That mean reporter lady came by again. She's awful mad that you won't comment on Ryou's performance at the concert. I told her to call back next week, is that okay?"
"That's very good, thank you," Tohma said. "And next week please do the same thing."
"All this trouble is because of me, isn't it?" Ryou sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Tohma said sternly. "It's not your fault. Some people just can't take no for an answer."
Ryou tried not to look at Ryuichi.
"Ah, well, I'll let you guys get to work," he said instead, standing. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Tohma."
"Feel free to stop by again anytime," Tohma smiled. "I hope I helped you a little."
"You did, thanks," the beyblader nodded before quickly leaving. It wasn't a lie, either. Talking with Tohma, or rambling at him rather, had helped, and he felt a bit less confused than before. He went home and felt almost normal as he endured Max's teasing about the pocky incident.
He didn't turn down the strawberry pocky Max had gotten for him, either.
. . . . . . .
The next months went easier for Ryou once he'd stopped fighting the obvious. He took Tohma up on his previous offers of help, visiting places he'd once been before his accident. The reporters were circling, however, sniffing close for any story that would explain away the happenings at the concert. This forced Ryou to visit his old haunts in secret, but the anonymity was refreshing. Thanks to the concert everyone knew him now, if not as Shuichi Shindou then as Ryou Mizuhara, and the fame was a bit daunting. It was due to this fame that he had to visit his old high school, his old neighborhood, other places with a hood to hide his shaggy black hair and colored contacts to cover his distinctive violet eyes. It didn't take much for his memory to be jogged now that he wasn't resisting it. Janet was optimistic whenever he talked to her on the phone, in the evening for her and early morning for him. She said to keep doing what he was doing but not to be surprised if there were details he couldn't remember.
During those months he saw everyone but Yuki. With his memories returning his feelings for the blonde novelist were confused, echoes of his prior emotions clouding his thoughts. No matter how hard he thought he couldn't be sure what was remembered and what was current and this had him reluctant to see Yuki again. He didn't want to cause the other man any kind of pain, and so he kept away from him. And, as the time passed while he remembered who Shuichi Shindou had been, he found himself beyblading less and less.
He hadn't realized just how infrequently he was participating in the Bladebreaker's training sessions until he showed up one day at Takao's, Drasonet in hand, and found the house empty save for Grandpa Kinomiya in the dojo. He poked his head in and found the elder man practicing with a wooden sword.
"They're not here," Grandpa said before Ryou could say anything, swinging the sword downwards briskly. "They went to a tournament. Didn't Max tell you?"
"Ah…" Ryou thought back on the last few days. "I've been leaving before Max for the last few weeks and getting back late. I guess I didn't give him a chance."
"Ah well, you've been busy. Come on in, don't stand out in the cold. We haven't caught up, how have things been?" Grandpa asked, never losing his rhythm. The sword swished through the air with every downward stroke.
Ryou shrugged out of his shoes and stepped up onto the cool wood of the dojo, keeping to the wall and out of Grandpa's weapon rage. "Everything's been going well. I've been keeping busy with things, like remembering."
"How's that going for you?" the elder wanted to know. "It seems like it should make things clearer, right?"
"Not really," Ryou shrugged, settling against the wall roughly even with Grandpa. "Things are confusing. It's like, I don't know who I am sometimes, you know?" That came out before he could stop himself, and he paused, then nodded. "Yeah, sometimes I forget if I'm Ryou or Shuichi. I mean, I know I'm Shuichi, I was him, but even though I'm still remembering, it's like he's still a separate person, you know?"
Grandpa nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. What are you going to do about it? You're Shuichi, but you don't have to be him. You could stay Ryou as long as you want."
"And if I never wanted to be Shuichi again?" Ryou asked semi-bitterly. "I find myself at home tapping out beats sometimes, you know? I'll be sitting at the table and words to a song'll pop into my head, and I'll want to write it. At the same time, I still want to beyblade so much. Drasonet's itching to get back in the dish again, he's going stir-crazy. I feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions and I don't know which way's going to give." He was staring at the ground throughout this, so the bokken to the head came as a total surprise. With a yelp he ducked, hands flying up to rub at his smarting scalp. "What the heck was that for?"
