[Hikaru's willpower can't get him to do much more than cup his own forehead and try, and fail, and try again--only to fail again--to wish away the headache that's consuming his brain stem. The difference in raw strength between the two of them has never been more apparent. It only takes a few minutes for Touya to get back on his feet, which is kind of unbelievable, if not godlike, in Hikaru's opinion. The room has an unnatural seafaring sway to it, and Touya is walking through it with no real difficulties. Hikaru isn't content to lie down here like a useless lump, laboring to breathe in and out, but he doesn't have the ability to do anything else. Touya's footfalls only produce a vibration at a certain terrible frequency that makes Hikaru's head hurt even worse. When he tries to say something about it, an ill-timed shut up, the words get stuck in the sludge at the back of his throat. Just as well. He stays quiet the whole time, ghoulishly jealous of Touya's three glasses of water.
It wasn't like this when he was staying over here prior to the Hokuto Cup. They were all on edge, really nervous, ready to assign blame, but Touya floated like a cloud from room to room, in his natural element. Touya wasn't trying to break the floorboards with his feet. He didn't sound like his own angry stampede. Even the swirly, unresolved memories of last night tell Hikaru all he absolutely needs to know. If not the whole getting drunk thing, then the stuff he said while they were drunk must have pissed Touya right the fuck off. Disgusted him, surely. Touya looked like he couldn't wait to get away from Hikaru, as far away as possible.
Touya calls to him, then, demanding toast, and that's the whip crack across his heart that forces him to sit up, wide-eyed, like he's expecting another strike. Then it's quiet again, aside from the running water in the other room. Hikaru nearly withers down to his roots, before deciding he can't give up so easily here. It isn't until he's crawled on all fours into the kitchen that he attempts to stand back up again. As he moves upward, his clothing sticks to him in odd places from sweat gone dry and also drags over and across him, all wet friction, from fresh sweat coming in. It's just too damn hot in this house, he thinks. More like a fucking sauna-- Opening the refrigerator feels like he's stepped across the world and arrived at the Himalayas. It feels incredible, wonderful; the stuff of legends. He sags against the door and basks in the wafting frost for at least a full minute.
The toaster itself looks like it's as modern as ever, thank god. He makes four pieces of toast without setting fire to anything. Then he realizes he has no idea if Touya wants butter or jelly or something on his toast, and he doesn't know if Touya will freak out if he doesn't get what he wants. Back in the fridge, he discovers it's pretty well stocked with all sorts of spreadables, so much so that he has to wonder if this is all the Touyas fucking eat. Probably admirers of Touya-sensei's from all over the world have sent them various things to try out. No coherent family could want strawberry and lychee and margarine and cream cheese and peanut butter all at the same time. There's even a canister of Vegemite that smells like black death when Hikaru checks on it. He very nearly throws up on the floor of Touya's kitchen.
Instead of trying to figure out what Touya likes, he just brings out a tray with the plate of toast and a dozen of the available spreads. He sets it down on the dining table and squints at it, thinking it looks more than a little insane, like he's having breakfast with the Mad Hatter. His blinding headache doesn't give him any better ideas, though. Now he's taken care of all of that, and Touya is still whiling away in the bath... He should probably get out of here. He should leave. But if he left right now, behind Touya's back, it'd probably be worse for him in the long run. Sometimes you just have to sit down and face the music. Some games you're just going to lose, no matter what you do. That's why he reaches for his backpack and retrieves his phone, powering it back on.
So, thankfully, nothing is on fire when Touya returns from washing up, dressed in clothing for comfort's comfort. Hikaru, though, is sitting in front of the table, his phone pressed to his ear, and his other hand grinding through his hair like he's trying to tear it out by the roots. The bent arc of his back makes him look, frankly, devastated. Just exhausted, beyond exhausted, but also like he has to carry something even heavier for another thousand miles.] I know, [he says, low and miserable, in the middle of what sounds like a root canal with no anesthetic.] I know, I know. I know he wants to talk to me when he gets home. I know that. I'm sorry. I'm... yeah, I know that. I'll apologize to them, too. I know they're--I know, Mom, you don't have to say it like that. I'm just-- [And the call seems to end there, because he doesn't say anything else. She hung up on him. That much of a guilt trip, and she's the one hanging up on him. Fucking whatever.
He avoids Touya's gaze while he picks up his backpack and quickly, quietly, drags it and also himself all the way to the bathroom.
