i'll be honest, i'm not quite fond of how i wrote this chapter but oh well, i'm a little behind schedule m(_ _)m nevertheless, please enjoy! (´◡ω◡`)
The next day, he left their hotel room while Arata slept and the sun was climbing. He knows that's kind of a shitty move, because Arata could wake up, see he's gone and panic. But he's not that careless. He did leave a note saying he went out for a bit, and will be back as soon as he can, in case Arata decides to wake up before its lunch.
When he gets back, he knocks on their room door and swallows down the nervousness in his throat. Arata should be awake by now, it is past noon. And true to his assumptions, the redhead opens the door.
"Hoshihara? Where did you…" Arata's sentence stops short when his eyes land on the blond. "…go?"
He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, where previously there would have been long strands of hair covering it despite his ponytail. "Hey?"
"You… You cut your hair?"
Slowly, he nods. The encounter with Muraku from yesterday sort of hit him in the gut and he felt like he wanted a change, or needed it, if he's honest. But then the change he decided on was to cut his hair short, back to when it barely brushed his shoulders—back to the hairstyle he used to have when Arata was still in Kamui.
In the same time he tells himself, he did want a haircut anyway. It's not like he did this for Arata.
When Arata does nothing but stare, letting the seconds past by, he gulps again. "Do I look… weird?"
The redhead seems to awaken from the trance he's in, because he yelps and quickly moves aside to let him in. "No, no, not at all! Actually, you…" Arata's face flushes a light pink. "You look great."
Butterflies flop around in his stomach restlessly and his own face flushes at the compliment. He feels like knocking his head against a wall. "T-Thanks…" Why did he have to stutter?!
Arata closes the door behind him, and scratches his cheek. "So, uh, what made you cut your hair?"
He's not surprised by the question, because who in their right mind would go on a holiday and cut their hair right in the middle of said vacation. Anyways, it was a spur of the moment decision. He left this morning because he wanted to go for a jog, but then he came across a salon and thought Why not?
It seemed like a good idea back then. It doesn't seem like a good idea now.
He shrugs. "I just… felt like it. The long hair was getting troublesome too."
"I see…" Arata says. Then he grins. "I mean it though, it looks great on you."
There comes the blush again. But this time he manages to hold himself together, and he replies with a curt nod. "Thanks."
Inside, only God knows how much he's leaping.
On their second last day, tired from all the sightseeing they've done, he and Arata both agree to hit the city around their hotel and return long before the sun would begin to set.
(Actually, it was Arata's idea. He wanted to show him around the city, apparently.)
They visit a number of shops and stores, looking around without much purpose and window-shopping with the occasional purchase of anything that catches their eye. Arata does the leading, as he's always done from the first day they've been here, and he lets him, because Arata knows this place better than he does, and because Arata is enthusiastically cute about it too.
He did not just think that.
He forces his train of thought to go elsewhere. He does not to be distracted now. Absolutely not now.
Yes, of course Arata can be cute. At times. A lot of times. But he can also be charming, or dazzling, if he wanted to. Right now the redhead is just opting to act like a child, and he's not entirely sure what to think of it.
The blond freezes in his steps and he shakes his head. He needs to stop himself from having these thoughts. They are nothing but distracting, absolutely distracting. He should not be this easily distracted. He's the composed one, the one who has his eyes set on the goal. How is he so distracted anyway?
"Hey, hey, Hoshihara look at that t-shirt! Do you think it will look good on me?"
Oh, right. Arata is cute.
"I think anyone would look good in that shirt, not just you."
"That is an incredibly roundabout way to compliment me."
"I was not complimenting you!"
"Haha, you totally were!"
"Was not! Sena? Sena, are you listening?!"
He is obviously not listening, because the redhead's attention is focused on the bus stop not far away from them
He quirks his eyebrows and nudges Arata with his elbow. "What's wrong?"
Arata points at the advertisement that covers the side of the bus stop and says, "Don't you think he looks familiar?"
