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[It looks like Akira didn't even try to get under the covers, this time. He went straight into Hikaru's bedroom, where he paused only to shed his formal suit, search through Hikaru's closet for comfier, more casual replacements, and then collapse onto Hikaru's bed in a heap. Not even a breath later, he's completely dead to the world: all fifteen years of him, slightly curled inward, nose to pillow, unwieldy and stubborn. Hikaru sighs. Following after Akira, he also pauses to grab the light blue afghan he has sitting at the end of the bed. He unfolds it, and he tugs it up and over Akira's prone form until he's got him covered from the neck down. Like this, Akira's dark hair looks more like a splotch of ink on a watercolor of a bright, cloudless sky. A disruption. A bad omen, maybe. Like thunderheads or something.
Hikaru takes out his phone and sends an apologetic text to Waya. The fun evening in they were both planning, with pizza and movies and other trappings of adulthood, is going to have to wait. something important came up, he writes, wisely not mentioning the high schooler who's taken up refuge in his bed. sorry for the short notice. Then he goes around and picks up Akira's jacket, and his turtleneck, and his dress pants, and the one sock he managed to pull off en route to the bed. If Akira would just get more sleep at night, like before the start of his day, then he wouldn't have to do this kind of thing so often. He wouldn't have to look like he does now: the ink splotch, the disruption, the bad omen, the Go prodigy who's painfully sleep-deprived. Just looking at him is on this side of exhausting. Hikaru is twenty-four years old, a three-time title holder, in the prime of his competitive career--and he's having to babysit this one particular student of his yet again.
Well.
Maybe it's his fault for not setting any boundaries in the first place.]
You are so...
[He drags his fingers down his face, and he sighs, heavier this time, before he eases himself into bed beside Akira. It really is his fault for not setting any boundaries at all, given how he's getting under the afghan with Akira, too, like he would during a sleepover, when they were both much younger. It doesn't feel right to leave Akira alone when he looks so worn-out and vulnerable, which has to be ridiculous, just ridiculous, but that's just how it feels. Hikaru curses himself even as he tucks the blanket more securely around Akira's chin, and he curses himself further when Akira, as if on instinct, shifts in closer to him.]
You're a real nuisance, you know that, [he murmurs quietly, wearily, closing his eyes. He doesn't expect to fall asleep arranged like this, and then that's what happens, because he's just as guilty of working too hard and too long into the night in front of the goban.]
Hikaru takes out his phone and sends an apologetic text to Waya. The fun evening in they were both planning, with pizza and movies and other trappings of adulthood, is going to have to wait. something important came up, he writes, wisely not mentioning the high schooler who's taken up refuge in his bed. sorry for the short notice. Then he goes around and picks up Akira's jacket, and his turtleneck, and his dress pants, and the one sock he managed to pull off en route to the bed. If Akira would just get more sleep at night, like before the start of his day, then he wouldn't have to do this kind of thing so often. He wouldn't have to look like he does now: the ink splotch, the disruption, the bad omen, the Go prodigy who's painfully sleep-deprived. Just looking at him is on this side of exhausting. Hikaru is twenty-four years old, a three-time title holder, in the prime of his competitive career--and he's having to babysit this one particular student of his yet again.
Well.
Maybe it's his fault for not setting any boundaries in the first place.]
You are so...
[He drags his fingers down his face, and he sighs, heavier this time, before he eases himself into bed beside Akira. It really is his fault for not setting any boundaries at all, given how he's getting under the afghan with Akira, too, like he would during a sleepover, when they were both much younger. It doesn't feel right to leave Akira alone when he looks so worn-out and vulnerable, which has to be ridiculous, just ridiculous, but that's just how it feels. Hikaru curses himself even as he tucks the blanket more securely around Akira's chin, and he curses himself further when Akira, as if on instinct, shifts in closer to him.]
You're a real nuisance, you know that, [he murmurs quietly, wearily, closing his eyes. He doesn't expect to fall asleep arranged like this, and then that's what happens, because he's just as guilty of working too hard and too long into the night in front of the goban.]
