[It strikes Akira how much he and Shindou both have grown, and his eyes fall wayward, toward embarrassment and breath-stalled recollection. With Shindou peering up at him, hesitant, and overwhelming despite that, Akira can't help but think of the him from years ago. Vibrant. That's what Shindou was. Akira thought it would be fun to sit with him, teach him a little... he was so colorful. Not just his clothing, not the eye-catching burst of his bleached hair... a first glimpse of Shindou's roots coming in, some time ago, was kind of startling. Akira had known it was bleached, obviously, but he hadn't taken the time to consider that it's something Shindou maintains through upkeep. It had just been something colorful. The powerful brightness of Shindou's eyes, and the shock of his open mouth. So many things he said startled Akira for their audacity. He was the most perplexing color wheel Akira had ever seen. Akira looks for that now, his eyes migrating to Shindou, an inevitability.
This is the longest Akira has seen Shindou go without touching up his roots. It's an uncomfortable observation. And it makes him wants to slide his fingers against the nape of Shindou's neck, to touch the dark hair there... If he did that, he could say, "It's okay." He could tell that to Shindou, and he would mean it, and maybe Shindou would even believe him, and look up at him through his bleached bangs, eyes an outbursting of color.
When Shindou is upright, Akira lets out a stilted breath, one almost of relief. They're staring at each other, level, now. And Akira blushes.]
The kind of person I am. [It sounds like a skinned knee, and he's well aware of that; for once, too, he's self-conscious for it. His blush isn't a burst of flames, but it's enough that he can feel his blood rushing in his ears. The color came to his face the moment Shindou ducked his head but kept his eyes on Akira. Saying a thing like he just said, and choosing to look at Akira still...
Akira's fingertips reach to make contact with the kifu's corner. He takes his eyes from Shindou's face only for the sake of looking at their game. After a thick swallow, he lifts the page completely. He doesn't want to crease the paper—he must be careful... His other hand is balled up tight atop Shindou's binder. It's balled up tight, as if in refusal of letting something go.]
But I'd rather just... [His mouth clamps shut, lips pressed tight enough to make them sore. Then:] I would rather worry and be around you, than not have that. It's okay if you... whatever you add onto me... [He has to swallow again. His eyebrows are low, dark in their heaviness. He's thinking of 12-5, 11-5, 9-7... Did Shindou notice 10-7, too? The face he made there? What did Shindou think of what he looked like during 10-7, 14-9, 12-6? Should he have looked differently? Better? More, or less?] As long as you're adding yourself, too. That's all...
[That's all I want. That's what he worries about. He just wants Shindou to let him see it. Shindou's Go, and Shindou's hair, and Shindou's all along. In the end, he doesn't say that; he doesn't finish his sentence. He just shakes his head, willing warm blood further from his face, and runs his eyes over and over the kifu in his hand.]
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This is the longest Akira has seen Shindou go without touching up his roots. It's an uncomfortable observation. And it makes him wants to slide his fingers against the nape of Shindou's neck, to touch the dark hair there... If he did that, he could say, "It's okay." He could tell that to Shindou, and he would mean it, and maybe Shindou would even believe him, and look up at him through his bleached bangs, eyes an outbursting of color.
When Shindou is upright, Akira lets out a stilted breath, one almost of relief. They're staring at each other, level, now. And Akira blushes.]
The kind of person I am. [It sounds like a skinned knee, and he's well aware of that; for once, too, he's self-conscious for it. His blush isn't a burst of flames, but it's enough that he can feel his blood rushing in his ears. The color came to his face the moment Shindou ducked his head but kept his eyes on Akira. Saying a thing like he just said, and choosing to look at Akira still...
Akira's fingertips reach to make contact with the kifu's corner. He takes his eyes from Shindou's face only for the sake of looking at their game. After a thick swallow, he lifts the page completely. He doesn't want to crease the paper—he must be careful... His other hand is balled up tight atop Shindou's binder. It's balled up tight, as if in refusal of letting something go.]
But I'd rather just... [His mouth clamps shut, lips pressed tight enough to make them sore. Then:] I would rather worry and be around you, than not have that. It's okay if you... whatever you add onto me... [He has to swallow again. His eyebrows are low, dark in their heaviness. He's thinking of 12-5, 11-5, 9-7... Did Shindou notice 10-7, too? The face he made there? What did Shindou think of what he looked like during 10-7, 14-9, 12-6? Should he have looked differently? Better? More, or less?] As long as you're adding yourself, too. That's all...
[That's all I want. That's what he worries about. He just wants Shindou to let him see it. Shindou's Go, and Shindou's hair, and Shindou's all along. In the end, he doesn't say that; he doesn't finish his sentence. He just shakes his head, willing warm blood further from his face, and runs his eyes over and over the kifu in his hand.]