Hypotheses, by kishmet. Inui/Fuji, PG, 1,500 words.
At eight o’clock in the morning, Fuji was already awake, ready to get up and laugh at Inui, completely doing away with Inui’s opportunity to record Fuji’s behavior opon waking up.
It wasn’t entirely a bad thing, of course, because the sight of Fuji laughing into his pillow and then sitting up, giving Inui that look wasn’t something Inui could complain about. Still, he’d been working in the name of science, and being pulled into Fuji’s bed didn’t seem particularly scientific.
Seven o’clock wasn’t all that early for Inui, who often set his alarm for that time so that he could prepare his juices before school. He judged, from certain signs and behaviors he’d observed, that Fuji had only been awake for perhaps half an hour the day before, when Inui had gone into his room. Therefore Fuji would be asleep now, and probably would be for another fifteen minutes, at the very least.
Inui tiptoed into the room (there had to be a more scientific term for tiptoeing, but Inui hadn’t encountered one yet), murmuring to himself, “Subject appears to be sleeping, but extreme caution must be exercised when dealing with-”
“Having fun, Inui?” A pair of hands covered his eyes, the owner of the hands being very careful not to touch the lenses of his glasses and smudge them.
“What… Fuji!” Inui caught Fuji’s wrists and pulled Fuji’s hands away from his eyes as gently as he could, given that his adrenaline was racing in a way that had nothing to do with the pure, cold logic Inui prided himself on possessing.
Fuji laughed, almost right against the back of Inui’s neck, and pulled his hands down until they were linked with Inui’s. “You’re so persistent.”
“But…” Inui gestured almost helplessly toward the bed with their joined hands. “You’re…”
“Oh, did I leave that wig on my pillow again? Silly of me.” Fuji let go of Inui and walked to the bed, where he picked up the wig and set it on the bedside table. Inui blinked and wondered what Fuji had brought a wig to training camp for, especially a wig that looked exactly like Fuji’s own hair color and style. “And all these pillows, too.” Fuji turned back the covers, revealing pillows arranged in a perfect human shape.
Inui reminded himself to note that Fuji may have given Oishi lessons, or perhaps Oishi had given them to Fuji, though that seemed relatively doubtful. In any case, Oishi and Fuji’s thought processes had become disturbingly similar, judging by Oishi’s actions two days ago. Inui wanted to compare instances of this happening and attempt to uncover any possible trends; perhaps something that a close connection with Kikumaru would explain. Then again, Kikumaru seemed the least willing to wake up in the morning at all, even to fool someone…
“Finished, Inui?” Fuji was standing there, waiting patiently for Inui’s train of thought to come to a halt.
“Hm? Yes.” Inui eyed the bed, and the wig, and the pillows. “Fuji. Why do you have so many pillows, and where did you acquire them?”
“From one of the storage closets,” said Fuji, perfectly nonchalant. “Sumire-chan said that it was all right. My back was hurting after yesterday’s training, and the pillows made it feel so much better.”
Inui cleared his throat. “I’ve been reading about the alleviation of back pain.”
“Oh? Care to enlighten me, then? What’s the best technique?”
“Massage,” said Inui.
“I should try that, then,” said Fuji. “Can you think of someone who would be willing to help me?”
Yes, Inui very much thought he could.
Six o’clock was a little early, even by Inui’s standards. He’d prepared himself the night before, however, brewing up a new batch of his Special Double Espresso Power juice, and he was as awake as he’d ever been. He was also twitching slightly, and had noted that down as an unintended side effect of the juice.
Inui was cautious as he entered Fuji’s room, looking around for all potential hiding places from which Fuji could ambush him. He stopped in the middle of the room, however, because he’d seen the bed, and seen that Fuji was most definitely not in it. There weren’t even pillows or a wig this time in an attempt to conceal Fuji’s absence. “Fuji,” said Inui, testing.