It doesn't take him too, too long to finish up in there, even though he likewise wants to linger. He emerges from the fragrant steam in the pajamas he was supposed to wear last night, just a grey shirt on grey plaid for pants, monochromatic and unoffensive for it. With him, in a tense grip, he's carrying a bottle of aspirin that he found in their medicine cabinet. He sets it down beside Touya's elbow without saying a word. A peace offering, maybe. Or maybe it's common sense. Then he sits down a respectable distance from Touya, one hand already moving to shield his burning, bloodshot eyes from more sunlight.
Finally, the rattling of an old radio:]
No one should have that many jams and jellies in their fridge.
no subject
It wasn't like this when he was staying over here prior to the Hokuto Cup. They were all on edge, really nervous, ready to assign blame, but Touya floated like a cloud from room to room, in his natural element. Touya wasn't trying to break the floorboards with his feet. He didn't sound like his own angry stampede. Even the swirly, unresolved memories of last night tell Hikaru all he absolutely needs to know. If not the whole getting drunk thing, then the stuff he said while they were drunk must have pissed Touya right the fuck off. Disgusted him, surely. Touya looked like he couldn't wait to get away from Hikaru, as far away as possible.
Touya calls to him, then, demanding toast, and that's the whip crack across his heart that forces him to sit up, wide-eyed, like he's expecting another strike. Then it's quiet again, aside from the running water in the other room. Hikaru nearly withers down to his roots, before deciding he can't give up so easily here. It isn't until he's crawled on all fours into the kitchen that he attempts to stand back up again. As he moves upward, his clothing sticks to him in odd places from sweat gone dry and also drags over and across him, all wet friction, from fresh sweat coming in. It's just too damn hot in this house, he thinks. More like a fucking sauna-- Opening the refrigerator feels like he's stepped across the world and arrived at the Himalayas. It feels incredible, wonderful; the stuff of legends. He sags against the door and basks in the wafting frost for at least a full minute.
The toaster itself looks like it's as modern as ever, thank god. He makes four pieces of toast without setting fire to anything. Then he realizes he has no idea if Touya wants butter or jelly or something on his toast, and he doesn't know if Touya will freak out if he doesn't get what he wants. Back in the fridge, he discovers it's pretty well stocked with all sorts of spreadables, so much so that he has to wonder if this is all the Touyas fucking eat. Probably admirers of Touya-sensei's from all over the world have sent them various things to try out. No coherent family could want strawberry and lychee and margarine and cream cheese and peanut butter all at the same time. There's even a canister of Vegemite that smells like black death when Hikaru checks on it. He very nearly throws up on the floor of Touya's kitchen.
Instead of trying to figure out what Touya likes, he just brings out a tray with the plate of toast and a dozen of the available spreads. He sets it down on the dining table and squints at it, thinking it looks more than a little insane, like he's having breakfast with the Mad Hatter. His blinding headache doesn't give him any better ideas, though. Now he's taken care of all of that, and Touya is still whiling away in the bath... He should probably get out of here. He should leave. But if he left right now, behind Touya's back, it'd probably be worse for him in the long run. Sometimes you just have to sit down and face the music. Some games you're just going to lose, no matter what you do. That's why he reaches for his backpack and retrieves his phone, powering it back on.
So, thankfully, nothing is on fire when Touya returns from washing up, dressed in clothing for comfort's comfort. Hikaru, though, is sitting in front of the table, his phone pressed to his ear, and his other hand grinding through his hair like he's trying to tear it out by the roots. The bent arc of his back makes him look, frankly, devastated. Just exhausted, beyond exhausted, but also like he has to carry something even heavier for another thousand miles.] I know, [he says, low and miserable, in the middle of what sounds like a root canal with no anesthetic.] I know, I know. I know he wants to talk to me when he gets home. I know that. I'm sorry. I'm... yeah, I know that. I'll apologize to them, too. I know they're--I know, Mom, you don't have to say it like that. I'm just-- [And the call seems to end there, because he doesn't say anything else. She hung up on him. That much of a guilt trip, and she's the one hanging up on him. Fucking whatever.
He avoids Touya's gaze while he picks up his backpack and quickly, quietly, drags it and also himself all the way to the bathroom.
It doesn't take him too, too long to finish up in there, even though he likewise wants to linger. He emerges from the fragrant steam in the pajamas he was supposed to wear last night, just a grey shirt on grey plaid for pants, monochromatic and unoffensive for it. With him, in a tense grip, he's carrying a bottle of aspirin that he found in their medicine cabinet. He sets it down beside Touya's elbow without saying a word. A peace offering, maybe. Or maybe it's common sense. Then he sits down a respectable distance from Touya, one hand already moving to shield his burning, bloodshot eyes from more sunlight.
Finally, the rattling of an old radio:]
No one should have that many jams and jellies in their fridge.