"That's for overthinking things," Grandpa said. "I don't know much about this kind of thing, but I do know that when things get confusing, you stop thinking." He helped Ryou up, then pushed the wooden sword into his hands. "Tell you what. Just start swinging this like I was. Don't think about anything, just be swinging." He stretched, then walked off towards the door into the house. "I'll be in the kitchen when you're done."
Ryou stared after him, then down at the sword in his hands. It was after staring like that for a few moments that, almost without realizing it, he walked into the middle of the room, mimicked Grandpa's stance, and brought the sword down in a sloppy arc. He exhaled sharply with the movement, then inhaled, raised the sword above his head again, and repeated the action. It sent a shock through his muscles but, he found, didn't require much thought. After a few self-conscious strokes he fell into an easy rhythm. This was the first time he'd held a sword so his movements weren't perfect, but they served to put him into an easy trance. He didn't know how long he was there, his world devolving into deep breaths, sweat dripping down his neck and back, arms shaking from exertion. All he knew was that, for the time that he was there, he wasn't Shuichi or Ryou. He just was.
He didn't know how much time passed while he was in the dojo, but when his arm muscles were burning was when he finally surrendered the sword to the rack of weapons against one wall of the dojo. Catching his breath was next on his list, and once that was done he went to the kitchen, where Grandpa was sitting, sipping tea. A cup was sitting out for Ryou and he sat down in the seat, wrapping his hands gratefully around the warm mug. All through this he was feeling pleasantly at peace with himself for the first time since the concert.
"Did you clean up after yourself?" Grandpa asked, sliding the sugar across the table towards Ryou.
"I did, Grandpa. Thanks," Ryou said sincerely.
Nothing more was said between them. Ryou finished his tea, washed his glass, and rode his bike home, where he collapsed into bed bonelessly and was asleep within minutes.
. . . . . . .
After his encounter with Grandpa and his bokken of doom Ryou stopped thinking too hard. He fell into a new routine within a few days once he stopped worrying about his identity crisis. In the mornings he'd wake up and help Mr. Mizuhara in the store. After lunch he'd go to Takao's house, resuming his beyblading practice with renewed vigor. His teammates seemed cheered by his enthusiasm, already talking strategy for the next preliminary tournament. The Bladebreakers were already a shoe-in for the next World Championships, but that left Team Gravity to train alongside them in the hopes of regaining their spot as Japan's representative team.
Ryou trained as hard as any of his teammates, but after a few hours he'd call Drasonet back and take his leave. He wandered around town for the rest of the day, notebook in hand, taking note of anything interesting. No one else saw his notebook, he made sure of it, but in it he had begun jotting down little phrases, things that could be worked into a song. After he'd stopped fighting the random tunes, the beats incessantly coursing through his head, they'd become much more manageable, fun even. He wasn't sure if he'd go back to the life of a singer, but maybe he could sell his songs.
Realistically, he knew that he couldn't stay with the Mizuhara's forever. He was an adult and eventually he'd have to find a source of income. Beyblading professionally brought him in some money when he won, but he always split it with his teammates, leaving little to spend casually, much less live on. He'd looked up the stats on professional beybladers and found that most of them had to supplement their winnings with a proper job, or else lived with other people to pick up the slack. With little in other skills aside from singing, he wasn't sure what he could turn to once he had to leave. It was because of this that he had gone back to songwriting, that and because it was unquestionably fun for him.
Through this the weeks passed. Because he'd stopped focusing on the issue of his memory he didn't notice when it no longer became an issue. He couldn't peg the time and day when his memories completed themselves, when Shuichi Shindou fully became part of him. He didn't even notice until he found himself, at the end of one day, outside of Yuki's apartment. He was reaching for the knob when he realized a few important things. First, he didn't have a key. Second, he didn't live with Yuki anymore. And third…
Exhaling quickly he backed away from the door, suddenly confused. He wanted to see Yuki again, but his old dilemma resurfaced. Was it his current self wanting it, or just his memories from over a year ago? Careful to mask his sounds he sank to the floor, staring at the door mocking him. His peace with himself was shaken now as he glared at the offending piece of wood. After indulging in that for a minute he rested his head on his knees, finally confronting the issue that had bothered him since the beginning.
