[Just because Hikaru doesn't touch him in a certain way doesn't mean Akira isn't beautiful. That's the hell of it--Akira is beautiful, unfortunately beautiful, stupidly so, throwing a wrench in everything and changing everything because of it. Hikaru can't pinpoint exactly when Akira went from boyishly cute to drop-dead gorgeous, but it might've been after having too many glasses of wine at one of those formal events. His colleagues were plying him with drinks, all for social camaraderie or whatever, when Hikaru lifted his heavy head and noticed Akira staring at him from across the room. Akira, newly thirteen, had this look of unvarnished yearning on his face, like he would have done anything to join Hikaru at the concessions... Hikaru was seeing double a little bit there, but he couldn't deny Akira's finer features and what an attractive sight they made. Much like he can't hope to deny them right now, as he's finishing off this glass of wine, and he's already pouring himself another. All caution thrown to the wind, it seems. He'd swear on his mother's life he isn't that much of a lightweight, but the fact remains he's feeling all warm and hazy at the edges, just at the edges, just enough to know Akira's a beautiful person.]
For a little while, huh...
[It feels good to know Akira knows he's been working very hard. It shouldn't feel this good when Akira is the student, and he's the teacher, and he shouldn't need his student's approval, but he's always interested in Akira's approval anyway. Akira looks like he could put any high-class fashion model to shame with his sharp cheekbones and glossy black hair, but he's actually the Go world's next big fucking deal. Undoubtedly the biggest thing of his generation. Like his father before him, a force of nature made real. Hikaru knows it's only a matter of time before Akira surpasses him in every which way. Hikaru knows he should value the time he has with Akira before Akira moves on to bigger and better things. Quietly, he says,] Yeah, we could do that. [He says,] I think I'd like to do that. [He smiles at nothing, ducking his head to a degree. His lips slide against the rim of his glass, nerveless for a moment, before they press together and allow him to take another long drink.] Seeing as you've joined the Honinbou League, I should be doing more to prepare for you.
[Playing Akira, in the beginning... He exhales, adding a glaze of condensation to the glass. His shoulders loosen and relax, and so does his lower back, which is more so an impossible knot of stress at any other time. In the beginning, when he played Akira, it was fun and all that, but it was also a really good way to settle his nerves. Akira may not have been his equal in skill, but he was serious, and he was earnest; most importantly, he was familiar. He was innocent, too, driven by purest love for the game, and for his teacher, who taught him about the game that he loved. But then somewhere along the way Akira stopped being satisfied with that. Their games could still be a refuge, sure, an intimate place to return to, intensely familiar even when fraught... but nowadays they act as a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. It's natural, he told himself then, and he's telling himself now. Akira wants to be seen as a threat, not a novelty. It still kind of sucks that every game has to be a struggle for dominance like that. He's already tired. He's already just...
The Honinbou League, though. Hikaru will never forget the day Akira successfully fought his way into the Honinbou League, humiliating an older pro who'd been trying for years to do the very same thing. Just recalling the kifu is making Hikaru feel warmer, closer to hot, even sweaty, and he uses the inside of his wrist to wipe at his forehead. Every single one of Akira's moves from that game felt like a call-out. No one else has ever forced Shindou Honinbou to confront his own mortality.
And Akira shouldn't have to wait for the Room of Profound Darkness to get the games he wants, right?]
No handicap, [Hikaru says, then, before he even fully decides on what he's saying.] If it's okay with you, we don't have to play with a handicap this weekend. You can show me what you're, uhm... capable of.
no subject
For a little while, huh...
[It feels good to know Akira knows he's been working very hard. It shouldn't feel this good when Akira is the student, and he's the teacher, and he shouldn't need his student's approval, but he's always interested in Akira's approval anyway. Akira looks like he could put any high-class fashion model to shame with his sharp cheekbones and glossy black hair, but he's actually the Go world's next big fucking deal. Undoubtedly the biggest thing of his generation. Like his father before him, a force of nature made real. Hikaru knows it's only a matter of time before Akira surpasses him in every which way. Hikaru knows he should value the time he has with Akira before Akira moves on to bigger and better things. Quietly, he says,] Yeah, we could do that. [He says,] I think I'd like to do that. [He smiles at nothing, ducking his head to a degree. His lips slide against the rim of his glass, nerveless for a moment, before they press together and allow him to take another long drink.] Seeing as you've joined the Honinbou League, I should be doing more to prepare for you.
[Playing Akira, in the beginning... He exhales, adding a glaze of condensation to the glass. His shoulders loosen and relax, and so does his lower back, which is more so an impossible knot of stress at any other time. In the beginning, when he played Akira, it was fun and all that, but it was also a really good way to settle his nerves. Akira may not have been his equal in skill, but he was serious, and he was earnest; most importantly, he was familiar. He was innocent, too, driven by purest love for the game, and for his teacher, who taught him about the game that he loved. But then somewhere along the way Akira stopped being satisfied with that. Their games could still be a refuge, sure, an intimate place to return to, intensely familiar even when fraught... but nowadays they act as a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. It's natural, he told himself then, and he's telling himself now. Akira wants to be seen as a threat, not a novelty. It still kind of sucks that every game has to be a struggle for dominance like that. He's already tired. He's already just...
The Honinbou League, though. Hikaru will never forget the day Akira successfully fought his way into the Honinbou League, humiliating an older pro who'd been trying for years to do the very same thing. Just recalling the kifu is making Hikaru feel warmer, closer to hot, even sweaty, and he uses the inside of his wrist to wipe at his forehead. Every single one of Akira's moves from that game felt like a call-out. No one else has ever forced Shindou Honinbou to confront his own mortality.
And Akira shouldn't have to wait for the Room of Profound Darkness to get the games he wants, right?]
No handicap, [Hikaru says, then, before he even fully decides on what he's saying.] If it's okay with you, we don't have to play with a handicap this weekend. You can show me what you're, uhm... capable of.