it gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.

[protential]

(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?

Comments

[ashlar]

[Akira accepts the pad of paper from Shindou's hands, and it feels good to accept something from him. It feels unexpectedly good to have something passed in between them: there is a stream, a rhythm, from one to one. Yet he's frowning, sour—completely helpless? Well, Shindou, you don't exactly—ahh. He decides to frown at the blank lines on the paper, instead. The tip of the pen meets the start of that first line, presses against it, pauses for pressure and deliberation...

By the time he abandons the pen completely, he's looked all around the room, the broad focus of the gifted, his eyes as search lights. Trinkets, and stickers, and signs of life. This is a colorful, charismatic place, just like Shindou is colorful and charismatic. Akira's gaze does yet another slow sweep across the bedroom, as if he's still not satiated by all these details, before he lingers on a bookshelf off to the side. Here, again, that focus. He rises enough to shuffle over on his knees.

His index finger skips against the spines of issue after issue of Weekly Shounen Jump. His examination lasts until he tugs one volume away from its shelf, and then he's flipping through its pages.]

I wasn't expecting to be impressed.

[It would have been kinder if Akira said he wasn't looking to be impressed, and ultimately, in his heart, they mean the same thing. But the moderation of his words can be inconsistent. His elaboration, too, isn't exactly clear cut...] But it's nice. It reminds me of you. [Even as it leaves his mouth, he stops to consider what he's just said. Thoughtfully, he's looking toward the ceiling. Then he drops his eyes back down to whatever random page of manga.] I mean, it's very much like you. It's very much...

[He shakes his head. Turns the page.]

I just wanted to see everything.

[He isn't the only one who's seen these things—certain individuals have seen much more, and for much longer. It's not fair that it took this long for Akira to be able to see it, too. It's not fair that familiarity belonged to someone else. And it's not fair, who it belonged to. What's so good about your bedroom? Yeah. Well.

Akira looks up from beneath the line of his bangs. The Jump issue is loose in hands gone idle.]

Thank you for having me, [he says, belatedly. He should have said it while he was standing in the doorway of the house.]