Chapter Text
Each memory is a stroke of paint onto the canvas of oneself. A pool of blue for the first time one cries. A dash of red for the first time one bleeds. With each passing memory, one’s canvas becomes steeped in color, and a semblance of one’s being begins to form.
At some point, one becomes aware of the canvas, and takes a look.
This, one says, is me.
Sometimes, one feels that the colors are too dull, and goes on adventures in hopes of adding a brighter palette. Other times, one thinks that the strokes have become frazzled and unruly, and tries to shape them with a different paintbrush.
Then, one takes a step back and looks at it again.
This, one says, is still me.
As time passes the canvas changes little by little, often beyond one’s imagination. But each time one looks back at it, one is able to say –
This, is truly me.
But unbeknownst to one, something has been dripping silently onto the canvas, ever since the first stroke was made. This mysterious liquid flows slowly over the paint and muddles some of it; a few strokes even melt away into nothingness. But one does not notice the difference under the thick coats of paint. One could still say with confidence that –
This, has always been me.
But what if, one day, something above tips the bowl over?
The canvas becomes soaked, and the colors begin to run into each other. The strokes warp into unrecognizable splatters, and half the paint spills away into the void.
When one returns to the canvas, one does not know that anything has happened. One can only look at the canvas and think that all along –
This is me.
Dawn.
Suga awoke with a start. The shrill whistling of a kettle had pulled him from his slumber.
Slowly, he sat up and held his throbbing head. Perhaps he did not sleep well last night, he thought. Looking around, he found himself in a strangely familiar place and on a strangely familiar bed. Why he felt it was ‘strange’, however, was unclear. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he remembered where he was.
Ukai.
The whistling stopped, and the sound of gurgling water filling a container could be heard.
“Mister Ukai?” Suga called out, and soon after Ukai entered the room. He was carrying a flask of steaming tea that smelled of fresh flowers.
“You’re awake,” Ukai replied and sat on a stool beside him. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts a little,” Suga replied.
“Anything else? Careful, it’s hot.” Ukai said, and poured him a cup of tea.
“No, just my head. So… um… why am I here?”
“Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
Yesterday?
As Suga tried to remember, he winced. The ache between his brows intensified. Like a dream that rapidly disappeared upon waking, it was as if yesterday had never existed.
“No, I can’t…” Suga began, and then he looked down at his hands. He froze. His palms were rough and scarred. His fingernails were dirty and chipped. Rope burns marked his wrists. Glancing at his injured wings further alarmed him, and Ukai snatched the cup from his trembling hands.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t panic.” The doctor calmly patted his back and propped him up on some pillows to rest.
“What happened to me? Where’s Hinata… a-and Kageyama?” he stammered.
“They’re fine. Just having breakfast in the kitchen. As for you… well…” Ukai struggled to get the words out. How could he put this delicately?
“Okay. Do you remember being taken to the Capital?”
Suga shook his head.
“What about the Nekomata? And the mage and his dog?”
“I remember them, yes. Kuroo, Kenma… Oikawa and Iwa-chan. They are my friends.”
“Then...”
Just then, Hinata and Kageyama entered the room, having heard voices from the hall. With anxious, yet relieved smiles, they greeted Suga and hugged him in turn. Suga was glad to see his children safe and sound, and he kissed their little foreheads dearly.
“Why do you look so worried?” the Kara said, with an assuring smile, “Mama is alright. We’re all safe and sound here.”
Somehow, his lighthearted statement caused Hinata’s smile to fall. Upon seeing Kageyama’s equally upset face, Suga knew – or rather, did not know – what was wrong.
“Uncle Ukai was asking if I remembered yesterday, but I can’t seem to recall anything. Did something happen?” he asked quietly.
“Mama…” Hinata swallowed. “Have you really forgotten?”
“What is it?”
“Do you remember… Daichi?”
Suga stared at him blankly.
“Who?”
Ukai’s gaze faltered. He was already prepared for Suga’s answer, but to hear it from his lips was so jarring.
“He’s your partner. Our dad. Don’t you remember?” Hinata squeezed Suga’s hand pleadingly.
“What are you saying?” Suga replied, utter confusion written across his face. “It’s always just been the three of us.”
“He was the one who shot you. Gave you this scar. That was how you met.” Kageyama exclaimed and showed him the faint maroon patch on his belly. As Suga stared at it pensively, the boy continued with increasing agitation, “But he was sorry for hurting you. He brought you to Uncle Ukai when you fell ill. And when you were taken away by the Karas, he saved you by risking his life. He was someone Mama… loved.”
Suga held his head and closed his eyes.
It was all empty.
