a thousand times i wanted to take his hand, and a thousand times i stopped myself.

[protential]

[Hikaru exhales like he's been holding his breath, far and deep underwater, with no hope of reaching the surface--until the call connects and he's breathing air again.] Hey, [he says--no, he's gasping--and it's the thickest, most insistent hello he's ever managed. He can't seem to keep the sounds to himself; they're falling right out of his mouth.] Hey, Akira! Hey, I know it's pretty loud, but I'm trying to be louder...! [It is Akira, right? Hikaru didn't fuck it up, right? Behind him, all around him, the aural beats of EDM with the bass turned up too high make him feel like his chest is about to cave in any minute. It's an anxious sort of feeling when he's already feeling anxious about whether or not he dialed Akira correctly. The corner of the house he's crouched in is the quietest place he could find all night, and by some miracle it wasn't taken by a couple of annoying-ass partygoers more interested in sucking each other's faces off...

There's a can of beer on the floor, though, already open, probably half-finished, and he reaches for it and picks it up anyway. Since he has no idea how much he already had tonight, he isn't going to start keeping track of it now. But before he takes a sip:]

Now's not a bad time, is it? I just thought--thought I'd be calling you, see how you're... doing, or how you did, you know, with all those fuckin'... exams, you told me about?

[Why he has to hear Akira's results now, right now, right this second, he can't even begin to guess for himself. He just has to know how bad or how good things went, maybe as part of his attempts to be more, like... caring, or some stupid shit... god, this beer is too warm for him, but he's swallowing it anyway.]

Comments

[ashlar]

[Akira regrets saying answering the phone. He regrets hefting his hand onto his phone, squinting at its glaring caller ID, and accepting the call. He definitely regrets saying hello, as turbid and encumbered as his voice sounds. Hello, he says, practically moans, wincing into the thick of it—and the phone rewards him with splitting pain. Akira can't be sure what he's hearing, at first, just maybe someone's voice at the forefront of a swollen, throbbing clamor. He wrenches the phone away from his ear, wincing, and an inconvenienced whimper peeps out of his tense throat. He's pausing to gather himself, taking a breath, acknowledging his headache, before he settles the phone to his ear once again.]

What? [he says at last, and it's all he can think to say, its creak just barely too tired to be mystified. He takes in a breath between his teeth, squinting into his dim bedroom, and his free hand rises to press fingertips against his forehead.] Hikaru. A bad time? It's after 1.

[It wouldn't have been unusual for Akira to still be awake. Probably more usual than not, in fact. But after school, today, Akira had felt his fortitude fall finer and more finely into dust. He was asleep by 8:30 in the evening, and he's been a brick in bed since then. Having five hours of sleep behind him might have made it possible for the ringer of his phone, which was sitting next to his head, to jerk him into consciousness. Or, semi-consciousness, at the very least.

But Hikaru is too garbled for it to be a byproduct of Akira's exhausted haze. He's hazy on his own merits, sounding like soda, like boiling sugar, brimming over and painful for it. The headache it's causing is going to last for hours, most likely.] I... [...he doesn't even know where to start. Pretty loud, yes, it is, and why is that? A bad time, Hikaru wants to know if it's bad, and Akira isn't alert enough to appreciate his own bewilderment. On top of that, Hikaru is asking about his exams, the ones Akira told him about. The ones that ended today.] I didn't realize you were keeping track of my school schedule. [He's cringing too badly to sound dry.

His breath comes out sounding smothered, since he's rubbing his hand over his face, trying to jar himself free of murky sleep. The more he wakes up, the angrier he's going to be about having to wake up. He's getting tighter when he asks,] Where are you right now? You're yelling. [And, in yelling, he's been thinking about calling Akira, to see how he's doing. Akira feels so hopeless that he rubs his eyes to the point of seeing stars.]

[protential]

[The music shifts into something a little more chill, a little less devastating for his ventricles, and Hikaru finds it easier to breathe now. It could also be the sound of Akira's voice that's making it easier to breathe. He can't explain why he's so worried about hearing Akira's voice or not hearing Akira's voice, just like he can't explain why he has to know how Akira did on his exams right this very second. Even with the music winding down, Hikaru's voice is still too shrill and forceful:] I'm at a party! [he exclaims, like it's the most obvious place for him to be.] These high school kids, man, they throw the craziest parties, you wouldn't believe... Mitani, he's the one who invited me, but I don't know where he's or what he's... [Actually, Hikaru does know where Mitani is: firmly affixed to his circle of friends and ignoring Hikaru at the same time. Hikaru has spent hours steadily drinking himself into oblivion, since cutting out and leaving here alone would be too embarrassing.

