Title: Shindou's Hair, Shindou's Fan
Series: Hikaru no Go
Author: Luce Red
Disclaimer: characters are property of Hotta and Obata, Shueisha, Jump and their
affiliated parts
Notes/pairings: General, with death
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Shindou Hikaru used two types of shampoo: an herbal-smelling type in an
expensive, sleekly designed bottle with a French-sounding name on it, formulated
especially for dyed hair; and Kodomo baby shampoo. When questioned, he simply
said that he got used to the latter because that was the family shampoo,
but his mother had bought the French brand after he got his fringe dyed.
He used to tell stories about his family’s reaction to his hair, how shocked his
father had been when he went home one day, at the age of eleven, with his bangs turned gold-yellow instead of trimmed as he’d instructed him. How he’d stuck
stubbornly to his hairstyle, and how his mother, who took his side, fought a
battle with his school to let him wear it to classes. The Battle of the Hair,
he’d say cheerfully, adding that his mother had succeeded in terrorizing the
school principal so well that her reputation had spread, and they’d let him wear
the same bleached hairstyle to high school without so much as a whimper of
protest.
The story was impossible to believe—surely there was no high school in Japan
that would allow its students to look so out of place—but like everything else
about Shindou Hikaru, it had to be the truth, no matter how bizarre. Hadn’t it?
After all, they’d seen him in a high school uniform, all dark and neat, more
than once, however incongruous it looked with that hair, and he hadn’t
acted as though there was anything unusual about his appearance, either. Touya
added the topic to a list he mentally called ‘Shindou’s weirdness,’ together
with the insane love of ramen, uncanny familiarity with the personal habits of
one Shuusaku Honinbou, nee Torajiro, and the Fan.
He’d started to carry the fan everywhere soon after he returned to Go, and it
was an occasional anachronism in a man who seemed so determined to belong in the
twenty-first century. It was out of place with the casual (and often yellow)
clothes, the trendy sneakers, and the way he seemed to run, everywhere.
But it seemed curiously at home in Shindou’s hand now, a Shindou who wore a
sober black suit, black shoes, and a pale, sad expression. Even the yellow bangs
seemed quiescent, undemanding for once.
“Shindou-san,” a voice murmured, and Touya tightened his grip on Shindou’s arm,
getting his attention.
Shindou stirred himself to look in the newcomer’s direction. “Tsutsui-san,” he
said, his voice soft and un-exuberant. His grip on the fan loosened, perhaps in
relief at seeing a familiar face. Touya was beginning to look at the way he held
the fan as a way of gauging Shindou’s mood.
The bespectacled, dark-haired man bowed in greeting at both of them, formally,
before approaching closer. “I heard the news only yesterday. Shindou, I’m
sorry,” he said, his face open with sympathy.
Shindou bowed in return; Touya followed. “Thank you for coming, Tsutsui-san,”
Shindou
said. He could have said more, trying for a common topic of conversation, to put
the other at ease, but that was not Shindou’s way. In his grief he was like a
fractious child, frantically doing what he could to get things back to ‘normal’,
and when that was not possible, needed someone to soothe him until he came to
terms with it.
Tsutsui-san—Shindou’s senpai in junior high, Touya recalled—seemed to
understand, and only turned to Touya. “Please, if there’s anything I can do…” he
began, then glanced at Shindou. Touya could almost feel him deciding to forgo
the polite words. “Please take care,” he said with another bow, and turned away.
He remembered the night—was it only two days ago?—with Shindou triumphant from his
newest win against him, brimming over with delight, before he answered the
phone. Touya could still remember his startled words, “You’re calling from the
hospital?” before the news was delivered. It was a bolt from the blue; it was
shock upon shock. They’d only been driving his grandfather home, his parents. A
five-car collision, bad enough to make the news, even in a huge city like this, with his parents dying
instantly, and his grandfather slipping away in hospital before they ever
arrived. Shindou, still operating as though on autopilot then, taking charge of
the bodies, making the arrangements, informing his father’s company, setting out
the sober black suits they’d used only once before, when Morishita-sensei’s
father passed away. He hadn’t cried, not more than a few tears.
He used to marvel at Shindou’s mother, who understood nothing about Go and the
Go world but stood behind her son all the way. Or his father, a salaryman,
slightly distant, but who alternated between amusement and pride at each of
Shindou’s achievements. His grandfather, grandly supportive of his grandson. So
much love and affection, all very ordinary but very precious. All gone now.
The funeral was well-attended: his grandfather’s friends, his father’s
colleagues, his mother’s friends. Shindou’s friends, too, and acquaintances from
the Go world. Touya greeted them with Shindou by his side, not caring how it
would look. He kept scanning the arriving visitors, watching for a face in
particular.
“Our mothers have known each other since they were kindergarten,” Shindou told him. “She’s my
first friend, a bit like a sister. So don’t misunderstand, okay?”
“Hikaru!”
He turned in time to see Fujisaki-san, still dressed in a travelling coat. She
must have come directly from the airport. Her eyes were fixed on Shindou, her
lips beginning to tremble. “Hikaru… I heard from okaasan…”
“Akari!” Shindou said, raising his head and making his bangs flash gold-yellow
again. “I thought you were in America.”
“I just came back. Hikaru…” She didn’t say anything else, but came close enough
to try and hug him.
Touya released his hold on Shindou’s arm, and was just in time to catch hold of
the fan suddenly falling from a relaxed grip, as Shindou turned to Fujisaki
and sobbed his heart out. At the sound, Touya let out a breath of relief he
hadn’t realized he was holding, rubbing his thumb gently over the fan’s tassel,
and meeting Fujisaki’s teary eyes over Hikaru’s golden hair.
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