but it's hard not to notice his presence when his presence becomes everything.

[protential]

[Somewhere between the fourth and fifth floors, Hikaru has to stop and catch her breath. She doesn't want to stop--she's possessed with the idea that she can't stop until she reaches the very top, and gets out onto the roof proper--but having a very sedentary profession is kind of a problem. More of a problem than she might've thought. Her entire body feels drenched with sweat, and the coursing adrenaline from earlier can't carry her any farther than this. It's actually disgusting, the way her clothing clings to her hips, and her breasts, and it's all smeared down her back, rapidly cooling off. She shivers, groaning into the palm of her hand. If someone else were here in this stairwell, they'd probably think there's a noisy ghost or something haunting the place. A ghost with...

Hikaru's hands are empty, she realizes. That isn't good. Really, if she dropped the fan on the way up here, she'll have to go back down and get it... She'll have to do that. But something stronger, deeper, darker, more like a riptide than a suggestion, is telling her to keep going. She grits her teeth against a fresh wave of despair, then pulls herself up another step, another two steps, three. Anything to get away from where she came from. Standing there at the awards ceremony was one of the most humiliating things she's ever had to do. It was like that nightmare where she shows up for school buck naked, with everyone staring at her, laughing at her, revolted by her, except this was very real and the stakes couldn't have been higher. Her decision to leave the ballroom early felt liberating for all of five seconds before it just felt like she was running away like a coward.

She reaches the landing of the fifth floor before it's too much, too much on her calves, her ankles, and she has to sit down. The wheeze of her breathing becomes its own laughter, quiet and helpless, rising and falling in pitch. If she doesn't hurry up, Touya's going to come find her; Touya's gonna beat the shit out of her. Maybe not physically, but... There is no end. Fine words, very fine words, but Touya's got to be as disappointed as anybody else--even more disappointed, after she allowed Hikaru to take her place as first board. Hikaru didn't play a game anywhere near worthy of Sai, much less the first board position, much less Touya Akira herself. Touya's got to be out for blood right now.

Then: an approach of footsteps, somewhere down below. The granite echo makes them harder to pinpoint, which also makes them more terrifying.] Please, [Hikaru whispers, and she doesn't know what she's praying for, much less who she's praying to when she does it. All of her prayers over the board amounted to nothing, right?

She buries her face in her hands, then. It's the only thing she can think to do.]

Comments

[protential]

[Finally, Hikaru knows what she wants to say in response. It's important. It's there in the tremble of her lips, the curling of her tongue--it tastes sour, and sharp, like she's biting directly into a lemon. Looking up at Touya, she's never wanted to say it more than she does right now: You wouldn't have noticed me if not for Sai. Touya doesn't know that she's swearing fealty to stolen valor and a pathological liar. She doesn't know the first thing about it. All of her fine feelings would evaporate as soon as she found out...] You make it sound like we're about to swear a blood oath or something, [Hikaru says quietly.] Like you're gonna prick our fingers and get us all mixed up in each other. [She tilts her head to a rueful degree, but somehow she's still smiling--even with that horrible flavor in her mouth. She's too much of a coward to tell Touya the truth.] You're pretty lucky I'm not all that squeamish, you know.

[Regardless, she isn't expecting Touya to bend down and scoop up her shoes like that, but that's what she's doing, and then there's a splash of warmth across Hikaru's cheeks. It's princely, that's what it is, for Touya to do something like that. It's chivalrous and stuff. Now she's staring right at Touya, and Touya isn't even looking back at her, not anymore. Then Touya does look at her, and she offers her hand, too, which couldn't be more inviting, in spite of everything. Hikaru folds her fingers around Touya's before she can think twice about it. She finds the strength to stand up again--with a little bit of Touya's help, admittedly. In her other hand, she clutches the fan and the handkerchief, protective of them both.]

My room. Yeah. All right, then... [Without high heels, Hikaru really notices how much taller Touya is when they're standing together. It's annoying before it's humbling, but it's likewise a touch alluring, to think of where her head would fit if Touya wanted to hold her. They take the steps down one at a time, all the way down to the landing of the third floor--and they're still holding hands. Hikaru doesn't have time to wonder about that when Touya fearlessly opens the door to the third floor hallway, and Hikaru almost digs her heels in--almost--in a moment of intense dread. But when she enters the hallway, too, she looks back and forth, on high alert, and she finds... nothing. No reporters, no cameras, no Kurata-san with steam coming out of his ears, no officials from the Nihon Ki-in with a lecture on unsporting behavior--just an ugly red carpet and the scent of cleaning fluid. Nobody's here. Hikaru allows herself to be led down the hall, all the way to her room, to Touya's room, since they're located side by side.

She looks over at Touya. They're still holding hands.

Again, that sour taste in her mouth...]

