I just realized that if I wanted to, I could've totally made this a oneshot. Instead, I've made it into an ongoing story.
Oh well. It just adds more detail. XD
And another thing. I find it rather funny that Word doesn't have 'wasabi' in their dictionary. Wow. XD
He's not supposed to know my eye color.
Fuji could hear Tezuka's words ringing through his ears, repeating over and over again in his mind. It wasn't possible; it couldn't be possible. The picture showed Fuji with his usual expression; he almost never took pictures while his eyes were open. There was just no way…
He grabbed another sheet of paper and began writing on it.
Ne, Tezuka, how do you know what my eye color is? I've never told you before, Fuji wrote.
Tezuka frowned and thought for a moment. "I was sure I've seen you open your eyes, at one point."
But you're not supposed to remember, Tezuka. Your mother took care of that.
Tezuka now looked as equally confused as Fuji. "You're right. However…I am absolutely sure I've seen you open your eyes before. They are blue, aren't they?"
Yes Tezuka, they are blue. Tell me, can you remember anything else?
Tezuka shook his head.
As Fuji carried on with the conversation, he had conflicting feelings churning about him. A part of him was happy that Tezuka had remembered his eye color; it certainly was another breakthrough. Another part of him was confused. How on earth had Tezuka managed to break through a part of his mother's order? It certainly had never happened before, Fuji was sure of it.
Could it be that Tezuka's parents' control was wearing off?
Impossible, Fuji decided. Tezuka had three more years to go before he was free from his parents' grasp. There had never been a time when children were let go of early. Such a thing had never happened before; doctors made sure of that by injecting drugs into young children multiple times to be assured of success rate.
"Wasabi," Tezuka suddenly said, frowning. "You like wasabi sushi." This was said as merely a statement, not as a question.
Fuji almost dropped the pencil he was using to write with.
"You've put coffee in curry at one point, while we were training in the mountains. You're in the same class as Kikumaru. You are exceptionally good at going around orders from parents, and you use that as an advantage to convince your friends to do something against their parents' orders." Tezuka frowned. "Have you told me any of this yet?"
I don't think so, Fuji wrote hastily. All we've talked about so far is tennis…and the photo that was taken during Nationals. Oh, and my birthday. You've asked about my birthday.
"Didn't you tell one of your teachers that you were actually only three years old and that you would be turning four in another two years?"
Fuji chuckled lightly. He still remembered that day. His math teacher had claimed he was lying about his age, but Fuji had told him it was the honest truth.
And it really was. It was one of the advantages of being born on February 29.
On a more serious note, however, Tezuka wasn't supposed to be remembering any of this.
Fuji was about to write something, but Tezuka stopped him.
"Fuji…did you just laugh?"
Fuji couldn't believe what was happening.
Tezuka, by some strange turn of luck, could now hear Fuji. He could actually hear what Fuji was saying now, and Fuji didn't need to constantly write on paper and show it to Tezuka just to be able to communicate with him. Tezuka also had started remembering more things about Fuji, and he claimed they just popped into his head randomly during the day.
Fuji asked Inui about it, hoping the data master had some answers. Inui was as equally shocked as Fuji, and equally confused as well. So far, the only theory Inui had been able to come up with was that Tezuka's subconscious mind knew there was something wrong and tried adjusting it, without Tezuka even realizing what was going on. Perhaps Tezuka's subconscious had learned how to be convincing. Somehow, it was convincing Tezuka to start remembering.
Well, whatever the reason, Fuji was certain Tezuka was still under his mother's control. Fuji had tried suggesting a game of chess again, but Tezuka declined. Fuji had also tried to stop Tezuka from doing his homework right when he went to his room, but Tezuka was unable to comply.
It seemed it was only on this particular order that Tezuka was being especially stubborn.
It was most certainly a good turn of luck, and Fuji was grateful for it. There was some hope, at least, that Tezuka would be able to see Fuji again, and that all of his memories would return. Things could be as they once were.
Tezuka was now starting to remember things that had happened while they were both still only freshmen. He recalled the time when Fuji had gotten so angry when Tezuka had played against him when his arm had been injured.
