I Want Eternal Time

- By SuishouTenshi

A/N: This fic takes place two years after Sai’s disappearance. Shounen-ai warning lasts throughout the fic. I do not own Hikaru no Go or anything associated with this name. I took the liberty and placed Hikaru in the same high school as Akira.

A note: I'm writing this story for MYSELF, not for anyone else, which means the update rate will be so slow it's not even funny. I write Harry Potter, usually, so I'll be over there a lot. I'm sorry if this annoys anyone, but just so you know, if you can't take the fact that I update slow, don't even start reading this.

Chapter One: Tears

The upper right corner is mostly white-orientated; I have no need to worry about that. The black stone Shindo just placed on 11-9 is a game turner. If I’m right about what he’s doing, then I’ll have to cut it off. But of course, that depends on whether he plays 4-7 or an atari to 10-7 in this turn.

The somber teenage boy with olive-color hair and the most intense bottle green eyes scanned the go-ban continuously in search for new strategies to devastate his opponent; his posture was the perfect picture of grace and solemnity.

Playing Shindo Hikaru was always mind-challenging, even more so than with his own father, the ex-Meijin, Touya Kouyo. When Touya Akira sat across from Shindo Hikaru in his father’s Go salon, there was more at stake than winning a game. It was a matter of pride, a tug-of-war of past, present, and future arguments. They were life-long rivals, after all. Akira wasn’t sure if Hikaru did the same, but he was keeping score. So far, the wins were Akira’s favor by a few dozen, but Hikaru was catching up with impressive speed and determination, threatening to overpower all those who stood in his way.

Although, Akira frowned as his eyes rose to search his opponent’s faraway expression, his game today is far less than impressive.

Akira was known for his patience. He could sit with a beginner for hours during a tutoring session and not lose his temper. But patience ceased to be a virtue whenever he played Shindo Hikaru. The boy with the golden bangs had the uncanny ability to piss Akira off with the slightest mistake. There were days when Akira thought Hikaru to be a pest just by breathing.

This was not one of those days. Akira had just received a high score on a math test and was quite content. It was another Friday afternoon and he was simply sitting in his father’s Go salon, playing with his classmate, rival, and friend. He started off in such a good mood that he even thought of inviting Hikaru over for dinner.

But as the deities would have it, Shindo Hikaru simply did not deserve Touya Akira’s good moods.

“Shindo!!” Akira practically howled as he discovered that while he had been gnawing at his brain to play a good game, the other boy wasn’t even paying attention to the Go-ban. “It’s your turn!” he grumbled venomously.

“Huh?” Dazed irises the color of moss rose up to meet Akira’s accusing glare. Hikaru had obviously been thinking about something else. He had a glassy look in his eyes and his left hand hung lifelessly over the arm of his chair. His right hand, however, was clutching that ridiculous fan of his.

“I said,” Akira paused to inhale, determined to not blow up in a public area... again, “it’s your turn.”

“Oh.” Hikaru’s demeanor did not change. He set the fan on his lap and dipped his right hand into his bowl, gently fished out a black stone, and placed it soundlessly on 7-8.

Akira’s eyebrows collided in the center of his forehead. 7-8 wasn’t the move that he expected from Hikaru. Was the other boy up to something that even Touya Akira couldn’t see? Was there a trap somewhere?

Akira cautiously scanned the board for another three minutes. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find any underlying meaning to Hikaru’s move. Deciding to momentarily leave the stone alone with a cautious reminder to keep his mind’s eye on it, Akira tended to the stone Hikaru previously place on 11-9.

Once again, Hikaru made no effort to move for quite a while. Akira didn’t yell at him this time, instead, the child prodigy raised his eyes furtively to study the boy that he had known for five years.

Hikaru was once again in a state of absolute stupor and wore a look that Akira only saw on his face during history class. Instead of looking at the Go-ban, Hikaru’s eyes trained on his fan, that insignificant piece of merchandise he had purchased almost two years ago from the souvenir shop in the Go institute. Ever since, Akira could not remember seeing Hikaru play Go without it. It was the object of an odd obsession for such a young man. Older Go players often carried fans with them for the sake of looking like a professional, but the look was lost on Hikaru. Why he carried it, Akira had no idea. It was just one of those things about Shindo Hikaru that would probably forever remain a mystery.

Just like the mystery of Sai, Akira thought to himself bitterly. After two years, Hikaru was still reluctant to tell him the truth about Sai.

Akira was now shamelessly staring at Hikaru, lost in his own ponderings. But then he saw something that made his heart stop.