Maybe this invitation was always supposed to be a sort of passive-aggressive slight. It's hard to tell. Pretty tough. With Mitani, it's never easy to know if he's moody because he's moody or because he wants to seem cool or because there's something upsetting him. But Hikaru's been a pro for over a year now and it's like things haven't gotten any less fucked between them over that. Or maybe Hikaru's just being a paranoid little bitch and he just doesn't have enough to talk to Mitani anymore about which would be his own fault really like that's just his own fault and everything with the whole different priorities thing? Boys aren't all that impressed by the same things that impress girls, he's come to find out.

Unless it's Akira that is the boy in question. Then he seems to get impressed in the way of a girl. Hikaru doesn't feel like he's being too impressive tonight, but that isn't the point of this call.]

You're not still telling me about all your exams. I know they're important--they're a big deal to you--so they're a big deal to me too. Like you wouldn't have if they weren't a-- [He hiccups loudly, and then tries to stifle a burp. It tastes like a heat lamp over old meat and nicotine.] --a big deal. Told me about them, I mean. I thought you'd've told me how you did already. [His forehead is really sweaty when he pushes his curled fingers against it.] I thought... [If Akira wants him as a friend, why didn't he call him and tell him how he's doing?]

[ashlar]

A party, [repeats Akira, and his voice cracks, but he doesn't notice that. It sounds far away to his own ears, if it sounds like anything at all—perhaps he only knows he's said it, without its physical sensations making land. Just as distant, he wonders how his face appears right now. What Hikaru might see if he were looking—what Hikaru might say, and what his eyebrows might do in response. Now, now, thinking about that, Akira clearly feels his own face crinkle. A grimace, maybe, of disgust, or bafflement, or are his feelings hurt? Well, when aren't they?] Mitani took you to a high school party. [Akira swallows. His saliva feels dense against his tongue and down his throat. His saliva feels like Hikaru sounds: stomach-churning.

And it's not fair that Akira isn't fully awake. He's never fully awake around Hikaru, that's what it seems like, because so much is unclear, and Akira never knows exactly what he's doing while he does it. Maybe, in his sleep, he's pinching Hikaru's sleeve. Maybe it's a dream, the way he tucks his own hair behind his ear, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, hoping Hikaru will see that (and then growing furious with him whether he doesn't or does). No one in control of their faculties would be doing that...

So, for now, blame the blush on sleep. Akira squirms in his futon, his coverlet shifting with him, and then he pulls his knees up to his chest while he sits. He presses his face against his knees, too, for good measure, because Hikaru can't see him right now, but it still feels—it's too open, like being unexpectedly undressed, when he listens to Hikaru talk about what's a big deal and why. He stays that way for a few seconds, feeling inflamed in the way that calls for antibiotics, while Hikaru trails off and the background noise just sounds like compounded stress. Then he lifts his face, settling his chin on his knees.] You called me after midnight, while you're at a party with your friends, to ask about my exams. [It should come out as a question, but his throat hurts too much for the inflection to succeed. His own bedroom is quiet, like a grave, like a museum at night, and his voice is dusty enough to suit that. Thin, and soft, and grey, he's not even trying to compete with Hikaru's party. He's too uncertain for that.

...]

I came home and went to bed, [he says at last.] I've just been sleeping since then. I've been tired, and it's over for now, and whether or not it went all right, I was just, [and he's pushing his forehead against his knees,] I've been tired. So I couldn't have called.

[protential]

[The longer Hikaru crouches here, the more his knees start to hurt, aching inside, wanting to crackle out of place, until he gives up and sits down with his back against the wall. He thought about going outside to call Akira, but it's cold out there, the worst kind of damp cold that clings to you like plastic wrap, and he has no idea where his winter jacket flew off to. If he thinks hard about it, he remembers there was this girl, a girl with a killer body, long black hair, elegant wrists, who told him he must be so stuffy in that thing and it'd be all right if he took it off. She helped him out of it, which is where the memory ends, frustratingly hot and blank. It's the same frustration he feels--it's a relief, too, but it's frustrating--to hear Akira's voice and not be able to see his face right now. The way Akira sounds, he sounds like he's working his way out of quicksand. Or maybe he's trying and failing to do that, and he's getting sucked back in. Akira sounds like he's struggling to even speak in the first place. Hikaru is having trouble figuring out why he sounds that way when the stress of exams should be over and done with.]

