[After a couple hours in Touya's company, discussing the game, eating snacks, and laughing about the latest gossip, Hikaru feels completely at ease again. He can't even remember what he was so upset about when Touya is smiling at him like that, like Touya wants to be right here, like Touya is aware of his worst qualities and still wants to be with him. Later on, at the front door, Hikaru holds up his phone to prove he added nine o'clock at Touya's house to the planner on his phone. Then, glancing furtively over his shoulder, he tells Touya to be careful on the way home--and turns back around to kiss Touya good night. His mother doesn't see any of it, and he's wearing a shit-eating grin by the time he closes the door. Bounding back upstairs, two steps at a time, he throws himself onto his bed and hugs a pillow against his chest. His room smells of sea breeze from the scented candle, but he's sure there's something more to it, something warmer, and sweeter, a hint of Touya Akira underneath the faux waves. He falls asleep with a stupidly huge smile on his face.
He has a dream about Sai's hair. Not Sai himself--just Sai's hair, long and dark, the tresses coiling like snakes, all stretched out across his floor and up and down his bedroom walls. Even the door and windows are covered in thick layers of hair, blocking out most of the light. It's already wrapping around his wrists, and his ankles, and he can't get away from it no matter how hard he tries. It splashes over his chest, rushing and rustling horribly, and it fashions itself as a noose around his neck. When he tries to scream for help, a massive knot of hair plunges right into his mouth--and he wakes up like that, twisted up in his blanket, soaked to the bone in freezing-cold sweat. It's just before dawn. His room is empty, cold, tinged grey, and there's smoke drifting up from the candle that finally burned itself out. It feels like there's something stuck in his throat. He coughs, then coughs harder, fully expecting to get rid of whatever it is. The weird feeling doesn't go away even after he drinks a glass of water.
As promised, he texts Touya about an hour later, and he doesn't say anything about his dream or the fact he's thrown up twice out of sheer paranoia. good morning, he writes, as jovial as he can make it. i'm getting my hair cut today! Later in the afternoon, he sends along a few selfies of him sitting in a hairdresser's chair, with a bubblegum-snapping color tech stationed at his shoulder. She's in the middle of applying a pale, goopy mixture to his bangs with a small brush, whatever it is they use for bleaching purposes. It's one of those things he doesn't know anything about beyond the fact it works as advertised. He looks tired, noticeably so, but he's smiling a little anyway.
That night, he has another dream about being suffocated by hair.]
--Holy shit, Touya, [he exclaims the next day, on New Year's Eve, as soon as Touya opens the front door. Touya's kimono earns the full sweep of his attention, from top to bottom and back again.] I didn't know you were gonna go all the way with it. You should've told me you were dressing up...! [He's surprised, but pleased, and now he's definitely feeling underdressed, like he should have gone and rented his own kimono. All he has on is a silky black dress shirt, unbuttoned, adorned with blooming flowers and golden shapes along the shoulders, with a plain grey shirt underneath that. At least the pair of jeans he's wearing are clean and creaseless, more or less brand-new. He thought he looked pretty good when he left the house this afternoon (after telling his mom he was going out for a while, but not that he'd be back anytime soon). Touya, though, has totally blown him out of the fucking water. It's hard not to wonder at how slender Touya looks when his waist is defined by that scale-etched obi.
The Touya family home is pretty much the way Hikaru remembers it: curiously traditional, and its own sort of step back into the past. It reminds him of his grandfather's place, and how he's supposed to be over there right about now. Oh well. He can't say he's feeling guilty for blowing off a family reunion, because, well... he doesn't feel guilty at all. Or, he does feel a little guilty, because every time he goes over to his grandfather's, he takes the time to visit Sai's goban and talk to it about recent events. Lately, he doesn't know what he's supposed to be saying, but this year he won't be there to wish Sai a Happy New Year.
