[It just feels nice. With Akira's hands breaching comfortable water, finding smooth stones, sifting through them with his fingers—the polishing motions of his thumbs—the shifting of his own clothing, and the shifting of Shindou's, too—one brush, another brush, contact more than incidental and wonderfully allowed to be. The light in the utility closet is a clinical glare, and it buzzes from above, but Akira has still found soft air in here. There's the tickle of soap suds at Akira's wrists, up toward his forearms, and the tickle of his hair against his chin while he tilts his head forward to focus on his task. There's the tickle in the back of his throat for something eager, like he's waiting for a certain moment to arrive, and there's also the tickle somewhere around his sternum when he thinks about his father, and about Shindou, and about his father respecting Shindou enough to request his presence across a goban. It just feels nice. Nearness, sharing air inside this room, and his father's acknowledgement of Shindou's potential. This is well in ways Akira had not even known he'd wanted.
The sway in Shindou's voice is, for now, taken as no more than what aligns with the rippling water they share. The next stone Akira takes is one from beneath Shindou's hand. He says,] Mmhmm? [It's mild, like the detergent, maybe uncommonly so... the melt of his voice is a bit beyond tepid, even if it flows around like this water. But Shindou's voice comes back more haltingly, and Akira looks up from the familiar, soft clinking of stones meeting stones.]
What is it?
[He doesn't ask like even wondering is giving him a headache. No pulse rushing hard in his ears, it seems, if the softness from his throat is any gentle indication. In fact, he dips his head to the side, lips in a lovely, quiet curve, left full, no pinch to them, and he bumps his shoulder against Shindou's, playful about it.] What's up? Shindou, if you're going to be ridiculous, just do it. I'm used to that much.
[That's fondness. It has to be. Akira sounds like he's grateful to be used to that. Like he's comforted by it. He palms some more stones, but simply shifts them from hand to hand, beneath the water, while he keeps that smile aimed at Shindou. Shindou, with him, near him, toward him, coming back to him time and time again. No hiding, and no holing up away from outreach. They've met at the salon most days this past week. A few times, they've gone elsewhere afterward. Akira visited Shindou's house again, on one of those days. On another, they actually met up beforehand, and came to the salon together. That was the day Ichikawa-san couldn't stop sighing great sighs that seemed laden with some sort of sympathy. Maybe something had happened with a friend, or a TV drama she kept up with, or... he hadn't stayed to ask. He and Shindou went to buy soft pretzels, because Akira had wanted to visit a shop that had recently opened.
Come to think of it, a cafe Akira likes is supposed to be bringing out some new blends of coffee. He wonders which one he should tell Shindou to try with him, and the thought makes him press his lips together, still smiling, for how he looks forward to it.]
no subject
The sway in Shindou's voice is, for now, taken as no more than what aligns with the rippling water they share. The next stone Akira takes is one from beneath Shindou's hand. He says,] Mmhmm? [It's mild, like the detergent, maybe uncommonly so... the melt of his voice is a bit beyond tepid, even if it flows around like this water. But Shindou's voice comes back more haltingly, and Akira looks up from the familiar, soft clinking of stones meeting stones.]
What is it?
[He doesn't ask like even wondering is giving him a headache. No pulse rushing hard in his ears, it seems, if the softness from his throat is any gentle indication. In fact, he dips his head to the side, lips in a lovely, quiet curve, left full, no pinch to them, and he bumps his shoulder against Shindou's, playful about it.] What's up? Shindou, if you're going to be ridiculous, just do it. I'm used to that much.
[That's fondness. It has to be. Akira sounds like he's grateful to be used to that. Like he's comforted by it. He palms some more stones, but simply shifts them from hand to hand, beneath the water, while he keeps that smile aimed at Shindou. Shindou, with him, near him, toward him, coming back to him time and time again. No hiding, and no holing up away from outreach. They've met at the salon most days this past week. A few times, they've gone elsewhere afterward. Akira visited Shindou's house again, on one of those days. On another, they actually met up beforehand, and came to the salon together. That was the day Ichikawa-san couldn't stop sighing great sighs that seemed laden with some sort of sympathy. Maybe something had happened with a friend, or a TV drama she kept up with, or... he hadn't stayed to ask. He and Shindou went to buy soft pretzels, because Akira had wanted to visit a shop that had recently opened.
Come to think of it, a cafe Akira likes is supposed to be bringing out some new blends of coffee. He wonders which one he should tell Shindou to try with him, and the thought makes him press his lips together, still smiling, for how he looks forward to it.]