Do you want to come in?

[Hikaru seems closer to defiance when she asks that, like she's daring Touya to reject her, even though she wouldn't blame Touya for being sick of her by now. (Last night, Hikaru kept straining her ears, hoping to catch any and every sound from Touya's room. Footsteps, maybe, or a cough, or just some evidence that Touya still existed.) (Hikaru can't stand it when things get too quiet and still, and she's reminded of how alone she is.) (She can't fucking stand it.)]

[ashlar]

[At an angle of regret, the curve of Shindou's cheek reminds Akira of a peach: easily bruised, with a softness not to be wasted. Akira wishes it were curving against her hand. She wishes she could find out how tangible Shindou's smile might be. She thinks she might be wishing, now, that she could prick their fingers, that they could get all mixed up in each other. How's that for tangibility. But it's been some time since Touya Akira has been more than a concept, a collection of aspirations. So instead, she tells Shindou,] I don't need blood to swear by. [She talks like a suffocating velvet.] As long as you can look at me without being squeamish, I can swear by standing right here. [It's got the potential to smother someone, and the potential to draw out some sweat. She'll swear by her own body, all the blood inside, so she can show Shindou how sturdy she is. She'll pull Shindou upright, the weight of her a satisfying thing, and the presence of her body also allows for the meeting of their eyes. This much is worthy of composing an oath.

They walk down to the third floor, down to Shindou's room. The walk isn't so frantic, this time, no slippery chafe from running in her loafers, no bloated heart sabotaging her gait. Instead, unrelenting, she takes her time in chaperoning Shindou down through every stairwell. Her strides are even, consistent, and hopefully comforting in that, even though there's a secret strain to her thighs that makes her legs feel shaky. That's the downside to tangibility, she supposes, but hopefully she can hide that much. She leads Shindou into the third floor hallway. There aren't any reporters here, but Akira still wants to carry herself in a way that shows Shindou she would have run off anyone who might have come. She wants Shindou to look at the tilt of her chin and know that she would have eaten any of them with hard teeth.

But she loses the bulk of her enamel, once they reach Shindou's door. She passes her own room easily, ready to cling to Shindou's door frame, neglecting her own; but at least there's refuge to be taken in the curl of Shindou's hand. She knows it's shameful in the instant she feels it, because Shindou is the one requiring refuge, and Akira is the one who gives it. But she finds it here regardless: in Shindou's hand, damp and strong and soft, its nearness allowing for the matching of their strides, its willingness to let Akira hold it. Akira doesn't want to be rid of it. She doesn't want Shindou's door frame to be all that's left to cling to.

Shindou's dare would be the sort to make Akira blush, if Akira allowed herself to do that kind of thing. Anxiously, she wonders if she's blushing anyway; it's already too late to keep herself from sucking in half a breath through parted lips. She does want to come in, and it's got to be showing on her face. But it's hard to admit this. It's hard to confess to it. It's too hard to confess. So she says it like this:] May I? [And she is quiet, and she is worried, and she is hopeful. All that is clear in her own hand and its refusal to yield: as pliant as her fingers have been in cradling Shindou's, they're just as much as amber, holding fast and forever. She doesn't feel willing to release Shindou into her room and away into an abstract fate. If she did that, she might not catch Shindou again. It would simply be bad strategy, to let her go.]

[protential]

[Velvet can be suffocating, and it has the potential to draw out some sweat, but it's also very soft, just the softest thing around for miles and miles. The quality of Touya's voice, the heat and the texture of it, is something Hikaru so wants to wrap herself up in. It's like being swaddled in layers--and Hikaru has always preferred being hot to being cold--to have Touya making all these declarations and demands in her direction. It's like she wants to start crying all over again as she absorbs every word. If she did cry, maybe Touya would take it upon herself to wipe her tears away, instead of leaving it to the handkerchief. Maybe Touya would scold her for being so distraught over a single game, but it'd feel really good to know Touya doesn't want her to cry. Standing outside the door to her hotel room, Hikaru has to use the inside of her wrist to rub at her eyes, just in case, just in case. She has to stiffen her throat and pay very close attention to how she's speaking, so there's not so much a sad, saddening quaver to her voice.] Yeah, [she says.] You might as well. [And she says it like it's no big deal, like her heart isn't clenching inside her chest, like her mouth isn't the vague and unfulfilled shape of wanting something she doesn't deserve. She's too stupid to be Touya's rival, much less her friend, much less anything more than that. She's the moron here. The complete idiot. Always, always talking about things she doesn't know...