What were his feelings for Yuki, he asked himself. He still wanted to see him so badly, but he could never be sure if that was because of his former relationship with the novelist. Was it a lingering feeling, one that would fade as he fell into his new life, whatever that would be? Or did he honestly and truly want to see him?
He sat there for a while, wrestling with those feelings, until Grandpa's advice came back to him. Sitting up, he balanced his notebook on his knees and began writing. He didn't think as his pen moved across the paper, forming symbols he purposely didn't recognize. His confusion melted away as he threw himself into that piece of paper. It didn't take him very long to reach the end of the page, but at the end he felt very satisfied with himself. Only after he finished with what he'd written did he dare read what he'd come up with.
With a smile on his face, he knew, then, what he should do. He folded up the song that had appeared on the sheet of paper, knocked several times on Yuki's door, then slipped the bundle under the door.
. . . . . . .
The night wind was chill in the park, Ryou rubbing his arms through the thin sleeves of his shirt. It was cold for the time of year and he didn't have a jacket, something he was coming to regret.
He wasn't regretting where he'd come, however. The park was still the same after all this time, the bench facing out towards the city, the lampposts lighting the way. It was calm, serene even, just as it had been on that fateful night what seemed like a lifetime ago. He thought it'd be a good place for a new beginning.
He heard footsteps behind him and straightened. "I didn't think you'd come," he said softly, not daring to turn around. Even without seeing who was behind him he knew.
There was the sound of a heavy exhalation, then the snap of a lighter. "I didn't expect to hear from you again."
Yuki's voice. It washed over him, calmed his nerves like only Beyblading had in recent times. It bolstered his confidence and allowed him to stand and turn, finally facing the subject of his inner turmoil. "I had to think things over," he confessed. "Even after my memory returned, I had to be sure of my feelings."
Yuki's expression didn't change. The only sign of his nerves was the extra-long drag he took from his cigarette. "And what did you decide?"
Ryou couldn't help his tiny grin. He really had missed the novelist. "I decided that I couldn't decide, not until we go out once. Avoiding you was only making it harder, so spending time with you should help."
Yuki's eyebrow twitched, though there were traces of a smile on his lips. "I suppose you're right. You had to give me this to tell me that?" He held up the rumpled sheet of paper, the lyrics written on it in Ryou's messy hand.
A shrug. "I thought you liked criticizing them." Ryou dropped his gaze, though. Despite his glib words he really did care what the other thought of the song he'd so hastily scrawled out.
The novelist glanced at the sheet, brow wrinkling. "What little skill you have is out of practice," he noted. "However, for what it is, it not's that bad." He stepped towards the other and held it out. "Here."
Ryou stepped backwards, away from the offered sheet of paper. "I don't need it," he shrugged. It was the truth, too. It was something he'd written on the spur of the moment and had no intention of keeping. "You can have it if you'd like."
Yuki shrugged, pocketing the paper. "So, going out," he said, changing the subject. "Where do you want to go?"
With that Ryou grinned. "I have an idea," he said cheerfully. "What're you doing on Sunday?"
. . . . . . .
Yuki was waiting for Ryou at the entrance to the amusement park when Sunday rolled around. He was in casual clothes, sunglasses hiding his eyes from the crowd around him. No one seemed to notice him as he leaned against the gate, streaming by him into the park chattering happily. It was just what Ryou had expected from him, he thought fondly as he approached.
"Yuki!" he called to get the other man's attention, waving his hand a bit as well. Even under the bright sun he was still dressed from neck to toe, his scars safely hidden from sight.
The blonde started towards him, a faint smile giving way to a scowl. "Who are these?" he demanded, gesturing at the group behind Ryou. The black-haired man held up his hands to forestall the expected angry rant.