"Why, of course I would be angry; who wouldn't be? You were injured, for heaven's sakes!" Fuji had said.
Tezuka had a bemused expression on his face. "Still, to be that angry…"
"Perhaps you will understand more once most of your memories have come back."
As the days progressed, Tezuka remembered more and more. By the fourth day, Tezuka was already remembering Fuji's match during semi-finals, and how Fuji had evolved his triple counters.
"You were upset at the time," Tezuka remarked. "It was a very close game."
"Well, I believe I've gotten better since then," Fuji replied. He sighed. "It feels so nice to be able to talk to you normally again without having to write on excessive amounts of paper."
"I've been meaning to ask you about that. Did your hand ever get tired?"
"Of course," Fuji answered, smiling. "I really don't mind, though. There was lots to talk about, and there were a lot of questions that I was happy to answer. I think it might have even improved my penmanship, believe it or not."
"Still, to be spending this much time with me…"
"Well, of course. You had all but forgotten about me, and I was invisible to you. I had to think of some way of communicating with you." Fuji gave a sad smile. "I'm partly to blame for losing my temper that way with your mother. If I hadn't snapped at her, you wouldn't be constantly worrying and blaming yourself for forgetting."
Tezuka looked surprised. "You seem to know a lot about what I'm thinking."
"Of course." Fuji smiled again. "You're always so predictable, captain."
Tezuka didn't know why, but this particular comment sent shivers down his spine.
It had been like any other day. Fuji was following Tezuka home, as always. While Tezuka went through the front door and suffered through the ordeal of his mother checking his schoolwork, Fuji would climb up and get in through Tezuka's window. Both arrangements took about the same time, since Tezuka's window was hard to open from the outside and Tezuka's mother would be checking every single paper and reading it.
Today, however, things were exceptionally different.
For one, Tezuka threw his tennis bag carelessly on top of his bed. He then helped a still struggling Fuji get through the window, and then immediately closed it behind him.
"Fuji, convince me not to do my homework today like you did before," he said.
Fuji was caught off-guard by this command. It took him a moment to form a coherent sentence. "Tezuka, your mother tells you do your homework once you get home, but she doesn't tell you to do it immediately."
Then something struck him as odd. Tezuka wasn't supposed to know that he had trouble getting through the window today. After all, he wasn't even supposed to see him.
Before Fuji even had time to react, Tezuka had pulled him into an embrace. "I'm sorry," he mumbled through Fuji's hair.
"Did you remember?" Fuji finally asked, wrapping his arms around the bespectacled boy.
"All of it," Tezuka answered. "I can see you now," he continued. "You've gotten thinner."
"I missed you," was all Fuji could say at the moment. "I thought there might've not been a way. But then you started remembering on your own. I really wonder though, how did you it?"
"…I don't know. I just started remembering all of a sudden."
"Well, your mother's control hasn't been released yet," Fuji remarked. "You still can't play chess without me convincing you to."
"I guess we just got lucky. But I'm sure you would've thought of a way sooner or later." Tezuka tightened his hold. "Fuji."
"I want to play chess again."
"Tezuka, you can play chess, since your room is not a part of your house, but rather a different world entirely."
Tezuka didn't move.
"Tezuka, you do realize we can't play chess if you keep holding on to me."
"Hn." It seemed Tezuka was perfectly content to stay in this position, and that he figured they could play chess later.
Both of them would wonder what exactly had happened later on. It was a mystery to them, how Tezuka had miraculously remembered Fuji.
Perhaps it was like Ella Enchanted; love could break through anything, even something that seemed impossible to break.
The word count right before the sentence describing the embrace is '1337'.
That just struck me as odd, and funny.
For some reason, I had a sudden urge to write a totally opposite and depressing ending where Fuji dies right before Tezuka remembers everything. And then he goes on to be a story teller and explains that he will never love because of a mountain that he can never be able to catch.
Anyway, it's the last chapter. Aw, I'm so sad. XD It actually was a fun story to write. Moosh...