every two people cause an intersection. every person alters the world.

[protential]

Akiiraaaa...

[The train ride from Tokyo to Tamano, even including a layover to switch trains near the end, shouldn't have taken more than five hours total. They set out early that morning, after double- and triple-checking they had everything packed, and they were in pretty high spirits, all told. Then came the delays. As in, more than one delay. As in, it took over an hour just to get on the first train, and then another hour for that train to get moving--what fucking kind of train is late in Japan? There was some huge accident up the line, or down the line, or whatever, and all this other shit was going wrong, too. Anyway, to make a long story short, their five-hour journey ends up taking something like ten goddamn hours, which means they're a pair of frazzled crabs by the time they reach their beachside inn. Originally, they were going to go check out the water, maybe grab a bite to eat, but they just decide to crawl into bed and take a nap instead. Or, in Akira's case, it's more like she's mimicking a piece of driftwood for how stiff and lifeless she is.

Again, Hikaru pushes at Akira's shoulder, still rubbing the sleep from her own eyes. The room is not quite awash with twilight, but it's starting to get there. Out the nearby window, the sun is sinking into the calm, seemingly endless sea, with these great big bands of gold and orange, and even a sheen of green, to announce its passing. There are seagulls circling in the sky, barking at each other. Somebody's yacht is ringing its bell. Akira's steady breaths, though...]

Hey, Akira, [Hikaru says, and she aligns their heads together, so she'll be the first thing Akira sees when Akira finally decides to wake up.] If you don't get up soon, I'm gonna bite you right on the... [She yawns a little.] Right on the nose. [Well, not really. She can't say she's all that upset about their original plans being dashed like this. It's a good thing to have Akira getting some rest right now, since it seemed like she wasn't sleeping at all while over there in China. Stupid idiot.]

Comments

[ashlar]

[Akira has been her own storm front. She is a commander of weather. There's been no lightning strike sent outward--well, she was, you know, stern with a taxi driver, but she hasn't voiced any aggravated regret over coming in the first place. Her bad weather was just the type to leave her stewing in her own humidity, which has made her hair feel disastrous and her clothes feel sticky. When she and Hikaru finally stumbled into their room at the inn, neither of them knew where or how to get their bearings, and Hikaru asked if Akira wanted to just kick back for a while. Akira huffed, and she dropped her bags and shed all her clothes where she stood, down to her underthings. She put herself to bed with all the forceful focus of a woman claiming a prestigious title--yeah, her jaw looks like this when she's determined to win--and then...

Hikaru was beautiful enough to turn on the ceiling fan. Hikaru was beautiful enough to take Akira's head from where it had initially landed--didn't quite catch the pillow, but fell right asleep--and settle her onto something softer. Akira is aware of these things maybe before she's otherwise awake. Hikaru has pushed at her shoulder a few times, now, but that's not what Akira feels first. She can feel the occasional soft stirring of her hair, in the current from the ceiling fan...

Hikaru is the first thing Akira sees, when Akira finally decides to wake up. It does feel like a conscious decision. She could have suspended herself there, if she'd chosen, only aware enough of anything to be comfortable and content. Just the ceiling fan, just the weight of Hikaru's hand. She wouldn't need more than that. But she opens her eyes, and then she flutters them instead, when her eyelashes cling together during that first sleepy blink. She's quiet--not subdued, but submerged. It's the quiet dignity of the Sphinx buried in sand. She'll be very regal once she's out. She catches Hikaru's wrist, then, not in a cobra strike, but like the cool growth of ivy. Then she does speak:]

Bite me.

[And it's with the bottom of her mouth pressed into the tiniest pout, but she isn't being mean. It's almost affectionate--yeah, actually, with the tilt of her head into the pillow, and the softness of her dark eyebrows, she must want to be bitten. She shuts her eyes again, nestling further into that pillow, but it doesn't hide her mouth. Now she's got this little smile. She must think she's funny, or maybe she's self-satisfied. Her thumb is still gently along the heel of Hikaru's palm.]

