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The last time Shuu had played Sai, he'd lost as usual, but Sai had been excited about his progress. Every day, he rejects Sai's (by now perfunctory) requests for him to become a proper student, but Shuu can admit that he's growing to like Go more than he expected, though of course nothing will replace his bow. Still— he's improving.That's why this morning he's made a point to wake up early and give Sai a game before they visit Takigawa's shrine, but for some reason Sai, even if he covers it well, is upset.
"Are you nervous because you let me put down too many handicap stones?" Shuu asks, drumming his fingers on the table. It's a little rude— Sai really brings out the childish side of him.
"I'm not nervous," Sai insists, but he isn't really smiling, "and you're a thousand years too early to win against me." He points to his desired position. Shuu places a white stone as directed, effectively killing a group of his black.
"I really don't think I could win," he concedes, eyeing the board. He thinks he'll have to resign faster than he anticipated, which is… unusual. Sai likes to play slow teaching games, despite Shuu's lack of investment in Go. The thing about Sai is, he doesn't know kyudo enough to mentor Shuu in that area, but he
does
know Go. He genuinely wants Shuu to grow, to understand Go and through it understand himself. Maybe it's because of the Fujiwara blood that runs through their veins, living and dead. Maybe it's that Sai is remembering a different time with a different person. Maybe that's just how Sai is. Whatever the reason, Shuu is quietly glad for the care. It's why he knows something's wrong today— today, Sai is playing to
crush
him.
They're barely into the mid-game and already he can tell he won't be able to have any sort of a good fight; he might even have lost much earlier in the game and not noticed it because he can't read that far ahead. He places an oogeima toward the center anyway, and Sai actually frowns. Shuu can see why. It's an unnecessarily large jump to make when there are other, more effective ways to defend. Ordinarily, this would be where Sai draws out the run to show Shuu how he could recover in other circumstances, or just tell him outright because it isn't a serious game. But Sai only points, and Shuu cuts his own oogeima with one neat tsuke.
"You're upset," Shuu says, his hand still on the white stone. His read isn't very strong, but he knows enough to be aware that he can't run much farther after this. "Are you going to tell me why?"
Sai glares at his unmoving hand, then slumps. "I should never have taught you how to play," he complains, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "You get that awful knowing look on your face and you're still only a child."
"I already knew how to play," Shuu points out, graciously ignoring the comment about his age.
"Not
properly,
" says Sai, and Shuu has to admit his ancestor has a point. Where it was a simple strategy game before, now he can almost grasp the way Sai treats it like a conversation. He did notice Sai being upset, after all. He also knows that Sai is trying to distract him.
"Is it Takigawa-san?" Shuu asks. Sai turns to look out the window, which Shuu takes as confirmation. There's nothing to look at outside; it's getting colder but the leaves haven't started changing colour yet. "We don't have to go. I only agreed because you were so curious." Which is not entirely true. Shuu is interested to see Takigawa shoot, too.
"It's just…" Letting his sentence trail off, Sai floats over to Shuu's bed and rolls around on it. He isn't really on the bed, because the sheets are still undisturbed, but then Shuu never understood the way Sai interacts with physical objects. "No one else ever saw me. Before."
'Before', Shuu understands, means before Sai ended up with him. He never really talks about that period, especially after he asked about the goban in Shuu's grandparents' house, which according to grandmother has been a family keepsake for at least all throughout her lifetime. Shuu doesn't know what that goban has to do with anything, but it seems to be difficult for Sai to talk about, so he's never pried. That doesn't mean he'll let it slide when Sai's the one to bring it up, though. "I remember you saying so. Why is it so surprising? Takigawa-san does work at a shrine."
Sai is quiet for so long that Shuu begins to clear the board, and only then does he speak. "The boy I was with before I met you didn't handle me well, at first. You're always so calm, or at least you look calm on the outside. He was the opposite of you in a lot of ways." Sai turns so that his back is facing Shuu. Shuu doesn't know what to say, but Sai just continues speaking. "He wasn't part of the Fujiwara clan, you know. He was a Go player— someone special even among Go players. Someone who could birth the Divine Hand into the world. I knew, eventually, that my purpose was just to set him on that path, so I— I had to leave. I didn't have a choice. But I believed when I did that my time as a spectre was finally done. My purpose fulfilled, at last."
This time, the silence stretches until Shuu can't help but to break it. "And now?"
"I can't help but think," Sai says, slowly, "that my coming here was never meant to happen. That this shrine priest catching sight of me is a sign that I should be sent on. The goban wasn't even— I have no purpose
here.
