hikaru shindou ⑤ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
protential) wrote2013-09-12 10:29 pm
protential) wrote2013-09-12 10:29 pm
it gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.
(continued from here.)
[It wouldn't take more than a minute to get those directions. Two minutes at max. Touya doesn't have to stick around here if he doesn't want to. Hell, Touya could've just sent him the directions via email and wouldn't have had to come over here at all. It isn't the fucking Stone Age anymore; there are search engines where two addresses are all you need to figure out where you're supposed to go. Touya came here under a kind of ridiculous pretense, Hikaru thinks, now that he's thinking about it, but he isn't going to bring that up just yet. Touya relies on pretenses as much as anyone else, projecting purpose and aplomb even when he feels anything but. It took Hikaru a while to realize that most people never see the other sides of Touya for themselves. Go Weekly crows about his stupid stately manner every other week, which Hikaru reads about and has to roll his eyes at. Everyone wears masks, with one for pretty much every occasion... Touya's masks are just more convincing and firmly attached. But, right now, Hikaru can see why most people cringe when they're stuck between Touya and his destination. Touya has this freaky laser-sighted precision when it comes to doing what he set out to do. It's just, in this case...
In this case, Hikaru is the destination, and he's glad for the towel that's covering most of his face. Touya can't see his own reddened cheeks, or the half-opened state of his mouth, the restless shift of his tongue beyond his teeth. I came for your room, delivered in that aerial voice, might as well be, I came for you. Hikaru remembers something randomly, then, just a random phrase, as Touya ascends the stairs in front of him: Home is where the heart is. That's a very sentimental thing for him to think--it's pretentious, too. But it's what he's thinking as he follows Touya up to his bedroom.
It doesn't look much different from how it looked yesterday. His goban has been cleared of that final, unfinished game, however. Over in the one corner, his previously unremarkable desk is more visible, serving as a pseudo-filing cabinet for important paperwork. The smell of incense is completely gone, thanks to Touya's psychotic airing out of his confines. In its place, there's something fainter, gentler on one's sanity, resembling a waft of sea breeze at dawn. It can be traced back to the pale scented candle Hikaru placed on the windowsill at some point. And his bedding is just as fresh and clean, no longer a miserable hovel, in a cloudier shade of blue. Like a day at the beach in the middle of winter.
Letting the towel drape around his neck, Hikaru goes over to the desk to grab a pen and a yellow notepad for Touya to write the directions on. He also picks up a notebook of blank kifu paper, since he might as well record their game while Touya is here. It still feels so dreamlike that he wants to make sure he's remembering it right.]
Man, Touya, you make it sound like I'm completely helpless. I would've figured out where to go with or without him. [It might just have taken him another hour of wandering around to get there. He glances over his shoulder at Touya, then at his goban, then back to Touya...] Anyway, I'd give you the grand tour, but what you see is what you get. [He drops the pen and notepad in front of Touya, then sits down at an angle from him, not directly opposite. No defaulting to seiza when his knees still kind of hurt...
In general, the bath must have been good for him, because he doesn't look so exhausted, greasy, or grimy, or like he'd crumble to pieces at a single touch. Only his longstanding sleep debt is there in the bruises under his eyes (they're a darker green, a forest green, right now).
Dryly:] Are you impressed yet?
[It wouldn't take more than a minute to get those directions. Two minutes at max. Touya doesn't have to stick around here if he doesn't want to. Hell, Touya could've just sent him the directions via email and wouldn't have had to come over here at all. It isn't the fucking Stone Age anymore; there are search engines where two addresses are all you need to figure out where you're supposed to go. Touya came here under a kind of ridiculous pretense, Hikaru thinks, now that he's thinking about it, but he isn't going to bring that up just yet. Touya relies on pretenses as much as anyone else, projecting purpose and aplomb even when he feels anything but. It took Hikaru a while to realize that most people never see the other sides of Touya for themselves. Go Weekly crows about his stupid stately manner every other week, which Hikaru reads about and has to roll his eyes at. Everyone wears masks, with one for pretty much every occasion... Touya's masks are just more convincing and firmly attached. But, right now, Hikaru can see why most people cringe when they're stuck between Touya and his destination. Touya has this freaky laser-sighted precision when it comes to doing what he set out to do. It's just, in this case...
In this case, Hikaru is the destination, and he's glad for the towel that's covering most of his face. Touya can't see his own reddened cheeks, or the half-opened state of his mouth, the restless shift of his tongue beyond his teeth. I came for your room, delivered in that aerial voice, might as well be, I came for you. Hikaru remembers something randomly, then, just a random phrase, as Touya ascends the stairs in front of him: Home is where the heart is. That's a very sentimental thing for him to think--it's pretentious, too. But it's what he's thinking as he follows Touya up to his bedroom.
It doesn't look much different from how it looked yesterday. His goban has been cleared of that final, unfinished game, however. Over in the one corner, his previously unremarkable desk is more visible, serving as a pseudo-filing cabinet for important paperwork. The smell of incense is completely gone, thanks to Touya's psychotic airing out of his confines. In its place, there's something fainter, gentler on one's sanity, resembling a waft of sea breeze at dawn. It can be traced back to the pale scented candle Hikaru placed on the windowsill at some point. And his bedding is just as fresh and clean, no longer a miserable hovel, in a cloudier shade of blue. Like a day at the beach in the middle of winter.
Letting the towel drape around his neck, Hikaru goes over to the desk to grab a pen and a yellow notepad for Touya to write the directions on. He also picks up a notebook of blank kifu paper, since he might as well record their game while Touya is here. It still feels so dreamlike that he wants to make sure he's remembering it right.]
Man, Touya, you make it sound like I'm completely helpless. I would've figured out where to go with or without him. [It might just have taken him another hour of wandering around to get there. He glances over his shoulder at Touya, then at his goban, then back to Touya...] Anyway, I'd give you the grand tour, but what you see is what you get. [He drops the pen and notepad in front of Touya, then sits down at an angle from him, not directly opposite. No defaulting to seiza when his knees still kind of hurt...
In general, the bath must have been good for him, because he doesn't look so exhausted, greasy, or grimy, or like he'd crumble to pieces at a single touch. Only his longstanding sleep debt is there in the bruises under his eyes (they're a darker green, a forest green, right now).
Dryly:] Are you impressed yet?
no subject
For whatever reason, Touya asks him if he feels any better. His lips come part--and it's audible to his ears, that's how sensitive he is--even before he knows what to say. Then he says,] I feel like a truck ran over me, then backed up, then ran over me again. [Touya, on the other hand... even with his dry eyes, his discolored skin, his hair pulled up all slapdash and damp... even with all of that, he looks like he's ready to tackle anything. Hell, he could go sit for a match and still probably beat the poor bastard who has to deal with him.]
My mother...
[Hikaru starts to shake his head, but he can tell that's only going to give him motion sickness. He stops, sighs to himself, and then swallows the thought entirely. The last time his mother yelled at him like that, it was when he had crossed the road without her permission and almost got hit by a car. Six years old, if he remembers right. Additional proof he's always been an irresponsible piece of shit.
He sighs again and moves his hand away, looking down at the pieces of toast. He looks at them like they've personally wronged him somehow. Then, dubiously, he picks up one piece. He sets it back down.] I'm not hungry, Touya. [Then he picks it up again and starts nibbling along the crispiest edge. No spreads for him. No jams or jellies. Anything more flavorful than this would make his stomach fight its way out of his body.
Oh, that thought from before is bubbling back up his throat, as painful as a wash of stomach acid.]
She told me to apologize for... [How did she put it, again? Oh, yeah:] imposing myself on your hospitality.