In any case, Hikaru dumps his backpack on the floor and sits down with a rolling gust of a sigh.] Well, fine, [he says, shrugging one shoulder,] but if your brain explodes by the time your exams come around, you can't say I didn't warn you first... [His phone, somewhere in his backpack, plink-plonks with an incoming text message. He ignores it.] But I should be able to make it to all the matches, too, so we can sit through them together. That should be fun. [Another text message. Another one after that. Then there's a buzz as someone tries to call him--it immediately goes to voice mail--and that same someone leaves him an audio message, even. He ignores all of that, gratefully sipping from his cup of tea. His gaze seems to get lost in the slowly rising steam.]
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He has a dream about Sai's hair. Not Sai himself--just Sai's hair, long and dark, the tresses coiling like snakes, all stretched out across his floor and up and down his bedroom walls. Even the door and windows are covered in thick layers of hair, blocking out most of the light. It's already wrapping around his wrists, and his ankles, and he can't get away from it no matter how hard he tries. It splashes over his chest, rushing and rustling horribly, and it fashions itself as a noose around his neck. When he tries to scream for help, a massive knot of hair plunges right into his mouth--and he wakes up like that, twisted up in his blanket, soaked to the bone in freezing-cold sweat. It's just before dawn. His room is empty, cold, tinged grey, and there's smoke drifting up from the candle that finally burned itself out. It feels like there's something stuck in his throat. He coughs, then coughs harder, fully expecting to get rid of whatever it is. The weird feeling doesn't go away even after he drinks a glass of water.
As promised, he texts Touya about an hour later, and he doesn't say anything about his dream or the fact he's thrown up twice out of sheer paranoia. good morning, he writes, as jovial as he can make it. i'm getting my hair cut today! Later in the afternoon, he sends along a few selfies of him sitting in a hairdresser's chair, with a bubblegum-snapping color tech stationed at his shoulder. She's in the middle of applying a pale, goopy mixture to his bangs with a small brush, whatever it is they use for bleaching purposes. It's one of those things he doesn't know anything about beyond the fact it works as advertised. He looks tired, noticeably so, but he's smiling a little anyway.
That night, he has another dream about being suffocated by hair.]
--Holy shit, Touya, [he exclaims the next day, on New Year's Eve, as soon as Touya opens the front door. Touya's kimono earns the full sweep of his attention, from top to bottom and back again.] I didn't know you were gonna go all the way with it. You should've told me you were dressing up...! [He's surprised, but pleased, and now he's definitely feeling underdressed, like he should have gone and rented his own kimono. All he has on is a silky black dress shirt, unbuttoned, adorned with blooming flowers and golden shapes along the shoulders, with a plain grey shirt underneath that. At least the pair of jeans he's wearing are clean and creaseless, more or less brand-new. He thought he looked pretty good when he left the house this afternoon (after telling his mom he was going out for a while, but not that he'd be back anytime soon). Touya, though, has totally blown him out of the fucking water. It's hard not to wonder at how slender Touya looks when his waist is defined by that scale-etched obi.
The Touya family home is pretty much the way Hikaru remembers it: curiously traditional, and its own sort of step back into the past. It reminds him of his grandfather's place, and how he's supposed to be over there right about now. Oh well. He can't say he's feeling guilty for blowing off a family reunion, because, well... he doesn't feel guilty at all. Or, he does feel a little guilty, because every time he goes over to his grandfather's, he takes the time to visit Sai's goban and talk to it about recent events. Lately, he doesn't know what he's supposed to be saying, but this year he won't be there to wish Sai a Happy New Year.
In any case, Hikaru dumps his backpack on the floor and sits down with a rolling gust of a sigh.] Well, fine, [he says, shrugging one shoulder,] but if your brain explodes by the time your exams come around, you can't say I didn't warn you first... [His phone, somewhere in his backpack, plink-plonks with an incoming text message. He ignores it.] But I should be able to make it to all the matches, too, so we can sit through them together. That should be fun. [Another text message. Another one after that. Then there's a buzz as someone tries to call him--it immediately goes to voice mail--and that same someone leaves him an audio message, even. He ignores all of that, gratefully sipping from his cup of tea. His gaze seems to get lost in the slowly rising steam.]
You look beautiful, by the way.
[A casual, unmistakable compliment.]