Chapter Text
Fujiwara Sai felt the pain wrack through his body as the sun was just peaking over the horizon to begin its daily trek through the sky. Was it possible for one’s entire soul to throb, Sai wondered. His brand new body felt stiff, as though it had rusted into its current position after he’d lain down. The places Hikaru touched felt more alive though. The forehead on his shoulder warmed him, the easy breaths from Hikaru’s lips fanned his neck, and the hand that lightly clasped his in sleep twitched every now and then.
Shindou Hikaru, his best friend in afterlife and life respectively, had stolen into his room earlier that night claiming he could not sleep. Sai hadn’t wanted to admit that he suffered from the same dilemma and merely offered half of his bed without comment. Surprisingly enough, when minutes before he had been staring at the ceiling uneasily awaiting sleep, seconds after Hikaru’s arrival he was snoring. Sai wished he was still experiencing that same comfort and peace. As it were, he felt nauseous; as if the air he breathed was toxic. His head ached, the heaviness of flesh holding his once free spirit was more pronounced.
Fragmented thoughts of nurses bringing child-proofed brown bottles with white tops flashed through his mind. If he wasn’t mistaken — and in his current state there was no guarantee that it was not so — Archangel Gabriel had forgotten to address another repercussion of regenerating a life.
Touya Kouyo sighed tiredly as he stalked through the sliding doors of his least favorite place. Walking briskly two steps ahead of him his lovely wife, Akiko, telegraphed a scowl over her shoulder. On some level Kouyo supposed he deserved that. He was causing Akiko undue stress — of which he had no doubt that she was enjoying every minute, as that was the kind of woman she was. He was also fairly certain that on some level that should never be thoroughly explored, Akiko had been delighted when he’d sustained the heart attack months before. It had been an opportunity for her to dote upon him, and it was proving to be a continued chance for more of the same treatment. Even if at the moment Akiko’s glare could frighten the green off of seaweed.
“Did you think you could get out of it Kouyo, really?” Akiko demanded. Her voice hadn’t raised a decibel. They could have been having a normal conversation if not for that single crease in her forehead and that disapproving sparkle in her eyes.
“There was hope,” Kouyo muttered just for reaction. He was not disappointed as he was treated to another less than charitable look from Akiko.
“I am not going through it again Kouyo. You will take care of yourself or I’ll take care of you.” The click of her heels carried her down the hall faster; the check-in desk was in sight. The last remark from his spirited wife had him a little worried. Said in that tone, the former Meijin couldn’t not know Akiko didn’t mean anything sweet and loving by her words. As he approached the desk, Akiko was already pointing to a seat in the waiting room with the end of the pen she was using to sign him in while carrying on a lively conversation with the receptionist. If she was still angry it was not noticeable, but the Go player knew better than to tempt fate and Akiko’s ire. After a quick perusal of the half full waiting room he decided on a seat next to a boy in flowing robes, matching hat, and insanely long hair braided into a queue that pooled in his lap. He listlessly toyed with the ends of it.
Kouyo smiled to himself. The kid looked lonely and miserable, as though he were no stranger to white walls and the sterility and quiet of a hospital. His pale skin in the fluorescent lighting lent him an unearthly glow. The black hair did nothing to dispel the thought of sitting next to a ghost as it accentuated the lack of color in his skin.
“Enjoying your wait thus far?” Kouyo queried as he sat.
“Am I that obvious?” was the answer. He didn’t lift his head in acknowledgment, but he did remove a loop of his hair from the seat before Kouyo flattened it. The former Meijin hadn’t even seen it.
“That is really long isn’t it?” Kouyo commented, pointing to the braid so that the boy wouldn’t be confused over the topic.
He offered a nod, still fumbling with the end of his hair; his hands seemed to be trembling.
“It doesn’t annoy you that some might think you’re a girl?”
“I don’t care,” the boy replied. The ends of his lips tilted upward, a secret smile that let Kouyo know that an incident of that nature had already occurred, perhaps more than once.