Your path isn't toward the pinnacle of Go, even if Go can help you in your journey."
Shuu puts the last black stone in its goke, closes it, then goes to sit on the bed. Sai is a pocket of cold at his back, and he tries not to shiver. He can see Sai moving to sit up out of the corner of his eye; he can't, however, hear the expected rustle of cloth. Something like this would have been more fuel for the hallucination idea that Shuu had initially, but now he knows that Sai is no figment of his imagination. Now, there is no one in Shuu's life who can say they know him better than Sai, which on its own should be a scary thought. They have only been together for half a year. In that whole time, they haven't spent a single second apart. Shuu should feel suffocated by the constant presence beside him. And yet, the idea of Sai
leaving
is somehow abhorrent.
"Do you want to be— to be sent on?" Shuu has to force the words out. But he needs to know, before they go to the shrine, before he actually talks about Sai to another human being. Before he gets so attached that he won't be able to let go.
"Do you want me to leave?" Sai asks him back, instead of answering.
"No," Shuu says, quietly. He turns his head. Sai is watching him. "But I will never be a Go player. If you need to move on, I won't be selfish enough to keep you here."
Sai holds his gaze for a moment too long, and then he laughs, rolling to his feet, his sleeve whipping through Shuu's head. "Perfect! Because
I'm
selfish enough to want to bother you for your whole life!"
The tension goes out of Shuu's shoulders at this.
Sai-san, he thinks,
can be selfish all he likes.
"Don't make me change my mind," he says anyway, smiling when Sai pouts at him. He lets Sai complain about the cleared board for a while, and then he asks: "What was his name?"
Shuu can almost hear Sai's hesitation. But he does answer, in the end. "Hikaru," he says, so soft that Shuu has to strain to hear it. "Shindou Hikaru." He says it like it's something infinitely precious. Shuu wonders if one day Sai will say his own name like that too, to someone else, all over again.
"You can tell me about him any time, if you want," says Shuu, getting up to close the window. He doesn't have to look to know Sai is giving him that particular expression he has when Shuu makes a clever move on the Go board, all sweet and fond and embarrassing. His ears feel hot. "But now we should go and see what Takigawa-san wants."
"He probably wants to exorcise me," Sai moans, with exaggerated distress. Or perhaps not so exaggerated, Shuu realises, considering the conversation up to this point.
"I'll protect you," he replies, solemnly. "Maybe I won't have to, though. I think he's scared of you."
"He did look a little pale." Sai covers his mouth with a sleeve, definitely hiding a smirk. "Should I—"
"Sai-san," Shuu interrupts firmly, "if you terrify him he will never shoot at his best when you're around, which means
I
won't get to see it."
"Spoilsport," his ancestor sighs, putting his cold ectoplasmic hands through Shuu's arm. Shuu makes the requisite annoyed shoo-ing motions, but secretly he thinks,
even that cold feels a little warmer than it used to.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Masaki is nervous.
Ren thumbs through the photographs on his camera, one eye on the other man. Masaki has been on edge since he explained about the possessed boy, and nothing Ren says will calm him down. It's not even their first time dealing with spirits (though it might be Masaki's first time seeing a possession). He
had
been quite concerned upon first hearing about it, but now that the boy's agreed to come to the shrine, he isn't as worried.
Granted, it might be too early to relax. The head priest is away on business for a while, and if the boy ends up needing a purification ritual Masaki hasn't performed one by himself before. He isn't even certified yet, not that a license is going to matter if things get dicey. But he's hoping this won't be a particularly serious case— only benign spirits remain unharmed on sacred ground. Either that or it's something powerful enough that it doesn't care about the barriers, which is. Well. Ren is trying not to think about that possibility.
There's also the fact that even if it's benign, the dark threads that Masaki described going into the boy sound like the spirit has actually taken root. Ren has only ever heard his colleagues talking about it in hushed voices, rumours about a little boy in Saitama and a middle school girl in Kyushu, all hearsay and nothing concrete. But it's never anything positive. He puts his camera down, sighing loudly. Now he's gone and made himself nervous too.
Masaki is still pacing on the other side of the shajo, hair already coming loose from its tie because he keeps running his fingers through it. "Hey, come here," Ren says, patting the floor beside him. His stepbrother comes without complaint, dropping to sit with crossed legs. Ren wishes he was always this obedient.
"No use worrying before the kid shows up, right?" He keeps his tone light, covering his own unease.
"It's not just that," Masaki admits, after a while. He brings a hand up to grip his hair, expression pained. "I— Mom's been asking me to visit Grandfather in the hospital, now that I'm in Nagano."
