[Adulthood has been right in front of Akira for—it feels like so long. Just before him, but just out of reach, too. Still too far away, when Hikaru has touched the top of his head like a boy instead of someone beautiful. When he has watched Hikaru be pulled toward the bar concessions at formal events, and when he couldn't follow after. When Waya 6-dan asked Hikaru if he'd ever make time for, you know, dating, you know? And Akira was standing right next to him. He was thirteen then, and he still hasn't forgiven Waya for that. He still hasn't forgiven himself for waiting so long to be born. That absolution needs to come from Hikaru himself.
Anyway, Akira feels like he could imagine satisfaction, when he drinks something he shouldn't be drinking. And he could imagine satisfaction when Hikaru talks about whatever Akira wants. Akira thinks if he could just carry that a little further... He's always looking for further. For furthermost. It doesn't feel vulgar like that, you know. Not to Akira, and it shouldn't feel vulgar to Hikaru. Akira isn't being bought. He's trying harder than anything to prove his worth, to be sought in the first place. Hikaru is stupid if he doesn't know that anything he could buy from Akira, Akira would give him for free. To be coveted is the only down payment he requires.] I can be quiet. [He says this with prim enunciation, and is mindful of his volume in demonstration. The result is a throaty fog, and he's mature enough to keep from sounding sullen.] I know you're working very hard...
[And for that, Akira could sigh such lovesick sighs. In a few months' time, Hikaru will be wresting the Jyudan title away from Ogata Seiji. Akira cannot wait to see the expression on Ogata's face, and he can't wait to see Hikaru putting it there. Just the thought has him nibbling absently on the end of a chopstick.]
So it sounds good to me. [And he's very brazen in saying this—fifteen years old, no titles to his own name, chipping his way through his generation—but—] If you have the time for it, we could do some studying together. For a little while. [Hikaru is his teacher, but it means Akira has spent most of his life observing and absorbing the way Hikaru plays. All the ways he's played over the years. If Akira is invested in analyzing anyone's adaptability, it's Hikaru's...
Prior to Akira's pro exam, he had demanded that Hikaru play him without a handicap. It was an outrageous request, and it left him utterly humbled. Quite a few times, it did that. But Akira has a belligerent capacity for learning, and he brute forced his skill forward, and the months during which they played those games left Akira strained and sweating, but the result was an exceptionally young boy tearing through all the other hopefuls. All throughout it, Akira never felt more malleable than he did when he passed the exam, took the flowers Hikaru gave him, and hugged Hikaru's waist. He must have been as bright and watery as mercury, then. And just as conducive to electrical currents. The smell of Hikaru, the smell of the congratulatory flowers... You know, the way Hikaru focused on the goban between them granted Akira all of that. If Akira can excel and exceed further, (to the furthest,) he can get more of all those currents, too. He can reach more of the nerves.
While Hikaru studies, this weekend, Akira wants to give him a game he can appreciate. Dinner, and quiet, and a game to make his heart race.] Do your best, [Akira says, a courteous murmur, against the rim of his glass. He's too casual about this wineglass, tonight.]
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Anyway, Akira feels like he could imagine satisfaction, when he drinks something he shouldn't be drinking. And he could imagine satisfaction when Hikaru talks about whatever Akira wants. Akira thinks if he could just carry that a little further... He's always looking for further. For furthermost. It doesn't feel vulgar like that, you know. Not to Akira, and it shouldn't feel vulgar to Hikaru. Akira isn't being bought. He's trying harder than anything to prove his worth, to be sought in the first place. Hikaru is stupid if he doesn't know that anything he could buy from Akira, Akira would give him for free. To be coveted is the only down payment he requires.] I can be quiet. [He says this with prim enunciation, and is mindful of his volume in demonstration. The result is a throaty fog, and he's mature enough to keep from sounding sullen.] I know you're working very hard...
[And for that, Akira could sigh such lovesick sighs. In a few months' time, Hikaru will be wresting the Jyudan title away from Ogata Seiji. Akira cannot wait to see the expression on Ogata's face, and he can't wait to see Hikaru putting it there. Just the thought has him nibbling absently on the end of a chopstick.]
So it sounds good to me. [And he's very brazen in saying this—fifteen years old, no titles to his own name, chipping his way through his generation—but—] If you have the time for it, we could do some studying together. For a little while. [Hikaru is his teacher, but it means Akira has spent most of his life observing and absorbing the way Hikaru plays. All the ways he's played over the years. If Akira is invested in analyzing anyone's adaptability, it's Hikaru's...
Prior to Akira's pro exam, he had demanded that Hikaru play him without a handicap. It was an outrageous request, and it left him utterly humbled. Quite a few times, it did that. But Akira has a belligerent capacity for learning, and he brute forced his skill forward, and the months during which they played those games left Akira strained and sweating, but the result was an exceptionally young boy tearing through all the other hopefuls. All throughout it, Akira never felt more malleable than he did when he passed the exam, took the flowers Hikaru gave him, and hugged Hikaru's waist. He must have been as bright and watery as mercury, then. And just as conducive to electrical currents. The smell of Hikaru, the smell of the congratulatory flowers... You know, the way Hikaru focused on the goban between them granted Akira all of that. If Akira can excel and exceed further, (to the furthest,) he can get more of all those currents, too. He can reach more of the nerves.
While Hikaru studies, this weekend, Akira wants to give him a game he can appreciate. Dinner, and quiet, and a game to make his heart race.] Do your best, [Akira says, a courteous murmur, against the rim of his glass. He's too casual about this wineglass, tonight.]