“Perhaps you’ll donate it someday,” Kouyo suggested. He settled more comfortably into his chair and folded his hands onto his lap.
“Donate it?” the boy asked. For the first time his head turned to look at the person he was talking to.
Kouyo was momentarily speechless. The lavender eyes in the boy’s young face were very old and spoke of wisdom beyond his limited years. He was struck again with the idea of a ghost, perhaps materialized for the moment to toy with the living. Not a single line marred the boy’s flesh. His skin had yet to taste the blade of a razor, and his smile was sweet. All of these things combined with the pallid hue to his skin and the glow of the lights enforced his ethereal qualities. Perhaps the boy had died young in another life, and the disturbing beauty he’d acquired in this life was an apology from God.
“Yes, donate it,” Kouyo answered after several seconds of silence. Perhaps it was a good thing the boy didn’t often look at the people he spoke with. Aged eyes bearing the weight of the dead shouldn’t often gaze upon the living. “Some people grow their hair, have it cut off, and made into wigs for children with cancer.”
The boy choked on laughter. He was back to pawing the end of his braid, his eyes focused on the task. “Then I would be growing it for myself wouldn’t I?”
Touya Kouyo sucked in a breath at his negligence. Hadn’t his instincts told him before he'd sat down that the child looked as though he spent a lot of time indoors? “I’m sorry, I didn’t think . . .”
The boy waved him off. “No-no, it’s alright.” He took a breath as though the tiny act of moving his arm had taxed his strength. “Actually I’m a cancer survivor. I promised myself that if I ever got better I’d never cut my hair again.”
“Well that makes sense,” Kouyo replied. It also explained why centuries of sadness could be seen in his eyes. “It is very lovely,” he added as an afterthought. It would be problematic to have the resolution the boy did and a lackluster, tangled mess to show for it after all.
“Thank you,” he whispered as a nurse in a pink uniform rolled up with a wheelchair. With arms akimbo she frowned down on the child and shook her head. Kouyo couldn’t refrain from turning his head to look at his wife, still chatting with the receptionist. The nurse had reminded him of a scene he’d endured earlier that morning. Akiko had been checking the messages on the machine and heard of the doctor’s appointment he’d been hoping to shirk — thus his current predicament.
“For shame, Fujiwara Sai,” the nurse reprimanded.
Touya Kouyo’s head whipped around like a tetherball on a pole to see the woman helping the ghost he’d been seated beside into the wheelchair. His mouth moved but no words emerged. Sai was not a common name. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the one person he’d been searching for had been seated beside him and carried on a conversation over something a mundane as hair when they could have been discussing Go. That was insane; it was too surreal to be true. He wanted to ask but his throat was closed and any words spoken would portray him as a senile old man if said incorrectly. But then those old eyes rested once again on him and his lips stilled. In one sentence he received both question and answer.
“It was nice to finally meet you Mr. Touya.” The nurse guided him forward.
Halfway down the hall Shindou Hikaru and another nurse emerged from a door that read employees only. His son’s rival looked properly chastised for all of two seconds before promptly breaking away from the scowling nurse to take the now empty spot behind Sai’s wheelchair, as though it were a tradition of some sort.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Touya Kouyo blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d regained his feet and had taken three steps after the ghost called Fujiwara Sai and his advocate, Shindou Hikaru. Akiko stood before him, pose mimicking the agitated nurse that had taken Sai away. “I . . .” the senior Touya began. There was a petite finger poking his chest.
“You?” Akiko queried, that wrinkle divided her forehead into halves again. This was not a pleased woman glaring at him.
“Bu . . .” Kouyo began again.
“But?”
Kouyo found himself sitting down beside his wife prior to his acknowledging such a move had taken place. His eyes remained fixated upon the last spot he’d seen the embodiment of “Sai” the creature of Go legends that had challenged Kouyo's intellect and won. The incarnation was a ghost of a child with ancient lavender eyes. On a less than mature level that even he was not above, Touya Kouyo could empathize with his son’s consternation. Meeting Sai in this period of the game just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.