Ah,
Ren thinks, wryly,
it isn't about Fujiwara at all.
This must be what drew Masaki back in the first place, considering he's never been back on any of his breaks except once for the wedding. Ren isn't good with this sort of thing, especially since he doesn't know his stepmother's father all that well. Masaki obviously has a very difficult relationship with the man, and his mother doesn't seem to be helping.
"You don't want to visit?" Ren tries, relieved when Masaki lets go of his hair.
"I don't know. He'll probably yell at me for going off to learn with someone else and not even joining the kyudo club at Kokudai." Masaki snorts, twisting his fingers together in his lap. "At least I didn't disappoint him by refusing to inherit the shrine. At this rate I'll be even more qualified of a priest than he is."
For all that Masaki's words drip with resentment, Ren can tell that he wants to mend the relationship. He just doesn't know if Masaki realises it himself, so he can't say anything. "Well," he says, "you could always write a letter."
Masaki laughs, but before he can tell Ren what he thinks of the idea, his phone buzzes. "Fujiwara's here," he says, glancing at the screen then getting up. "Coming?"
"Of course," Ren says, smiling toothily. "Can't let my favourite brother get eaten by the evil demon."
"Your
only
brother." Masaki rolls his eyes, but he's smiling too, and they head to the front of the shrine together.
Fujiwara is waiting for them just outside the boundaries of the shrine gate. Ren is about to lift his hand in greeting when he sees it— from behind the left column of the gate, someone prances out, a waterfall of black hair and white cloth. When he stops walking, a confused Masaki stops as well, and then they're both standing in the middle of the grounds while Fujiwara watches them, head tilted to one side.
"He's multiplied," Fujiwara says to the person floating—
floating—
next to him. The
spirit,
not
person,
covers its mouth with the sleeve of its kariginu and laughs. Ren is having some trouble restarting his thought process.
"Sorry, good morning, Fujiwara-kun," Masaki says, sounding embarrassed. "Come on in. This is my brother, Ren." He nudges Ren with his elbow, and Ren gives them a weak wave. Masaki won't be able to see the spirit properly until Fujiwara is on shrine grounds, but even then Ren knows it won't be like his own Sight. The spirit, in his eyes, looks just like any other human, like it's made of flesh and bone and blood. Ren has never seen a spirit take such solid form before, unless it's
not
a spirit, but if that's the case then they're already fucked and there's no point thinking about it.
To his credit, Fujiwara isn't pretending the spirit isn't there, nor does he look like he's trying to hide anything from them. Ren is beginning to get the feeling that Masaki must have been really obvious about noticing it on their first meeting. Honestly, he's having a hard time hiding his own shock.
"Good morning, Takigawa-san. And— Takigawa-san," Fujiwara falters on addressing Ren. "I will come in, but I need you to promise that you won't do anything to Sai-san." He glances at the spirit, then adds, "Unless I ask you to." This prompts an outraged noise and a lot of angry sleeve-flapping that doesn't seem to faze him at all.
"I wouldn't make you," Masaki starts, with his Serious Priest Face on, but Ren steps on his foot. They might end up
needing
to do something, and it won't help for Masaki to make promises he'll be forced to keep. He's a
kannushi,
after all, not… whatever Ren and his cohorts are.
"Okay," he says, his eyes firmly on the spirit, "no promises. But we'll talk after you cross the gate. Alright?"
Fujiwara smiles tightly, nods, then steps past the boundary. Masaki freezes, his eyes going round with surprise.
"Oh!" the spirit exclaims, lighting up (Ren's heart is racing, but the barriers hadn't responded, so he keeps still), "The handsome one can see me now!"
"Sai-san," Fujiwara begins, a warning tone in his voice, but the spirit has already swooped forward to come directly at Masaki. Ren has an ofuda out before his brain can make any conscious decision, and when it does catch up he pushes Masaki behind him immediately. The spirit stops short. Fujiwara has lost his smile, his hands fisted at his sides.
"Ren," Masaki says, touching his shoulder cautiously. "I'm fine. It just— Ren?"
Ren doesn't move. He can't think beyond endless flashes of what could have happened if he was too late,
again.
What if it's here for Masaki and they've just invited it in? It's strong enough to keep its human shape so completely. It could be strong enough to do so many other things. It might be one of the beings he's trying so hard not to think about and not a spirit at all.
"Ren." Masaki's voice is urgent. The ofuda crinkles in Ren's grip, and everyone flinches. Masaki moves to take hold of his elbow, prompting Ren to lower his hand.
"I apologise," the spirit says, subdued. "I hadn't thought— I was excited that you could see me clearly when you could not before. I meant no offense."