Hikaru still sat there motionlessly when all of a sudden, his glassy eyes melted. The amorphous material dissolved into unadulterated liquid and moistened the lining of those jade-green orbs.

Hikaru was tearing up!

Akira could not stop his silent gasp. He had never seen Hikaru behave in such a way. Were those tears of pain that threatened to roll down Hikaru’s cheeks? Akira wasn’t sure. The other boy seemed peacefully wistful with his drooping eyelids; the sides of his mouth quirked up just slightly. Two simple changes on his facial expression spoke volumes of Hikaru’s inner turmoil.

And the whole time, his eyes were focused on that fan.

The sight triggered something in Akira’s memory. And since all professional Go players have an exceptional memory, it didn’t take long for Akira to widen his eyes in realization.

One year ago, when Akira found out that Hikaru didn’t have any more tutoring sessions planned for the rest of Golden Week, he had invited him over to his house for a day of Go. They were starting their Dan exams again and both needed the practice.

But Hikaru’s performance highly disappointed him. He played poorer than an Insei that day. When dinner approached, Hikaru still hadn’t won a single game, and he didn’t even seem to care. Akira’s temper finally reached its peak and a one-sided argument began. To his surprise, Hikaru didn’t even fight back. He took Akira’s insults like a beaten puppy and went home without a word. Akira ignored him for the rest of Golden Week, thinking that Hikaru perhaps had some family problems. When school began, however, Hikaru was back to normal, and so Akira put that day out of his mind.

Until now...

It was Golden Week yet again. Vacation wasn’t as relaxing for two professional Go players. In the mist of all the appointments and games, they finally found time to play against each other without pressure. But once again, Hikaru didn’t seem to care.

Akira dug deep into his mind in an attempt to recall more memories of that day a year ago. Was Hikaru so focused on his fan that day too?

Akira didn’t have the heart to shake his companion out of his quiet contemplation. He wanted to look at Hikaru in that state for just a bit longer. But the gods were never on Akira’s side.

Moments later, Ichikawa approached the two boys with a bright smile that made Hikaru’s impending tears stand out even more.

“Shindo-kun, your mother’s on the phone.” Ichikawa didn’t seem to register the look on Hikaru’s face. She delivered the message and went back to her desk after flashing a smile at Akira. Akira nodded back politely, slightly shaken by Ichikawa’s sudden interruption.

Hikaru’s reaction was no better. He straightened his posture abruptly and in his haste dropped his precious fan.

“Sorry, Touya,” Hikaru whispered as he bent down to retrieve his fan. From Akira’s position, he was able to see Hikaru surreptitiously wipe his moistened eyes. “I’ll be right back. Whose turn is it?”

“Yours,” Akira replied softly. Hikaru glanced down at the Go-ban and his eyes widened, suddenly realizing how poorly he had been playing. The teen sighed in resignation and messed up the stones. Akira didn’t protest.

“Makemashita,” Hikaru resigned. His voice was deeper than usual. “We’ll start over when I come back. My mother probably just wants me to pick up something from the store on my way home.” Hikaru placed his fan on the Go-ban and walked over to the reception desk.

Akira found his eyes glued to Hikaru’s accursed fan. There was something about it that was entirely too tantalizing, as if all questions that Akira had for Hikaru could be answered with it.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Akira leaned forward and picked up the paper fan with his hand. He was surprised at how gentle he was being toward a lifeless, 150-yen piece of junk, a fragile plaything that was made from cheap paper and even cheaper wood. It was the kind of thing that Akira’s mother would dump into a garbage bin without a second thought.

But to Hikaru, this was priceless. Akira could never understand why Hikaru carried it wherever he went, he could never comprehend why Hikaru’s confidence would magically rise to another level when he was holding the fan, he could never see what was so precious about it that Hikaru would bark at anyone who touched it.

Akira still remembered the time when a girl in their class picked up the fan in an attempt to flirt with Hikaru. The golden haired boy was on the verge of hitting her for touching it. And when Waya actually used it to fan himself, Hikaru had flatly refused to talk to him for a whole week.

Yet here he was, holding the forbidden article in his calloused fingers, contemplating whether to spread it or not. Akira turned his head to look at the front desk and saw that Hikaru was writing down things on a piece of paper with the phone between his ear and his shoulder, occasionally nodding or mumbling.

Akira turned his attention back to the object at hand. Curiosity was bubbling like shaken champagne inside of him. Akira easily gave in to his surging interest and unfolded the fan as slowly and tenderly as possible.

Despite the fact that Hikaru had bought this nearly two years ago, it was in surprisingly good condition. There weren’t any rips or stains on the white paper, nor was the wooden handle scratched. The tassel that hung on the end remained in its original state, not uncurled or tangled in any way.