They're not my friends, [Hikaru replies, and he's surprisingly emphatic about that.] They're Mitani's friends, not my friends, because Mitani's made all these friends and he invited me just to invite me, or maybe he's... I don't know... [I know how it feels.] I don't know anymore... [Now I know how it feels, Akira. It's a thought that crystallizes in the feverish, most anxious part of his brain, an icy shard in all the swelter, impossible to melt away. He knows how it feels to be neglected, to be replaced, to be left behind for bigger, better things, like cram schools and padding résumés and all of that complete shit. Of course he already knows how it feels like to be like that, with Akira, with being tossed aside by Akira, but maybe he was the one doing all the tossing aside and now he's really finding out what that slow, unnecessarily drawn-out descent feels like and what it does to a person. Being in the passenger's seat of that ride into oblivion. It's taking forever to go where he knows it's going to go with him strapped in, shackled, sick and helpless. Akira, too, must have wished for the same thing he's wishing for: just end it, already. Just get it over with. If Mitani doesn't want to be friends with him, then just get it fucking over with already...

The hallway he's sitting in looks like it's balanced on a seesaw, swaying back and forth. He closes his eyes, but the feeling of it chases him down right after. There's nausea, and then there's exhilaration, then disappointment, then despair, then more nausea all over again. If he told Akira he's afraid, he wonders if Akira would laugh at him. He drinks the rest of the beer in the echo of that imagined laughter.

Here, his usual indignation, but it's kind of forced:] I was waiting for you to call me! I was waiting and waiting, and you wouldn't call me, and I didn't know if you were going to tell me, if you wanted to tell me, did you want to tell me... [His voice is still strained, but it's quieting down, sliding in and out of tune with the music around him. The slurring is becoming more apparent.] You're still not telling me about them. I'm not stupid, you know. I'm not that stupid, even though I didn't get to go... [To high school, he means. He didn't understand most of the stuff Mitani's friends were talking about, but he's on a winning streak right now, so that has to count for something.] If it's bad, it's bad... and if it's good, then it's good... s'what I wanted to tell you. I know they meant a lot to you and it'll be, whatever it ends up being, it'll be okay. It'll be okay.

[He used to think Akira could do no wrong, literally, but he's since learned that Akira is a human being. What a revelation: Touya Akira is a human being.]

Akira, it's going to be okay. I wanted you to call me so I could tell you that. But I'm calling you so I can tell you that.

[ashlar]

[Hikaru does sound like he's having a nightmare. Like it would be a relief to find that right now isn't real. Akira thinks of that because he thinks of a time when Hikaru's voice was kind of like this: they were nine and ten, it was November, and they'd been planning a sleepover. Hikaru got sick. It wasn't so bad, he insisted, and neither of them wanted to cancel with each other. So Akira was ferried over to the Shindou home, and Hikaru demanded that his mother let them be for the evening, and they tucked away in the bedroom, determined to have fun. But Hikaru was flushed, and he fell asleep early, and then Akira could hardly sleep himself, for worry. Hikaru was sweating, and his face felt awful to touch, and he kept mumbling. His voice sounded so thick and damp, a marsh of the throat, his tongue unwieldy. When he said Akira's name, shifting helplessly beneath his blankets, Akira got really scared. He did the responsible thing, and went to find Shindou-san, and then his mother had to come and get him. And he didn't know what would have been most frightening: leaving Hikaru, like he had to, or listening to him talk like that any more.

So Hikaru says his name, tonight, and it sounds like the memory Akira has of that fever—like Hikaru's face is hot, like his mouth is hard to navigate. He's saying it's okay, like he did as a child, and he means it like he did then, too. For all the fears Akira has learned, for all his fearing of what Hikaru says and does, he knows Hikaru means this. He looks down at his knees, through the spaces between his fingers.] I know you're not stupid, [he says, sounding startled.] I know that. [That's what he answers, because it's the most stupefying part. Hikaru is always talking about his alleged stupidity, even though he should know Akira doesn't think that of him. Akira has said as much before, hasn't he, so Hikaru should know...

