By Amber Michelle K.
myaru@etherealvoid.net

Lips curved in his memory, playfully amused and hiding the secret that lay in the pattern of the go stones they built together. Even after he was gone, Sai's hand moved the stones, independant of Hikaru's will. He welcomed the presence. If he could not hear the voice or see the flutter of sleeves, at least he could imagine the click of stones on a board, and remember that thoughtful expression.

It haunted his sleep sometimes, that china smile. Only for a moment at a time, and it was swift to disappear when he looked too carefully. He'd learned not to cry.

The dream was unusually clear and Hikaru unusually lucid. It seemed as soon as he closed his eyes, tucked safely beneath the blankets in his room, he found himself instead at the edge of a verandah facing a spring garden covered by a fall of crimson blossoms. They fluttered to the ground like snow, like the ethereal sleeves of ghosts, their color deepened by faint light from a cloudy sky.

Hikaru turned to find the screens wide open to the weak breeze, and the curtains drawn aside to reveal a go board, the stones already arranged. It took him a moment to recognize it; his first game with Sai after the tournament, when he'd decided he wanted to learn how to play.

His moves were so terrible. They brought a smile to his face, one he sometimes hoped echoed the smile in his memory. He'd never have known it back then, but Sai must have had the patience of a thousand years, just as he had such a mastery of Go. How else could anyone sit through play like this?

Hikaru did, he supposed. Half his jobs were tutoring sessions. He made it okay. No one had complained yet, anyway.

He moved toward the board and stood at the cushion he would usually sit in, to play his stones. Sai had never appeared before him after that first dream, but placing the stones himself was enough; that was how they used to play.

Hikaru stared at the board. He knew the stones from here.

He crossed to the other cushion and knelt there, and his fan appeared in his hands. It was different here. Longer, heavier, with real silk - Sai's fan. He'd played the part of Go master many times since becoming a pro, but sitting here, he wasn't sure he could face himself. Sai's secrets weren't his, not completely. Hikaru had a long way to go.

Funny, that he felt that just by sitting on the other side of the board. Yet the stones looked no different.

He pointed to the board, initiating Sai's next move, and the stone appeared. And then the next one, without his prompting, silent like the first. The breeze ruffled his hair when he made the next move, sending petals fluttering over the wooden floor, and a breath of air ghosted over the back of his neck. A quiet sigh, drawn out as though it had been held back for a long time.

Hikaru's hand trembled slightly when he pointed out the next move. Should he keep playing? These dreams ended when he stopped every time. It was the game that drew the ghost from his slumber, and the conclusion that woke Hikaru up.

The next move didn't come as quickly as the others. He remembered stopping to think at this point, complaining to Sai, and settled back on his heels. How long had he taken to solve the problem?

Enough that he could turn his back on the board now, and see what waited behind him?

He twisted around slowly, eyes to the floor, keenly aware that he didn't have much time before the game would resume. A snow-white sleeve rested on the varnished wood, lined with crimson. He swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked back sudden tears, head snapping up. Close behind him, sharper than he trusted himself to remember, Sai's enigmatic smile met him, pale, framed by an elegant drift of windblown hair.

Hikaru's vision blurred again and he reached out, hoping just once to touch the spectre before he disappeared. His fingertips found the soft curve of Sai's magenta-stained lips.

He tried to speak, and couldn't. There were so many things he still had to say, things that should have been said before instead of neglected or ignored. There were so many things Sai deserved to hear. Why did God silence him now, his only chance to speak?

Sai's sleeve brushed away his tears, and his fingers silenced Hikaru's attempts to speak, the smile fading into something Hikaru recognized: longing. He, too, was silent.

Akira called him dense, and Hikaru wouldn't have argued at this moment. Time was slipping away; any moment the stone would appear, and his vision would vanish. He couldn't even count on his own ignorance to last long enough for what he wanted to express.

Transient. The world was transient, just a dream.

Sai's hands ceased their motion and cradled his face, and his smile changed again, shadowed and sad. He mouthed something silently, and then with rueful a shake of his head lifted Hikaru's chin and leaned forward.

Their lips met with a painful jolt, like static shock, and Hikaru found himself staring at the ceiling of his room again, breathing heavily. The curtains fluttered over his head like the ghost's silken sleeves, and he wished for a moment he could feel them slithering over his shoulders again, cool and heavy, and comforting.

Hikaru shook himself violently and turned onto his side with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He tried to ignore the discomfort and breathe normally, but it was hard to forget a dream that seemed so real. Even if it was wrong to think such things, he went to sleep every night hoping he would find himself standing in that garden, playing that game, and waiting for the same soft sigh.

He hugged the comforter close and turned his face into the pillow. Memory might fade with time, but he would always be haunted by that china smile.

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This pairing freaks me out, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.