He follows Arata's finger, and needless to say he practically chokes on his spit at the sight. No way. No way? He can't believe his eyes. What he's seeing can't be real. He blinks, once; he rubs his eyes, and then he blinks again.
Izumo Haruki is on the advert.
No, not literally on the advert, but his face is. Haruki is modelling for a brand that the blond recognizes as a renowned jewellery label. He's wearing a black shirt that almost looks like a tight fit, clearly lining the arm muscles and muscular body he has. There's a necklace around his neck and he's smirking towards the camera, or the spectator, or the buyer, he doesn't know anymore—but that smirk should be illegal. He doesn't even want to take note of the hand in Haruki's hair, showing off the bracelets he's wearing that just completes the entire look.
And are those goddamn piercings?
His jaw drops slightly and he takes a few moments to try and recompose (or process this information) before he feels Arata nudge his shoulder.
"Hoshihara?"
"…That's… That's my friend."
"What?"
"He's my friend. The one that helped me move in."
Arata's face twists in deep thought and he falls into silence. Then his face brightens up and a hearty laugh escapes his mouth. "Oh my god, it is! You didn't tell me he's a model!"
"That's because he isn't," he scrunches his nose and looks back at the advert. "Or wasn't, I guess."
He's still trying to believe what he's seeing. Screw what people say about seeing things to believe it.
"Come on, let's take a picture!" Arata pulls him by his wrist towards the ad. He almost falls because he was still frozen in shock.
"W-What?" he stutters, because, what. Why should they take a picture with an even bigger picture of Haruki behind them?
"You didn't know he became a model, right?" Arata says and positions them under Haruki's big face. "Send him this picture. That'll give him a heart attack."
He wants to say no, that's a ridiculous idea. He wants to say that maybe there's a reason Haruki didn't tell him. He wants to step away from the advert right this instant because it is a hilarious image to see two adults fighting under a jewellery ad.
But Arata is grinning, and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He does a little shake of his head and does a sigh before he lets Arata wrap an arm around his shoulder to pull him in close—he hopes he's not blushing—and lets the redhead take out his phone and take the picture.
"Aw, damn. I didn't get your friend's face. Come on, one more time!"
He fakes a sigh and repeats the process.
"Perfect!" Arata exclaims, showing him the picture he just took. He can see him, and Arata, and a Haruki in the background. Arata was grinning—of course he was—while he on the other hand was making a pretty peeved face in his opinion.
He can't help but to feel amused at the picture.
Arata sends him the image through Bluetooth, and the redhead pesters him to send the picture to Haruki already. He looks down at his phone, at the picture he just received from Arata, and he wonders again whether this was a good idea.
"Come on, just do it already!" Arata says, resting his chin on the blond's shoulder to have a look at his phone. He almost jumps but he manages to not.
"Fine," he huffs. "What should I write?"
"Something funny. Like, 'Wish you were here.' That would work!"
He stifles a chuckle and writes exactly that.
"Honestly Arata, you're such a kid." He says and it takes him a split second later to realize his grave mistake. He wants to scream.
He quickly turns to face Arata, and he sees Arata looking at him with wide eyes—an obvious sign of surprise. Oh god. This can't turn out good.
He doesn't get a chance to say anything though, because his CCM rings loud enough to make them both jump. The blond looks at his CCM and he sees that it's Haruki calling him.
He doesn't know whether to curse him or bless him.
"I, uh, I have to take this," he says hastily, turning his back to Arata and answering the call. "Hello, Haruki?"
"I can explain."
It takes him a couple of seconds to realize what he's talking about.
"Oh, really?" he says, trying not to sound like he took forever to answer.
There's a sigh on the other line. He can almost imagine Haruki holding his head in frustration at being caught. "Someone just… walked up to me and offered the job. Said I had the looks. I was in need of the money, okay?"
"Okay."
"…Wait, that's it?"
"Well, yeah."