After some one-handed juggling with the fan and handkerchief, Hikaru retrieves a key card from the inner breast pocket of her blazer. Then she's unlocking the door, leading them both inside, and her room doesn't look any different from anybody else's, really. The bed is neatly made--it's neat to the point of being sterile, as if Hikaru didn't sleep in it last night. (She couldn't sleep. She was afraid to fall asleep.) Her backpack is sitting up near the headboard, braced by the pillows. There's a yellow binder positioned beside it, too, already open, revealing a wealth of kifu--Hikaru wants to throw it out the window. She intended to win her game against Korea and come up here to record it, religious in her fervor, but now... The door clicks shut and she exhales shakily, now that they're alone for real. It's gloomy in here. The curtains are mostly drawn, but the sun is bright enough to stain the room and then its occupants a sort of ruddy color. It reminds Hikaru of an old photograph, all washed out and sepia. She feels washed out herself. Like ever since Sai left her behind, all the color in the world has been steadily draining away.]

What if... [She should go and wash the makeup off of her face, but the prospect of letting go of Touya's hand, or stepping out of her line of sight, is an unbearable one, now. How frustrating. Less than ten minutes ago, all she wanted was to run away, as far and as fast as she could...] What if we just lay down for a little bit, and no one would come and bother us, and we could stay like that for a bit. Just a little bit. Just long enough to... [Long enough for today to stop being the fifth of May.] Tomorrow, I'm going to have to deal with it, but right now... I don't want to think about it, Touya. Today was--ahh, a really bad day, to begin with, and then... [Belatedly, Hikaru realizes she's saying a bunch of stuff that probably doesn't matter and Touya always hates it when she says useless stuff like this. Her jaw clenches, then relaxes, and the same thing happens to the muscles of her neck, flexing painfully. Then her head's all weak and falling forward, falling into Touya's shoulder, forehead to well-ironed fabric. It's the only thing keeping her from falling all the way down to the ground.] I don't think I've ever been this tired, [she confesses, then.]

[ashlar]

[Vagueness isn't good enough. It feels at least as unfulfilling as it looks. Akira bites her bottom lip, and then she tells herself not to do that, not to let it play across her face in such a pinch of flesh. She inhales through her nose, slow and deep enough to make her kind of dizzy, vision edging into white just so. It's so common a side effect of stress that she doesn't really register it; she just flutters her eyelashes through the head rush, and squeezes Shindou's hand before she means to. The vague shape of Shindou's mouth isn't good enough for Akira to admit all she has behind her teeth, lying in wait behind the way her teeth press into her lip. If Shindou's mouth held a curve Akira could identify, maybe...

Their hands have fit together in such a way as to be perfect. Akira realized that a while ago. She has felt the ridges of Shindou's knuckles and the sturdiness of her palm. This is what it should be like, to hold somebody's hand. When she shifts out of their shared grasp, it's only so she can rearrange herself and actually clasp their fingers together. Well, she thinks, what do you know. There's quiet but such heavy marvel to the way she squeezes into that interlocking of their fingers. Shindou said, You might as well, but that's not good enough. Surely she can tell, now, just as well as Akira can tell, that the two of them are meant for utter alignment. This is what it should be like, to hold somebody's hand: the shapes of their fingers mingling, overlapping one another, angles all changing but none of them vague. Akira takes another breath. If the room is spinning, a tilt-a-whirl through thick syrup, she'll blame it on all the failings of oxygen.

She bends her knees, then, to lean down, to set down Shindou's pretty heels onto the floor, and then she straightens up again. When she hesitates, she makes sure not to stay still: she's continuously grasping Shindou's hand as if winding deep like tree roots, like weeds. They're only hand to hand, just inches' worth of skin for each of them, but Akira isn't seeking minimalism. Little bits aren't something Akira typically approves of—not little bits of good, not little bits of bad. It's all or nothing and more than that: if she cannot excessively succeed, she will collect her quota of excess in failures. If they were to lie down together—Akira's breast is clenched tight with panic and some other things—what would it mean, a little bit?

She toes off her own shoes.

The most frightening part of Shindou's face, of seeing it like this, is its familiarity. It could have looked just the same under fluorescent lights, awful in their strength and clarity. It could have carried with it a tranquilizing chill, a smell just like the snapping sound of latex gloves. Akira remembers her father lying in his hospital bed, looking thin, looking unnaturally thin, looking thin in the way one looks through the exhaustion of nearly dying. His head was against his pillow and he rolled it so his face turned away from his daughter. The curve of it was poor and sallow. Akira hadn't given her father a kiss or gotten a kiss from him since she was very, very small, but that day in the hospital, she made him let her touch his forehead, his temple...