"My brother has had some bad experiences," Masaki explains, clearly directing this to the spirit instead of Fujiwara. Ren takes a deep breath and tries to force himself to calm down, letting Masaki's excuses wash over him. The spirit truly doesn't feel malicious. Even if it's just an excellent act, they're on sacred ground. There'd at
least
be a warning before anything could happen. Most importantly, it hadn't actually reacted to the ward-against-evil ofuda; it just stopped when it saw that Ren was afraid. He won't— can't— trust it just yet, but a consultation, he can do.
"You'll have to excuse me," he says at last, interrupting Masaki's rambling and tucking the ofuda back into his jacket. "It's a reflex. I really do want to talk first."
Fujiwara refrains from asking the question he obviously wants to ask, only nodding in acknowledgement. His jaw is still tense, and Ren sighs inwardly. What a messy first meeting. The spirit has gone back to hover behind Fujiwara, head bowed meekly. Masaki looks at him.
I'm fine,
he mouths, when Ren catches his eye.
Thanks,
Ren mouths back.
"Let's start over, yeah?" Ren steels himself and walks over to Fujiwara, waiting until the spirit looks at him too. "Nice to meet you. Both of you. I'm the handsome one's brother, Takigawa Ren; just call me Ren. I'm a photographer, but as you can see," he pulls out the ofuda again just to check their reactions, but while Fujiwara tenses up the spirit only looks curious, "I also have a side job."
"Stop waving that thing around," says Masaki, less flustered after seeing Ren has pulled himself together. "And Fujiwara-kun, you can call me Masa. I should have told you I was asking Ren to join us." He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
The kid doesn't relax, but he unclenches his fists, at least. "It's alright. I can understand the need for caution." He makes an aborted motion in Ren's direction, as if he was going to bow but thought better of it at the last second. "My name is Fujiwara Shuu."
"I know, Masaki told me," Ren says absently, focusing on his other sense a little more. Up close like this he can see where fine black threads connect the spirit's chest to Fujiwara's. They wink in and out of sight like they're trying to hide from him, but now that he's seen them he won't lose them again. He wonders how they look to Masaki. Masaki's Sight is an inherited gift from his family line— not at all like Ren's own curse. "I'm more interested in your friend."
The spirit exchanges a glance with Fujiwara, then draws itself up. "I am Fujiwara no Sai," it says, "and I— I am only a Go player. An ancestor of Shuu's clan, I believe. I was brought to him just six months ago."
Ren notes the oddly specific way the spirit— Sai— says he was
brought to
Fujiwara. And then— "Six
months?" Masaki says, echoing Ren's belated realisation. "Does anyone else know?"
"No, I didn't think it was a big deal," Fujiwara answers, as if being possessed by a strange spirit is not something any normal person would get upset about. "Sai-san can be annoying, but he won't hurt me."
Ren has a lot of things he could say to
that,
but it's already getting on in the afternoon and people will be showing up at the shrine soon enough. "Right," he says decisively. "Masaki, take them around back and get settled. I'm going to go make a call, then I'll be right with you."
Fujiwara looks between them warily, so doubtful that Ren has to laugh. "Look, Masaki's not licensed to do anything here yet. All he does is sweep the floors, so if you're worried about a surprise purification, you don't have to be. Go make him shoot some arrows for you, you're an archer too, right?"
At this, Sai lets out a heartfelt groan, and Fujiwara almost loses his surface calm. Ren is onto him. He's got a sparkle in his eye, same as the one Ren always sees on Masaki.
"I wouldn't want to impose," Fujiwara attempts to demur.
"Oh, you're such a liar, Takigawa-san is all you've been talking about for
days," Sai complains, hands on his hips. "We should have a conversation first! Talk!"
Masaki, who'd been looking resigned, smiles at them helplessly. "It's no trouble, Fujiwara-kun. I was practicing earlier this morning, and the range is still ready. Sai-san, I'm sure we won't take too long. Ren, bring the tea when you're done with your call."
Ren salutes, taking out his phone and watching them as they head to the kyudojo behind the shrine. Masaki had gotten over the initial surprise very quickly; he's treating Sai like just another guest, now. It's probably because the spirit is so human-like, in everything from his speech to his actions. Ren, past that initial rush of fear, doesn't really think Sai is a malignant spirit either. For one thing, the black threads connecting Sai and Fujiwara don't
feel
bad, no matter how they look. They're just there, quiet and neutral. But he can't be sure, and so he's going to have to call someone else in who can.
"Sometimes," he sighs, tapping the first name on his recent calls list, "I really wish I was
just
a photographer."