"You're not going to scold me or anything? Or tease me, or get angry since I didn't tell you?"
"Haruki, I'm not your mother. I don't have the right to get angry. Besides, it's your life. It doesn't have much to do with me. I just didn't expect to go on a trip to Fukushima and see your face on a bus stop, that's all."
He hears a relieved laugh coming from Haruki. "Thanks, because Yuno and Sakuya won't drop it. They're going to haunt me for the rest of my life about this. How's the trip going for the both of you by the way?"
He chuckles. Then he hesitates. "Ah… It's going great. So far."
"…What's wrong?"
He kicks the pavement. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."
Haruki sighs. "Alright, I won't force you to say what's up. But don't stress yourself too much, okay? You do that a lot."
"I hear you, Izumama."
There's a groan. "Don't. Ever. Call Me. That."
"Sure thing… Izumama."
"God damn it, Hoshiha—"
He hangs up before Haruki manages to say his full name and go on rambling on how he's going to make his life a living Hell and how everyone in Jenock swore an oath not to use that nickname on him anymore. One way or another, he knows he'll have to pay for that. But it was worth it. Now the only downside to hanging up on Haruki is that he has to confront Arata instead.
He doesn't know what the redhead thinks about the slipup he made. He doesn't know what to think. The options are endless, limitless, and he could take forever listing them all out. But he doesn't do that.
He turns on his heels and faces Sena Arata.
Arata is grinning at him, almost excitedly, and he feels confusion in his mind. "So, was that your friend? What did he say?" the redhead asks.
"Ah…" he looks down at his CCM, then back at Arata. "He sounded miserably surprised. He told me he was recruited and that he needed the money."
"Eeh, you didn't take a jab at him or anything?"
He shrugs, closing his eyes and pocketing his CCM. "I didn't see the need to."
"Aw, but Hikaru, that's half the fun!"
His breath stops.
He locks eyes with Arata, whose grin seems much wider now. There's also a bit of pink on his cheeks, like he's embarrassed or something at calling his first name.
Who gives him the right to feel embarrassed?!
He can feel the heat rising up the back of his neck, and he's sure his face must look red right now. He struggles to swallow, and tries to say something in return, anything at all, but he can't think of anything else except he called my name. Everything sounds stupid in his head and he can't even conjure up a witty comeback. It's like someone turned his Sarcastic Remarks feature off.
It's that or he's too busy falling in Arata's eyes.
They are entrancing, and he finds that he can't look away. Those indigo eyes, despite being familiar to him, have a new light in them that lets a comforting warmth blossom inside his chest. There's a depth in them too, a depth that he can't explain. He can't help the curiosity he feels and he wants to know more, to know more about the light and the depth, and to know more about the warmth he feels inside of him.
They blink and the connection is cut.
He looks away and he realizes he's breathing again.
He doesn't know when he remembered how to breathe. He doesn't even know what just happened. He rubs his forearms, feeling exposed. Even in the midst of his confusion, he has to admit—or rather, he can't deny—that he likes the feeling. It felt… nice.
Alarming, but nice.
"Ah, you don't mind it, right? Me calling you by your first name?" Arata asks, scratching his cheek. He looks quite nervous, and it's endearing.
He shakes his head as an answer. "I don't." Of course he doesn't mind it. He's been dying to have Arata call him by that name since they first met again. He just didn't know how to express it then. But now, who knew it would turn out like this.
"Then you should call me by my first name too." There's a cheeky grin on Arata's face and the blond suppresses another blush at the sight.
He keeps quiet for a bit, not for long, but long enough for him to gather enough courage. Slowly he lets the name slip out of his mouth.
"A… Ara…ta."
Screw a slip, that was more like a tumble. And this time he knows he can't hold back his blush. He looks back up and sees how Arata's face is red too. Even so, there's still a grin on the redhead's face, albeit a shyer one.
"Hi-ka-ru~" Arata says in a singsong voice, taking a few hops back. "Let's go! We have much more to see!"
