[It's all Akira can do to keep from grasping at Shindou when he's pried away so sweetly. Akira's hands have a lot of demands at the ready, and he wishes, more and more, to simply foist them all upon Shindou, dumping them into Shindou's arms, here, just have them, do with them what you will. How outrageous, that Shindou is telling him not to leave. The only comfort Akira has right now is that this is Shindou's bedroom; Shindou will undoubtedly come back. (And if he doesn't, Akira is better fed and more well-rested, so he could definitely catch up to Shindou if he ran away, and...)
Akira curls his fingers inward, as if holding on to that quiet kiss. He settles his hands neatly over his knees. And maybe he can convince himself of this, too, when he says,] I can wait.
[It works, at least for time spent waiting for Shindou to come back up the stairs. He strains to try to listen to the interactions between Shindou and his mother, and all that happens is his heart drops. But she sends her son back with snacks, and Akira tries hard to soften his own rigidity. The softening happens little by little. He ends up staying for a couple hours, and by the end, he's sitting on the floor next to Shindou's bed, leaning with his side against it, resting his head against the edge of the mattress. He's got this smile, effaceable but persisting, made stronger the longer he looks over at Shindou. He writes down those directions, finally, too, during some pause. When he leaves, he presses the paper into Shindou's hands, staring, staring, his line of sight direct and unchangeable. He tells Shindou what time to come to his house, the evening after tomorrow, and his eyes are crisp and clear in saying that he won't—can't—tolerate Shindou's truancy in this.
Akira spends December 30th at the Go salon, its last day before closing for the holiday, in part to deliver a New Year's gift to Ichikawa-san. It's a box of distinguished looking sweets, old-fashioned, and she laughs and tells him that's just like him, before giving him her own gift of sandalwood soaps. She also slips him an otoshidama envelope, cheering for him for this coming year. He does wonder sometimes how old he's going to be when she thinks he's as much of an adult as anyone else.
He leaves the salon, he has a quiet dinner, and he goes to sleep. Then he's up early the next morning, December 31st, and he's cleaning his house with a fervor. Everything gets dusted; he makes sure all surfaces gleam with age and care. He takes a shower around nine in the morning, and then he takes another one at four in the afternoon. Lunch time consisted of setting out tea and rice crackers for himself, and then getting distracted halfway through the crackers, instead hurrying off to set his futon out on the porch and beat it extra clean. Later on, he washes his face, and his hands, and then dresses himself for the evening.
He expects Shindou at nine o'clock. Families usually spend this time prior to midnight together, Akira knows, when the New Year is arriving, and he should perhaps feel a little guilty for asking Shindou to come here for it instead. All he feels is the seasickness of anticipation, though, like trying to walk steadily across the rolling sea. When he opens his front door, he already looks ready to speak up against a challenge, on his toes. His kimono must be a hundred times softer than the tension at his temples. It's a stirring, rich blue, not quite saturated enough to be cobalt. The thin obi at his waist is colored like pearl, with thin lines of sea green pattered like scales. He ushers Shindou in with little waves of his hands, and his house already smells like tea, like wood, and clean water. He wastes no time in pulling Shindou towards an open sitting room, space heater glowing close by, and pouring some of that tea.
The air of utter dignity surrounding him doesn't last all that long, once he's kneeling by where Shindou sits.] I definitely don't want to miss observing any of the Honinbou league matches in the coming months, so, no, I won't be in school while those are going on. But the term ends in March, remember, so there are going to be exams. I'll just have to be studying. That's all.
no subject
Akira curls his fingers inward, as if holding on to that quiet kiss. He settles his hands neatly over his knees. And maybe he can convince himself of this, too, when he says,] I can wait.
[It works, at least for time spent waiting for Shindou to come back up the stairs. He strains to try to listen to the interactions between Shindou and his mother, and all that happens is his heart drops. But she sends her son back with snacks, and Akira tries hard to soften his own rigidity. The softening happens little by little. He ends up staying for a couple hours, and by the end, he's sitting on the floor next to Shindou's bed, leaning with his side against it, resting his head against the edge of the mattress. He's got this smile, effaceable but persisting, made stronger the longer he looks over at Shindou. He writes down those directions, finally, too, during some pause. When he leaves, he presses the paper into Shindou's hands, staring, staring, his line of sight direct and unchangeable. He tells Shindou what time to come to his house, the evening after tomorrow, and his eyes are crisp and clear in saying that he won't—can't—tolerate Shindou's truancy in this.
Akira spends December 30th at the Go salon, its last day before closing for the holiday, in part to deliver a New Year's gift to Ichikawa-san. It's a box of distinguished looking sweets, old-fashioned, and she laughs and tells him that's just like him, before giving him her own gift of sandalwood soaps. She also slips him an otoshidama envelope, cheering for him for this coming year. He does wonder sometimes how old he's going to be when she thinks he's as much of an adult as anyone else.
He leaves the salon, he has a quiet dinner, and he goes to sleep. Then he's up early the next morning, December 31st, and he's cleaning his house with a fervor. Everything gets dusted; he makes sure all surfaces gleam with age and care. He takes a shower around nine in the morning, and then he takes another one at four in the afternoon. Lunch time consisted of setting out tea and rice crackers for himself, and then getting distracted halfway through the crackers, instead hurrying off to set his futon out on the porch and beat it extra clean. Later on, he washes his face, and his hands, and then dresses himself for the evening.
He expects Shindou at nine o'clock. Families usually spend this time prior to midnight together, Akira knows, when the New Year is arriving, and he should perhaps feel a little guilty for asking Shindou to come here for it instead. All he feels is the seasickness of anticipation, though, like trying to walk steadily across the rolling sea. When he opens his front door, he already looks ready to speak up against a challenge, on his toes. His kimono must be a hundred times softer than the tension at his temples. It's a stirring, rich blue, not quite saturated enough to be cobalt. The thin obi at his waist is colored like pearl, with thin lines of sea green pattered like scales. He ushers Shindou in with little waves of his hands, and his house already smells like tea, like wood, and clean water. He wastes no time in pulling Shindou towards an open sitting room, space heater glowing close by, and pouring some of that tea.
The air of utter dignity surrounding him doesn't last all that long, once he's kneeling by where Shindou sits.] I definitely don't want to miss observing any of the Honinbou league matches in the coming months, so, no, I won't be in school while those are going on. But the term ends in March, remember, so there are going to be exams. I'll just have to be studying. That's all.