Shindou's head feels really heavy against her. Unexpectedly heavy. Holding her is another exercise in refusing to buckle. But Akira does refuse, and she does hold Shindou, and in doing so, she realizes Shindou isn't truly all that heavy. It's the affection and the worry together inside Akira that cling like greedy weights. It's an act of measurement, when she sets her lips to Shindou's hair. She isn't—she isn't kissing Shindou, you know, it isn't that. Her mouth is just there; Shindou's soft, sweet hair is just there. She wants to see how much weight Shindou is carrying. Her hand guides up, and she touches the side of Shindou's neck, its tension, a migraine in the making. She smooths her thumb along a line of muscle.] Don't do that. [She's stern and she's soft. Her hand moves around to the back of Shindou's neck, beneath her hair, against her hairline. There's a lot of heat back there.] Look. You're going to make yourself start crying again. You have to stop doing that, or... [And she's so inappropriately right, isn't she, always having to tell a person what's what... Her tongue stalls, and she has respect enough to blush in her own shame, even unseen.] It'll hurt you, [she tries to explain, her voice just a bit of a creak. She doesn't want that. She wants Shindou to know she doesn't want that.

Tomorrow, they're going to have to deal with it. Tonight, Akira wants desperately to keep the headache at bay. She touches carefully behind Shindou's ear.] We could stay like that for a bit, [she says, just as carefully. The enunciation of her tongue is delicate and self-conscious.] Until you're not so tired. I could do that for you, [lying down, lying in bed, just a little bit—she bites the inside of her cheek, and tries:] with you.

[It shouldn't feel like she's baring herself, to lead Shindou, by the hand, to the edge of the sterile bed.]

[protential]

[This is the closest they have ever been, ever, and Hikaru doesn't know why she isn't satisfied with it. She doesn't know why she can't be satisfied with everything Touya has already given her. Having Touya's fingers interwoven with her own--that should be more than enough to satiate her, this chance to hold hands with the smartest, most talented person in the whole world. She shouldn't ask for more than this after how badly she fucked up in the tournament. And Touya has these beautiful hands, you know, that look like they were carved out of marble, like they're going to be cold and hard and unyielding, but it turns out they're anything but. Just the brush of fingers at Hikaru's neck draws the softest half-gasp out of her throat in response. She sounds like she's being tickled in slow motion, and her body seems to shift fully with the possibility, flinching away and then back in. She squirms. (She wants more of it.) It's already starting to hurt her head to think of Touya being willing to touch her like this. Touya's fingers, so carefully crafted, would be made better with fine silks and irreplaceable jewelry. There's nothing to be gained from stroking a bottom-feeder like Shindou Hikaru.]

You don't have to, [Hikaru mumbles.

But this really is the closest they've ever been to each other. They've sat on the same side of the board, studying kifu, and they've grazed fingertips while exchanging captured stones, and one time Hikaru picked a stray leaf out of Touya's hair when it got caught on a windy autumn day... but this is something completely different. There's little else to focus on beyond what Touya is doing to her, and why Touya shouldn't have to do it, and how much Hikaru doesn't deserve to have it done in the first place.]

You've done so much already, so it's not like you have to... You don't have to do anything for me, or with me... [She might be cringing against Touya's shoulder, ashamed of herself, of her wants and her needs. Even so, she doesn't stop Touya from leading her over to the edge of the bed, and she doesn't stop herself from dropping the fan and Touya's handkerchief onto the bedspread. Strangely, she feels as though she's stuck on autopilot, like she can't choose what's she's going to do next. She starting to feel disconnected from her own fucking body, except for the places Touya is touching and keeping anchored to reality.

She looks up at Touya, bleary-eyed, and now she has no idea what might be showing on her face, in the shape of her mouth, whatever. She's tired, yeah. She's exhausted. She wants to sleep for a little bit. But even though she's telling Touya she doesn't have to, at all, the tenacity of her fingers and the dark quality of her eyes suggest otherwise. Her heart likely wouldn't forgive Touya for leaving her alone right now. Even though Touya should be screaming at her, and telling her to find a new rival, she wouldn't be able to forgive it... The comforter is only the first blanket on a typical hotel bed, but she doesn't need to peel back any more than that. She's the first to climb under it, too, with Touya following after her, and it's neither too warm nor too cold an arrangement. They're still holding hands, which would be kind of awkward if Hikaru didn't insist on having it just as much. This is like what a couple of chaste lovers would do, just lying in bed side by side, just holding hands. Just resisting every temptation to explore. But Hikaru still isn't satisfied with any of it: Touya barely has a chance to get settled in before Hikaru's turning onto her side, facing Touya, ruddy and withdrawn in the room's dim light. Then she's tilting over that much more, nestling in and against Touya properly, a fledgling in hiding from harsh, bitter winds.

Then she says,] I'm sorry I lost that game, [and her voice is rough, and it's raw, like she could start crying again if she gave in. She isn't saying she's sorry because she feels bad about it--which she does--or because she let down her team--which she did--but because she took away an important game from Touya herself. She owes Touya a personal apology for every last moku that went wrong, and that's what this is, that's what she's saying, one painful syllable at a time.]