[Hikaru, watching the daybreak on Akira's face, decides to have another generous swallow of the wine. It's the sort of stuff he hated the first time he tasted it--too stark, too strange, overwhelming the senses. It's the sort of stuff he never expected himself to get used to, especially because it was so strong a symbol of adulthood, just this whole drinking thing, and Hikaru was never in any hurry to grow up. Adulthood seemed like a totally abstract concept for the longest time. And god forbid he ever imagined Akira growing up and becoming an adult, too. He wasn't prepared for the first time Akira came over and poured himself a glass of wine. Even now, he doesn't know how to react to the sight of Akira drinking more of it, swallowing it down, his throat flexing with the subtle effort. Of course Hikaru can still recall the taste of wine when it was something to be shared. Of course he can do that. It was heartier, sweeter, like a promise distilled into liquid form. Honestly, he should have dumped it all down the sink while he still had the chance. They're on the boundary between what they are and what they could be, what they obviously shouldn't be--it won't take many more swallows to push them over it.
But now he's setting down his glass, and he's picking up his bowl of rice and warm tea, bringing it closer to his mouth. He's indelicate as he shovels more food into his mouth; he's agitated; he's anxious, just wanting to get through this meal already. The smile on Akira's face, the slow fall of his eyes, his softening voice, shouldn't be as much of a provocation as it is.] Tomorrow, then. I'll take care of the bill, so... yeah, get whatever you want. [That sounds provocative enough on its own, like he's Akira's papakatsu or some shit. He sighs through his chopsticks at himself, at this whole situation in general.
Akira isn't the only one who's tired, you know. Akira isn't the only one who's exhausted both inside and out. Maybe that's why it's getting harder and harder to deny either of them whatever they want in a given moment. When Akira looks to him for solace, for a tight hug or a nap in a warm bed, Hikaru can't tell him to look elsewhere. Practically from day one, Akira wanted to touch and be touched, to have this tactile comfort, like when he was a fussy little baby who only calmed down in Hikaru's arms, much to the amusement of his parents. Hikaru had been so afraid of dropping Akira by accident, and he's still afraid of doing anything to hurt Akira, physically, emotionally...]
I have some studying of my own to do, [he says, then, placing his bowl on the table. His eyes drift away, down and off to the side, as they do when he's thinking heavier thoughts.] But I'll be there to pick you up, sure. Just expect the weekend to be more of a quiet one. [In a few months' time, he'll be sitting down for the Jyudan title against Ogata Seiji, and he has no intention of coming away empty-handed. There's also another title defense to prepare for, and a few commercial tournaments, and at least one continental team tournament, and so on, and so forth, never-ending.
Ultimately, it's easier to smile than it is to frown, now that Akira is smiling at him. Now that he's eaten his fill of the dinner Akira cooked for him.]
no subject
But now he's setting down his glass, and he's picking up his bowl of rice and warm tea, bringing it closer to his mouth. He's indelicate as he shovels more food into his mouth; he's agitated; he's anxious, just wanting to get through this meal already. The smile on Akira's face, the slow fall of his eyes, his softening voice, shouldn't be as much of a provocation as it is.] Tomorrow, then. I'll take care of the bill, so... yeah, get whatever you want. [That sounds provocative enough on its own, like he's Akira's papakatsu or some shit. He sighs through his chopsticks at himself, at this whole situation in general.
Akira isn't the only one who's tired, you know. Akira isn't the only one who's exhausted both inside and out. Maybe that's why it's getting harder and harder to deny either of them whatever they want in a given moment. When Akira looks to him for solace, for a tight hug or a nap in a warm bed, Hikaru can't tell him to look elsewhere. Practically from day one, Akira wanted to touch and be touched, to have this tactile comfort, like when he was a fussy little baby who only calmed down in Hikaru's arms, much to the amusement of his parents. Hikaru had been so afraid of dropping Akira by accident, and he's still afraid of doing anything to hurt Akira, physically, emotionally...]
I have some studying of my own to do, [he says, then, placing his bowl on the table. His eyes drift away, down and off to the side, as they do when he's thinking heavier thoughts.] But I'll be there to pick you up, sure. Just expect the weekend to be more of a quiet one. [In a few months' time, he'll be sitting down for the Jyudan title against Ogata Seiji, and he has no intention of coming away empty-handed. There's also another title defense to prepare for, and a few commercial tournaments, and at least one continental team tournament, and so on, and so forth, never-ending.
Ultimately, it's easier to smile than it is to frown, now that Akira is smiling at him. Now that he's eaten his fill of the dinner Akira cooked for him.]
Does that sound good to you?