Akira moans a little, into a sigh, rubbing hard at one side of his brow. He's trying to get his bearings. Just because he's awake doesn't mean Hikaru has started to make sense.] It's not that. I just... I just... They went all right. They went fine. They're... [This actually would be easier over text. It's not enough for Akira's face to go unseen; he wants to hide his voice, as well. Because he means to sound accusatory when he says,] What, Hikaru, did you get in over your head with Mitani's friends? Did you drink too much and decide to call me in the middle of the night? [It should be the kind of thing he says as a slight, a taunt to tell Hikaru how poorly he's behaving. Instead, it sounds kind of wounded, like he might really be worried about it.]

[protential]

[In tipping back the can of beer, Hikaru realizes it's completely empty, and he lets it clatter to the floor and roll away. He could use something more to drink, as parched as he's feeling, but he's also feeling too heavy to do more than sit here and hold the phone to his ear. It wouldn't be so bad, he thinks, if he could listen to Akira's voice for the rest of the night. Akira could say more things like, I know you're not stupid, as if that's the truth, as if Akira isn't just trying to calm him down. It wouldn't be so bad. He tries to laugh about it, but it comes across as a choking sound, an abortion of sound itself, the saddest thing ever.] You're saying that to me, but then you're always acting like I'm the idiot... [But he didn't call Akira to argue with him about random, meaningless shit. As stupid as he is, as insensitive, and easily irritated, he didn't call Akira in the middle of the night in order to harass him.] You think I don't know what you're doing, when you do that thing, with the other thing, but I know what you're trying to do...

["All right." "Fine." Akira's exams went "all right," they went "fine," so Hikaru can take a deep breath and let it all out again, relieved, alleviated. If things went "all right" and they went "fine," then why didn't Akira say so that much sooner? Why did he have to be so weird about it? He's always doing weird things, like that thing he does with his hair, his fingers, where he tucks back his hair and then bites his bottom lip. It's the sort of thing a schoolgirl does to get attention, not direct at all--and then he gets mad whether Hikaru ignores it or asks if Akira's gotten his hair cut recently. It makes Hikaru feel like a stupid moron, every time.]

Mmm, that's good. That's really good, and that means it's going to be okay. It would've been okay to have it any other way, but if they're all right, then you should be all right, too, so... [He leans his head back against the wall, his shoulders dropping, too loose.] I'm not getting in over my head, [he grouses, then, his focus waning, slipping into the next topic.] And it's not like I'm drinking too much. I know how much I can drink and I'm not drinking too much, and I decided to call you 'cause I wanted to call you--I was just thinking about you when I did it. I've been thinking about you all night long. All night, and then some. [He was thinking he'd rather be playing Go with Akira than sitting stranded at a party with a bunch of people he doesn't care about.] My mom's going to kill me when she finds out, though. Not about the thinking, but about the drinking, heh. She's gonna skin me alive and... and hang me out to dry like that. So if that's how it is, I'm really shit for brains...

[All in all, Akira doesn't need to remind him that he's behaving poorly.]

Akira, listen... Are you listening? Listen, you can have my goban when I'm gone. The stones, too. But the manga collection's going with me, if you're wondering, if you want to know. [Hikaru tries laughing again, like this is a very funny joke, and not incredibly morbid. If his mom doesn't kill him, there's a decent chance he'll wander into traffic, anyway, in this state, and then he'll be out of everybody's hair for good. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad, either. Akira wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night just to talk to his lonely ass.] My grandpa bought that for me--the goban, not the manga. Obviously. That's like, obvious... so you have to treat it good.

[ashlar]

[All Hikaru's talking, his breathing and his slurs, bring Akira to bite down hard, harsh, on his bottom lip. He works the edges of his front teeth into his skin, trying to keep from breathing in too sharply. You think I don't know, says Hikaru, and Akira's face burns like a fire alarm. Like an actual, physical alarm... It's guilt. But I know, says Hikaru, and Akira's teeth threaten to cut into his lip. All the ways he's thought about Hikaru, all that he's imagined, all he wishes to needle after—he feels guilty. He feels fucked up to want all he's spent this time wanting. It never feels that fucked up in the moment, when he's tucking back his hair or making a show of playing with his lips. But when Hikaru says he knows, and Akira looks back upon all the thoughts he's scared of Hikaru knowing, it definitely feels fucked up. Akira can't compare it to being caught lying or stealing or sneaking by his parents, since he's never been caught doing those things. This is a guilt previously unidentified.