The room remained silent. Inui concluded, from the acoustics and the way his words would be ever-so-slightly dulled by the presence of another human being, that he was alone. Inui walked to the head of the bed and pulled down the covers. There was no note, no sign that Fuji had realized that Inui would be here. But of course, that was impossible. Fuji would have been here in bed if he hadn’t realized that Inui would come, or at least that was Inui’s current hypothesis.
Inui stood by the bed and thought. Very frequently, Fuji’s actions tended to be the least probable and/or the least logical, except when the probable actions were the least logical, or vice-versa. Inui had to stand there for another second wondering if what he’d just thought made the least bit of sense, and decided that it didn’t really matter.
In order to counter Fuji’s moves, the most important thing to remember was that Fuji expected the unexpected, and often acted unexpectedly simply because no one would suspect him. Therefore, Inui looked up at the ceiling, and found that there was a note taped to it. He smiled slightly, and then stood on the bed and craned his neck in order to read the note.
Meet me outside, it read, in Fuji’s neat but never-the-same-twice handwriting.
Inui had to walk all the way around the building before he found Fuji, sitting on a picnic blanket with a very nice breakfast laid out. “Good morning, Inui,” said Fuji cheerfully. “Sit down, sit down.”
Doing as he’d been told, Inui said, “You prepared all of this?” He gestured to the plates full of Belgian waffles and strawberries, which did not usually tend to be picnic food.
“No,” said Fuji, smiling.
Inui knew not to push when Fuji was being particularly enigmatic, and so he did the only other thing he could do: he ate his breakfast.
Inui was beginning to think that Fuji didn’t actually sleep. But then he remembered that no, Fuji definitely slept, but he only did it when a.) Inui was sleeping (this was only a hypothesis, as Inui had been asleep at any time when data collection would have been possible) and b.) when no one was trying to collect data on what he was like while waking up.
At four o’clock in the morning, Inui stole into Fuji’s room without his camcorder. He reasoned that he could remember any pertinent information he discovered just as easily without recording it, though then he would have no proof that his endeavour had been successful. Also, Inui thought that Fuji could perhaps sense electronic waves in the air and thus, would know when the camcorder was present. This was an entirely unsupportable theory, but then, not many theories about Fuji could be supported by evidence.
“Fuji,” Inui whispered, kneeling down by the bed so that he was at Fuji’s eye level. Fuji was definitely in bed, no wigs or pillows this time. He was breathing lightly, peacefully. “Fuji, wake up.”
“Inui, aren’t you tired?” Fuji said it calmly, with no change whatsoever in his breathing pattern, and without opening his eyes.
“Somewhat, yes,” Inui replied. “But-”
“Then go to bed.”
Fuji had somehow captured the commanding note that was generally only found in Tezuka’s tone. Inui found himself turning for the door before he was quite aware that he was doing so. Then Fuji started laughing again, burying his face in the pillow to muffle himself once again. “I suppose I should have said come to bed.”
“Come to…?” For a man of science, Inui wasn’t feeling particularly clever. Then again, it was four in the morning and he had been waking up earlier and earlier these past few days.
“You’re more likely to be able to collect my data if you’re right here with me, aren’t you?” said Fuji.
Inui had to admit that this was true, and though his mind rebelled against climbing under the covers, his body offered no resistance whatsoever, especially when Fuji scooted back so that he was curled up in Inui’s arms. “Good night, Inui,” said Fuji.
“Good night,” Inui began, and fell asleep. He hadn’t even taken off his glasses.
Fuji was still awake (or awake again) by the time the alarm went off and Inui opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at Fuji, who was leaning over him and smiling. “There is a ninety-seven percent chance that you’re never going to allow me to collect your morning data,” Inui observed, and yawned.
“It depends on which morning data you’re talking about, Inui,” said Fuji, and proceeded to give Inui all the data he could handle, given that he was still half asleep.
Inui figured he might never be able to collect the data he’d wanted, but the results of his attempts were definitely worth it.