He jolts at the call of his name. It sends a wave of emotions through him that he can't have them stop long enough to identify. They come and then they're gone. But he doesn't mind. It doesn't matter. What matters right now is the redhead in front of him, the same person he's taken one more step forward with.
With a small smile he shakes his head and jogs after Arata, muttering under his breath, "Weirdo…"
They board their train, their luggage significantly heavier compared to their first day here. It doesn't take them long to find their seats and Arata lets him sit by the window while the redhead takes the aisle seat. They settle in and soon enough their journey home starts.
Their chatter at first is of unimportant things, subjects that are easily looked over, and a reminiscing of their week spent here. But then Arata decides to ask something the blond was sure he would never be brought up.
"I realized you weren't wearing that blue jacket you love so much to sleep. Did you forget it to pack it or something?" there's a playful smile on Arata's face, like he's teasing.
The blond wants to sink deep into his seat and never come back out. But he sets his lips in a thin line and says in a tight voice, "Yeah, I forgot to take it with me."
He doesn't dare to tell Arata that yes, he did bring the jacket with him, and no, he did not wear the jacket at all because the first night he had forgotten about it, having been so tired from Arata's escapades that he fell asleep easily without it.
The same went for the second night.
And the third.
Then he realized, no, it wasn't really the tiredness taking its toll on him. It was the fact that Arata himself was there with him, just over an arm stretch away from him on another bed. The redhead's presence comforted him, in ways that he didn't think he would ever experience.
There is no way the blond is letting him know though.
They fall into silence after that, with Arata listening to music from his headphones and him scrolling through the internet on his tablet. When lunch rolls around, he takes out the bentou packs they bought from the train station earlier and hands one over to Arata, who accepts it gratefully with a hungry look.
A thought crosses his mind as he sees the passing green valleys through the window and his lunch is almost finished.
"Arata…?" he gulps after that, when the redhead looks at him. He better get used to calling him by his first name soon, damn it. "Can you tell me what it's like?" he pauses for a moment. "To have amnesia?"
Arata looks at him for a while, a contemplating look on his face that the blond doesn't know whether it spells trouble or otherwise. "Oh… Well… How do I put this…?" Arata purses his lips. "When I first woke up from my coma, I didn't have a sense of time and the world felt surreal to me, like it could break at any minute. It was even harder when I had to start my first year in high school not long after, especially when the last memory I had was being an eleven-year-old in an ice-cream shop." Arata chuckled.
"It didn't make sense to me back then, because I had the mentality of a child, but I learned to grow up fast, I guess," the redhead smiles, a sombre one. "Honestly, sometimes I still feel like I'm a teenager instead of an adult, you know?"
"Oh," he gulps again. The blond regrets asking, but he wants to know. He wants to know so much more. "And your memories? Do you really… don't remember anything?"
"That's hard to say…" Arata folds his hands together under his chin, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a little. He's staring pointedly at the floor with furrowed eyebrows, a look that's worrying the blond. "I mean, I'm not even sure if they are memories, but sometimes I get visions? Like strange scenes that don't make sense to me and people whose faces are smudged beyond recognition, but I know I know them. And once in a while, like when I'm out for groceries or something, I'm just… hit with a pang of déjà vu or nostalgia that I can't explain," he turns his head to look at him, still forcing a smile on his face. "I guess this is what happens when you don't go to therapy for these kinds of things."
He nods his head in turn, not entirely sure what to say anymore. He had been curious—he wanted to know how much of his past Arata actually remembers. It doesn't look good, from the sounds of it. Before his resolve crumbles, he dares himself to ask one last question.
"Don't you want to remember?"
He stares into Arata's eyes. This time, it's different than before. There is no entrancement, no magic or abracadabra that binds them. There's nothing but the plain truth of what's going on in each of their minds.