He feels crazy for it. Like he might actually be kind of crazy, huddled in his futon, covering his face. What if his parents came in? They wouldn't, they'd have no reason to, they never enter his bedroom at night, but what if they did? How would he explain the expression on his face, or the way he shields that expression with stiff fingers? How would he explain the thoughts he's having? Well, nobody knows those, so it should be fine, but Hikaru knows them, so...] Hikaru, [he says, just once, terribly quiet, just terrible in its quietness... He keeps listening. Hikaru's reassurances feel like a bed of nails; Hikaru's thoughts feel like an invitation to lie down upon that bed of nails. Akira hasn't the tranquility, he knows, to keep from being prickled through. He thinks about telling Hikaru that he's ridiculous, that he could have come over if he was thinking so much about Akira. His bottom lip feels raw, by now, for all the rolling between his teeth. He rubs at one of his eyes and tries to breathe in without it shaking.

Hikaru's attempt at laughter, at levity, sends all strings tight: Akira doesn't have to keep from shaking when he has gone rigid as the dead. His jaw locks into place and his lungs feel like heavy crystal.] What? [he asks, without realizing he was going to ask it.] What are you talking about? [His hand drops low, until he can press it against his stomach. That's stupid, it's such a stupid thing to do, but he presses his hand against his stomach and grimaces when he feels its solidity. It feels, it really felt, like somebody had taken a trowel and scooped his abdomen hollow. It's not cold, and it's not painful, it just feels concave and starkly empty.] What are you even talking about? Like that—don't say things like that, what are you saying? Hikaru, I... [He tries to wrench himself out of his own confusion, hoping to insert himself into Hikaru's, as if he can tune into this frightening, nonsensical wavelength.] If Grandpa got it for you, it's special. It's yours. Why don't you... [He doesn't want to say this, because he doesn't want to get out of bed. He doesn't want to uncurl himself or leave the comfort of his own limbs.] Why don't you tell me where you are, all right?

[protential]

[Hikaru is too stupid to know when he should give up, so he keeps trying to laugh at himself--and he does about as well as a wind chime with most of its pipes missing. The hot nausea that ripples through him afterward doesn't make it any easier to deal with what he's thinking about. But he's still thinking about it, about all the things he should've thought about a lot sooner, so he wouldn't have wasted so much of Akira's time and attention. Honestly, he must be pretty delusional because he thinks Akira sounds kind of concerned right now. There's no reason for him to be asking where Hikaru is--] I told you, I'm at a party with Mitani's friends-- [unless he's concerned about it, or maybe he's getting ready to rat out Hikaru to his parents. He has never done that to him before, though. He never told anybody about the smoking, even though he could've a hundred times over, even when it would've been well-deserved revenge. So Akira is asking because he wants to know, and he wants to know because he wants to... do something about it? That is ridiculous. At this time of night, the trains have stopped running; Akira would have a hell of a time getting over here on foot.]

Listen, listen to me, okay, I'm just saying... [Forget his mom. Forget the drinking. Forget all of that.] I'm just saying that's why it'd never work. [From broken wind chimes to clogged storm drains, Hikaru sounds like a natural disaster that's come and gone.] I'm going to keep being me, and you're going to keep being you, and we're... we're so different now. I wasn't around when you decided all this shit, and you've got all this shit going on, so you shouldn't even want to--god, I don't know why you want someone like me. [Subtext can't stay subtext when Hikaru is this drunk. He doesn't remember the first thing about subtlety or tact or shame or anything.] I'm just gonna fuck it up again. That's what I'm saying. I've been fucking up everything else-- [Frustrated, he bursts out with:] Akira, I did all the fuckin' math for it, and, like, if I win every Oteai for the next year, I might receive a promotion. I might. That's the kinda hole I'm stuck in, and it's all mine. All my fault. That's what I'm talking about. That's what I am. So it'd be easier if I just... [If he just went to the Kanda River and jumped in with no intention of ever climbing back out.]

I don't know. I don't know. I just know there's no way you'd come all the way over to Kobinata Park--holy shit, you'd have to be crazy to do that. Maybe you're a little crazy but you're not that crazy... [His voice is thinner, about as thin as pond scum, when he says,] I'm a little crazy, too. I think you're driving me a little crazy. [As far confessions as go, there can't be one that's even more pathetic than this.] I know it wouldn't work at all and I still wanted to see you, I wanted to be there, with you, but you didn't call, so I couldn't ask, and I couldn't tell you it'd be okay, either, and I just... I was just so mad about it, and then I realized it's always a shitshow with me, always, always such shit. You've got enough shit going on without my shit on top of it. [He wouldn't be surprised to find out Akira hung up on him halfway through that diatribe, by the way.]