"When I told them I was coming out they conveniently decided to come to the park today," Ryou said dryly. "They promised to leave us alone."
Max and Zeo tried their best to look innocent but failed miserably. "Don't blame Ryou, it was our idea," the android confessed. "We just wanted to keep an eye on him."
"He's family, after all," Max grinned. "So here are the ground rules," he said sternly, glaring between the two. "You," he pointed at Yuki, "Hurt Ryou and Draciel's having dinner. You," and he pointed at Ryou, "Call us if you need backup." That said, he stepped into the line without a look back, Zeo following suit.
Violet and brown blinked a few times before turning to meet each other. "That's something like I expected," Ryou admitted. "Sorry about that."
Yuki still looked annoyed, though his only response was to light up a cigarette. "Let's go, then."
. . . . . . .
The irate novelist slowly cheered up as the day went by with no appearances from Ryou's friends, and by noon he was back to his usual self. At least, the self that Ryou remembered. He was still cool and didn't talk much, but somehow that didn't bother the other as much as he thought it might. Somehow Yuki's cool presence was better than the author trying too hard to impress him, and he pretended not to notice when his companion didn't answer. Ryou, of late, was far more talkative than before he regained his memory. In between taking the roller coasters and playing the parlor games lining the sidewalk they sat at cafes and talked over coffee and soda.
During one such break Ryou was talking about his walks around town, describing his note-taking process and a few of the tunes he'd had stuck in his head. Yuki was staring at him impassively, unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. He'd found out the hard way that the café workers didn't appreciate smoking in their establishments. He answered every once in a while, biting criticism that somehow warmed Ryou more than any praise could have. It was something that he remembered from before but he found that his reactions to it weren't remembered. He realized that when he retorted something scathing back, even as he hid a smile at the other's expense.
As the day drew to a close Max and Zeo only showed up once. They glomped Ryou, apologized to Yuki, and dragged him off to participate in an impromptu beyblade match. It took only a few minutes and Ryou beat his opponents soundly, but it gave Yuki a chance to settle back and watch this new Shuichi interestedly. He noted how the other introduced himself still as Ryou, despite claiming that his memories were mostly restored. This was puzzling to the author, since the Shuichi he knew was proud of who he had been and made no attempt to hide it before. Either Ryou was lying about his memory, or he wasn't sure who he was at the moment.
He didn't have much time to contemplate the possibilities as the match ended and the object of his thoughts returned, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Famous beyblader and all…"
Instead of answering he just scowled and turned away. "The park will be closing soon. Is there something else you wanted to do?"
"We've been doing everything I wanted," Ryou pointed out. "There has to be something you wanted to do today."
Yuki shrugged. "You wanted to come here."
There was a moment of silence before Ryou scowled. "Idiot," he scolded. "I came here to spend time with you and the last time I had fun, at least. If you didn't want to come you should have said so!"
With that he turned and walked towards the exit at a sedate pace. If he really had been angry, Yuki reflected before following, he'd have run off. He caught up easily and passed him, turning to face the annoyed beyblader.
"I came here because you had fun last time, too," Yuki admitted. "I'd have rather gone to see a movie."
Ryou sighed. "Then why didn't you say something before? There should be a movie playing somewhere."
Yuki glanced at his watch. "It's late. You should get home."
"Nuh-uh," Ryou said stubbornly. "I've had my fun today. We'll watch a movie and then you can tell me you never want to see me again or whatever." Despite his stern tone there was a hint of despair in his voice, and Yuki found that he couldn't resist.
"Fine," he sighed.
They couldn't find Max or Zeo to let them know they were going, but they went and found a movie theater with late night showings. The movie wasn't the best but Ryou had the most fun poking fun at it, tossing popcorn at the screen. Yuki, for the most part, watched Ryou in the faint light from the screen. Though neither of them knew it, they were having a lot of fun.
Later that night Ryou had to endure Max's ranting at him about wandering off, but he felt that it was all worth it. He'd finally, finally, gotten some answers.