Akira unfolded the fan completely, and was rather disappointed to find it to be perfectly normal. Hikaru’s steadfast guardianship over it became even more of an enigma.

Akira flipped the fan to its other side, still unable to find anything unusual with it. He even held it at a distance and closed one eye to study it.

And then he saw it...

On the thickest black handle, the words “Hikaru and” was written with dark brown ink in scrawled Japanese. The words were small and the ink was barely visible against the black background. Normally nobody would notice its existence.

Akira had to smile. Despite the fact that Shindo Hikaru was now his fellow classmate in the prodigious Kaiou High School and a worthy rival in the Go world, his handwriting still reflected that childish innocence that Akira had come to appreciate. The good thing was, Hikaru’s signature would be hard to forge, no respectful adult would write like he did.

Akira’s smile dropped and his eyebrows furrowed. Why didn’t Hikaru simply write his name on the paper part like most people do? And what did the additional “and” mean?

Glancing back to make sure that Hikaru was still occupied with the phone call, Akira turned the fan to its other side.

It was then that Akira finally noticed them, the words that stopped his world. In that familiar endearing scrawl, Hikaru wrote in dark brown ink the words “Sai, together forever”.

Akira folded the fan and dropped it onto the Go-ban. Without cleaning up the stones, he dashed out the door, and left Hikaru staring after him, phone still in hand.

“Hikaru? Hikaru? Did you get all that? Hikaru?”

Shindo Hikaru almost dropped the phone as his rival ran passed him. The salon door opened and closed with a scant echo. His mother’s voice was still screaming in his ear, telling him to be careful not to buy duck eggs again instead of chicken eggs.

“Umm, yea, kaa-san, I got that. I have to go.” Without waiting for his mother to reply, Hikaru hung up. He folded the note of groceries and shoved it into his pocket and ran back to his seat to retrieve his fan. Upon arriving at his table, Hikaru saw that for some reason, Akira had neglected to clean up.

“Go find him, I got this.” Looking up, Hikaru saw Ichikawa smiling kindly. Too confused to reply, Hikaru ran out with his fan in hand.

Hikaru fumed as he exited the salon. What was Touya thinking, just leaving like that? He didn’t say goodbye or even clean up. Hikaru looked left and right but was unable to find a trace of Akira. He probably went home, Hikaru assured himself and headed for the nearby convenience store. He was in no condition to deal with Touya Akira’s mood swings. Today was just... well, today.

Twenty minutes later, Hikaru stepped into his entrance hall with a tired “I’m home”. Not waiting for a reply, he dropped the bags of groceries at the bottom of the stairs and retreated into his room like a hermit.

He tried not to be too excited, but it was impossible not to get his hopes up. Hikaru opened his room door and winced as the hinges creaked. He silently prayed that the noise wouldn’t scare away any visitors... that one visitor.

The sun was just setting. Weak rays of orange danced around Hikaru’s room, shedding light on every object. There was his bed next to the window, his bookcase on the side wall. His drawers were as immaculate as usual. That expensive Go set his grandfather bought for him all those years ago stood in the middle of his room.

Hikaru sighed. He didn’t see what he wanted to see. Two years of waiting was still futile. Maybe it was time to give up hope.

Can I? Hikaru wondered as he approached his beloved Go set. Can I let go? I thought I had. But if I had, then why am I still getting my hopes up on this day? Hikaru knelt down and assumed the standard sitting position and placed his fan on his left side. He took both bowls to his right side and opened the lids.

With a shaky hand, Hikaru picked up a black stone and placed it on 16-4, star. His left hand automatically reached for his fan. He held the object gingerly and turned it toward the light so he could see the words that he wrote on it when he first purchased the thing.

“Hikaru and,” he read to himself, “Sai, together forever.”

Without warning, tears poured down Hikaru’s face. Words of anger rushed into his head like a raging flood, threatening to break down the weak dam that held Hikaru’s emotions together. Together forever, Sai, I thought we’d be together forever! Why did you leave? Okay, so I’m not over it. Sai, come back, please!

Slowly, Hikaru lifted his tear stained face, half hoping to see his best friend and mentor smiling back at him. But only air met his eyes. Across from the Go-ban, there was no one there to respond to his moves.

Too tired to even cry, Hikaru let himself fall asleep on the Go-ban, his hand clutching the fan like a last thread of hope.

The fading light shone into Hikaru’s room, shining on every object. A single black stone glowed sorrowfully on the Go-ban. Hikaru fell into a dreamless sleep, still murmuring Sai’s name like a mantra.