“I don’t understand.” Suga panted under his breath. His hands began to tremble again. “I don’t know who that is. I can’t remember anything. Is something wrong with me?”
“Boys. Settle down.”
Ukai herded the kids to the side and sat next to the Kara with a soft sigh. He wrapped his arm around him in a fatherly hug, and Suga hugged him back. Even though it wasn’t something Ukai normally did, it was something Daichi would do.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s okay.” The doctor shot the boys a glare with a raised brow, and they took the hint.
“Sorry, Mama. We didn’t mean to make you upset.”
Ukai knew that the boys meant well. They just couldn’t bear the thought of Mama losing someone he loved. But maybe, he thought, this was for the best. Perhaps the goddess had also taken those horrific memories at Obsidian Peak, because Daichi was so inextricably linked to them. Perhaps she had simply shown mercy on his wretched soul. Whichever the case, he had one less traumatic memory – but in exchange, he had lost the one who would have guided him through these dark times.
He could only hope that Suga would be moved by this foolish man’s sincerity again.
“Suga, listen to me. What the kids said about Daichi was all true. But something happened, and you lost your memory of him. Nobody blames you for forgetting. In fact, what you did was selfless… and I am forever thankful to you for that.”
“What did I do?”
“You lost your memories of him, to save him.”
Suga frowned. “How could I…?”
“It’s… a long story. I know this is all very confusing for you, but… would you be willing to meet him again?”
Winter was retreating.
Beneath the remnants of melting snow, the first shoots were beginning to spring to life. Daylight was returning to the land, and the beasts were waking one by one. Soon, this familiar place would be filled with warmth again.
Together, the four Karas followed the path that led home.
Suga felt as if he had never left. To him, he had always been breathing the fresh, cool air of the plains. He had never smelled the musty dungeons of Obsidian Peak. His wings were always free to caress the gentle breeze that rolled through the air. They had never been bound, nor whipped till blood was drawn.
He was at peace. But he was not whole.
As the house came into view, Ukai walked on ahead.
Suga wrung his wrists.
Everything looked the same to him. This was the house that he, his children, and Ukai built together.
Wasn’t it?
He tried to find that missing piece within him, but his efforts were for naught. His name brought nothing to mind. Not a face, not a voice, nor a memory. And yet, when he mouthed his name, it felt so natural.
He thought back to the distant past, to when he met his children. Then, the Nekomata. Then…
The more desperate he was to put the pieces together, the more jumbled up he felt inside; and when he reached a point where he was afraid his mind would fabricate false memories to fill in the gaps, he stopped trying to think.
It will be fine, he told himself. As long as I can remember who I am, it will be fine.
Suga jolted at the sound of the front door creaking open. It was Ukai.
“Suga, are you ready?” the doctor asked.
The man paused and took a deep breath.
“Yes.”
And out from the door came a short-haired man – a human – whose soft brown eyes balanced out his rough and sturdy frame. Suga locked eyes with the man’s wavering gaze, and he felt a sense of déjà vu as he took in his gentle face. Then, the man’s mouth opened slowly in disbelief, and tears began running down his face.
“Suga,” he cried, and reached for him.
Suga did not know the reason for the man’s tears. Were they of sadness or joy? What made him cry with such unbridled emotion?
Who was Daichi?
Despite these maddening questions, Suga did not turn away.
With open arms, he took Daichi into his embrace, and they hugged each other tightly. Daichi wept and held Suga close to his chest, afraid that he would lose him again if he let go. Suga, not knowing what to do, patted the man’s back and closed his eyes. As the man’s warmth melded with his own, he felt as if someone had done the same for him before on one of those lonely moonlit nights.
And then, the words came to him.
“It’s okay. I won’t let go.”
Wiping his tears, Daichi faced Suga. He had cried so hard that his nose and eyes were as red as apples. His quivering lips babbled a reply.
“Suga… y-you… really don’t… remember me?”
Somehow, Suga couldn’t help but smile sadly at the man’s childlike expression.
“I’m sorry. I wish I did.”
Daichi’s squeezed his eyes shut and paused to catch his breath for a few moments, as if contemplating something. Finally, he held Suga’s hands and shook away his tears.
He smiled brightly at his love, without a care in the world.
“That’s okay. What matters is that you’re home now.”
It didn’t make sense for a stranger to feel so deeply for him, nor he for a stranger.
Why did he feel as if he had been waiting for this very moment? Why wouldn’t he take his hands away from his? Was he really the one he had loved?
“So, why don’t we start anew?”
Was he the key to the hole in his heart?
“Will you spend the rest of your life with me again?”
Sometimes, it takes another painter to make your canvas whole again.
“I will!”