Arata's smile falls and it's the first time he sees him so miserable. But no words are spoken. He just stares, a look on his face that's not easily translated. It's like all emotion shut down inside Arata and his face is blank of expression—but not exactly a poker face either. There's almost a hint of surprise, however, barely there and only noticeable if one would actually pay attention.
Something breaks, he doesn't know what, but something breaks and Arata has a small, small smile curl around his lips forcefully, the act obviously out of place. His eyes are tired and the redhead leans back into his chair, holding his head as he does so.
"I can't."
The answer baffled him. Three days later, the answer still baffles him.
Arata had dropped the topic after that, occupying himself by staring out the window of their cart and not sparking up any other conversation on their way home save for the occasional questions like Did you get everything? Or Man, that was a bumpy ride, wasn't it?
He doesn't know what to make of the answer that the redhead gave him. Did Arata mean he can't remember anything at all? Or did he mean he can't remember because his parents won't allow it? Which is it? Why isn't the answer clear?!
The blond plops down on his bed, sighing in content at the softness and familiarity of his sheets. He closes his eyes and hums, wondering, just wondering again and again where his fault was. For starters, he thinks he shouldn't have asked.
But he wanted to know. No, he needed to know. Are Arata's memories salvageable? Or are they lost for good? He knows, even in this day and age, that amnesia can be a tricky thing. Sometimes you remember everything again, sometimes you don't remember anything at all and sometimes you're stuck in between—having memories of events that don't make sense to you because you don't have the next or previous episode.
The human brain isn't like an SD card, or a computer. Memory loss there can be retrieved by experts. But with the mind, no matter how many experts Arata chooses to see, he won't remember any of it if his brain refuses to cooperate. It's like locking away that part of Arata, the LBX-loving, world-saving, Sena Arata inside a heavy chest and chopping the key into pieces, rendering Arata clueless of what he has gone through in the past.
He hopes that's not the case.
Arata himself has told him before how he never went to see any doctors to treat his memory loss. So nobody can say for sure it's impossible. Besides, he'd rather Arata remember by himself than to have the blond tell him stories of his days in Kamui Daimon. They're two different people, with two different lives then and now. What he tells Arata can never be the same as experiencing the events himself, especially when it comes to the usage of Overload.
Ask him how it felt like to be electrocuted like a barbeque, then he'll get full marks plus extra credit and an apple for a good work.
So maybe, in the end, that's what Arata meant. Not I can't remember. But more of a I can't do it because my parents won't let me.
He needs to find a solution for this, and fast. He could try to persuade Arata, he really can. Maybe it can work out. But in the same time, maybe it won't. Arata is stubborn after all, right? He's sure it would take an army before he'd be able to convince Arata to see doctors. And even though it's been years, nobody ever said it was too late to regain lost memories.
But what if Arata doesn't want to remember…? He didn't specifically say it, but what if that's the truth behind his words, veiled behind the statement that his parents would get upset at his actions?
He doesn't know for sure, he's thinking too much over this and it's driving him insane.
He wants to forget this, just for a little while. To forget problems that shouldn't be ignored and put his mind to rest, only for a short moment. A distraction, he needs a distraction.
The young Hoshihara stands up from his bed, reaching out for his LBX bag and pulling on a jacket. Autumn is coming again, after all, and it'll be almost a year since he started staying here. He walks out his room, noting how Arata isn't in their apartment because he's out yet again practicing with his band from morning to late in the evening.
At the very least, they still eat breakfast together.
He locks the door to the apartment as he leaves, walking down the steps and out of the complex grounds without much thought from months of experience. He makes his way for the city, wondering whether or not Cyber Lance has any events he can show up to or any new models they want him to try out. Maybe there's a tournament around the corner he isn't yet too late to sign up for.
Distinctly, he remembers Arata promising him to take him to his band practice.
He wonders, again, what happened to that?
Some people revel at the sight of his new haircut. Says it suits him, looks good on him. He doesn't feel much for the praise—unlike the time Arata said those words to him. He bows his head to them slightly in response and whisper thanks in his usual cool tone.
