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Tatsumi had taught him to play, so many years ago, during their all-too-brief partnership. He hadn't been any good at it, and he never got any better, but Tatsumi enjoyed playing and seemed to enjoy teaching him to play; in those days all he'd thought about was pleasing Tatsumi, and so he'd gladly learned. It wasn't that he didn't like go. It was just that he was bad at it.

Those evenings with Tatsumi were some of his favorite memories of back then, on the infrequent occasions he could actually bear to think about those days. Not too emotionally charged and not too flat, just quiet evenings and the click of the stones and Tatsumi's victrola popping as it played one of Tatsumi's treasured opera recordings. Tatsumi always gave him the black stones so that he could go first. It was a very Tatsumi thing to do.

So when he found himself once again sitting at Tatsumi's carefully polished goban with the man himself kneeling opposite him, quiet and still in his yukata, he knew it for a dream and sat back to enjoy it as one.

For a while they played in silence. Tsuzuki watched Tatsumi's face, even when he was supposed to be playing, and sometimes played a space or two away from where he'd meant to because he wasn't watching his hands. Tatsumi always caught him, too; Tatsumi never just let him win. It was also a very Tatsumi thing to do.

"Ah, Tatsumi," he finally ventured, watching Tatsumi carefully eat up his shaky territory. Tatsumi's hands flicked in and out of his vision, and Tsuzuki looked down, studying the board. "Remember when we used to do this for real?"

"Did we?" asked a voice that was too familiar but not Tatsumi's, not at all. "I don't remember that! Shame on you for confusing me with someone else!"

Tsuzuki whipped his head up and stared at Muraki, kneeling in Tatsumi's place. "Aah!" Squeezing his eyes shut he shook his head rapidly, then opened one purple eye and peeked. Tatsumi was there again, watching him peacefully, and Tsuzuki realized it must be his turn.

Grabbing up a black stone Tsuzuki played it more or less at random, keeping his eyes glued to Tatsumi's face. Tatsumi frowned and bent forward to study the goban, and even though Tsuzuki knew he hadn't taken his eyes off Tatsumi for a second, when Tatsumi looked back up it was Muraki's face again.

"I've always dreamed of playing go with you, Tsuzuki," Muraki purred, white hand fitting white stone into the forming pattern. "But I'm afraid that all your territory already belongs to me, so there isn't any point."

"No!" Tsuzuki insisted, his hands sweating. "I--I won't concede the game! This isn't over!"

"No, you haven't lost yet," Tatsumi said kindly, tucking his hands in his sleeves. Tsuzuki gaped at him, then shot another black stone onto the board in another random place. "However, you certainly will lose if you keep playing like that," Tatsumi said, tsking at the goban.

"I... I'm sorry, Tatsumi."

"What did you call me?" Muraki said, quirking one fine white eyebrow. "If you're hallucinating, perhaps you need another shot... of course, that will interfere with your ability to play, or to walk, but sacrifices must be made."

"No!" Tsuzuki squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his knotted fists to his temples, shaking his head. "No! It's just a dream, you're just a dream, go away!"

"Ah?" Tatsumi sounded sad. "Are you all right, Tsuzuki? Do you want to stop playing? You seem tired."

Tsuzuki huddled on his mat, unwilling to say anything else and make his opponent change again. After a while Tatsumi's expression smoothed out and his hands started moving again, playing a game against an invisible opponent. Tsuzuki watched. Tatsumi always did play such good go, so self-assured, so full of misdirection and clever little traps and attacks when he least expected them...

Tsuzuki lifted his head quickly. "Play go with me, Muraki."

"Of course, Tsuzuki." Muraki's voice was soft, pleasant, patronizing. "I suppose there's no point in playing for territory, but we can play for stakes, perhaps..."

Now sweat was beginning to roll down his spine, but he kept going. "I like go. I'm sorry I'm bad at it."

"It's all right, Tsuzuki." Tatsumi smiled at him, that pleasant little private smile that had always belonged only to him, and played another stone. "I enjoy playing against you."

"There is a point to playing for territory," Tsuzuki said, his heart pounding. "Because I can still win."

"Eh?" Muraki said, cocking his head to the side. His smile was thin and pretty and mocking. "How can you win against me, Tsuzuki? You can't."

"Because I've figured out your pattern," Tsuzuki said with a rush, even as he lunged across the goban, "and Tatsumi taught me that when all else is lost you should take the attack to your opponent--" and grabbing Muraki by the front of Tatsumi's robe he crushed his lips to Muraki's, trying not to think about it.

When he opened his eyes again Tatsumi was smiling at him and had one hand buried in his hair and there were go stones scattered everywhere, and Tsuzuki relaxed, because he'd had this dream before. And there wasn't any more talking in it after this point.

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