He makes his way to his boss's office after getting clearance from the desk. He already gave the man a call earlier when he was on his way to the train station.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Mr. Ashikawa asks from behind the desk with a smile. He looks neat in his suit and tie, hair tidy and gelled. "I hadn't been expecting you to call so soon after your vacation."
He shrugs. "I just wanted to ask if there's anything new I can do, like test a new LBX. I'd prefer a tournament though."
Mr. Ashikawa rubs his chin for a moment. He pulls out his drawer, rummaging through some papers, before he pulls out a thin file. "Has Val Spirit begun to be a bore you?" he asks.
He furrows his eyebrows. "No, but I do have some things to report on its performance."
"Well then, how about we go see the man who made it?"
They go down a few levels in the elevator. He honestly doesn't know what he's expecting. He looks around, eyeing the high-tech machinery and arms and people in white coats running around doing experiments for weapons, limbs and jotting down results. Some of them notice and stop, regarding the president with respect. Mr. Ashikawa greets them back with a charismatic smile.
They walk further into the floor, passing more scientists and machinery and failed experiments, when they finally cross the doors to get inside one lab in particular. The sight he sees is definitely not one he expects.
"Sakuya?" he says, his voice brushed with surprise. He blinks.
The green-haired man puts down his pencil and pulls the goggles off his face. He looks just as surprised but he grins. "Yo! Long time no see, huh?" he says, before regarding the president. "Good day, sir."
"Good day to you too, Hosono-kun."
"Wow," he shakes hands with Sakuya, looking around the room that he assumes to be Sakuya's personal lab. Then realization hits him. "Don't tell me you're the one who made Val Spirit…?"
Sakuya's grin grows wider. "I am that person!" he says in a sing-song voice. "When I found out the test player was going to be you, I begged the president for the job," he laughs. "So, what do you think?"
"That's what he came down here for, Hosono-kun. Apparently he's got a few things to discuss with you regarding the LBX." Mr. Ashikawa says with an amused smile. He looks like he's about to say more when another scientist comes in and asks to talk to him for a moment. So he dismisses himself a few steps away from them.
"Really?" Sakuya turns from where the president is to the blond. "Does it not suit your style anymore?"
He shakes his head. "No, that's not it. It's wonderful. I was wondering why… the LBX felt right in my hands. I guess now I have my answer," he smiles softly, feeling proud for his friend. "I even got to use it against Muraku."
"Eeeh, Muraku? That's great! When, where? How did it go?"
"When I was in Fukushima. A week ago maybe. We hit the time limit and neither of us won."
"Ah, that must mean you guys were on par…!" Sakuya grinned. "How about I customize Val Spirit some more? Add in some upgrades here and there. I've got a few ideas I want to try out, if it's okay with you?"
He nods his head. The idea of it is appealing. He hasn't seen Sakuya work in years and since Sakuya's in Cyber Lance he's sure the green-haired man has improved a lot. Who knows what ideas he might have in that brain of his?
"That's just perfect then." Mr. Ashikawa is suddenly back in their conversation, the earlier scientist gone. He smiles. "I've been told that one of the contestants for a tournament next week can't compete anymore due to personal reasons. Hoshihara-san, didn't you say you wanted to join a tourney?"
He widens his eyes. This is a good chance. Of course he'll join. He hasn't been in a tourney in a long time. It's a perfect opportunity. He nods his head, sure of his answer.
"How about you, Hosono-san? Is a week enough time to customize the LBX?" Mr. Ashikawa asks.
Sakuya looks at the blond excitedly, a sparkle in his eyes. "I can work with that."
"Now before you two get carried away, I have one more thing to discuss with you." Mr. Ashikawa looks at the blond too and he feels like he's under inspection from the intensity in those eyes. "I have a proposition for you. It involves your old school, Kamui Daimon…"
He didn't think he'll ever hear that name here.