[protential]

[Akira looks more like a quiet puddle than any sort of downpour, now. She looks like she could keep sleeping and seeping right into the bed. As soon as she wakes up, Hikaru actually regrets doing anything to wake her up. Hikaru should have let her get some more much-needed rest. Yeah, but still: it's a privilege to watch someone as beautiful as Touya Akira wake up. It's like being there to witness a water lily open up its petals in the early morning. She's damp, but she's suspended in it, she's at peace with it, and it's all Hikaru can do to not kiss her right then and there.] Oh, don't tempt me, [says Hikaru, sighing to herself. This is the same warm feeling she gets when she's stayed up all night and she watches the sunrise from her window. The night before Akira returned home from China, Hikaru couldn't sleep at all. It wasn't even an option. She kept on staring at the sky, intense and hawklike, as though she'd be able to see Akira's plane coming in and touching down.

They played each other on the train, of course. They played several games, but their irritability won out in the end. That's something they're going to have to make up for while they're here, no matter the careful planning of their itinerary. Shifting forward, Hikaru makes her first move by nipping at Akira's nose--gently, gently, as gentle as that thumb on her palm--and then lays her head back down. For months, she dreamt about what she'd do to Akira when she had her like this again. For months and months. The reality of it is so much quieter than she thought it would be. She might be smiling, too. She must be smiling.]

You're lucky I didn't take your whole nose off, you know.

[And she cried when she met up with Akira at the airport. She told herself not to cry, not to be a fucking baby about it, but then she saw Akira again and she was just overwhelmed. Her eyes are dry right now, thankfully. They're bright and twinkling a little, a green that could become blue in brighter light. She has to be smiling, and not some little smile, either, because her cheeks are starting to ache from the spread of it.

But she can be pacific, like the water outside:]

Sleep okay?

[ashlar]

[So far as Akira knew, a gasp was a negative thing. For the longest time, she thought that. She thought she was correct. Well, she often does... But it made sense, for gasps to belong to fear and pain. To outrage at best. Akira had gasped in nauseated shock or knife-point anger, but never, before Shindou Hikaru, never had Akira gasped in a syrup-slow happiness... She does that now. Hikaru has taught her how to do that. Hikaru has taught her how to cradle a person with slender forearms and the celebrated precision of her hands.

This gasp, as it lasts, is a hopeful swallow, just one more way Akira wishes to take Hikaru into her. And it's all from being bitten on the nose. Hikaru chides her, and Akira's eyes come back open half of the way. She is as much the dew in her unfurling, all cool but with the reassurance of the coming warmth; all early, but with the reassurance of tomorrow, and tomorrow, and everlasting. What shows of her eyes suggests that. Everlasting hasn't come out of her mouth, but it's gleaming there in her eyes, and it's in the cup of her hand when she takes it to Hikaru's face.] Okay, [she agrees; she slept well, and so wakefulness is kind to her, at last. Hikaru has been saying for ages that Akira needs to sleep and wake up without an alarm, and Hikaru was right. You know, she's right more often than either of them give her credit for, and Akira can admit that much to herself while she strokes beneath Hikaru's eye. These eyes could become blue. They have plenty of time to become blue. Akira will watch them cycle through every color they can. They're dry, right now, but Akira is sweeping beneath one of these eyes so gently that she could be taking tears away. She might be trying to impress her own flowers upon Hikaru's face. I'm here, I'm here, she means--now, she means. That's what this really is: she wants to backtrack, to tend to the times she wasn't there to brush Hikaru's tears away. And she can't do that, the careful touch of her thumb and then her forefinger, without understanding that when Hikaru cried during those times, it was because of Akira.

Her thumb draws down toward the corner of Hikaru's smile, and then to beneath her long-missed mouth.] Did I keep you waiting too long? [she asks quietly, and the potential for another gasp is just inside her mouth. It's the potential for more of that silken joy.] Did you just wake up?

[protential]

[As much as it is a privilege, and a relief, to be here, to watch Akira wake up from her nap, it's also a little bit scary. Hikaru doesn't want to admit to that part of it, though. Her bright smile doesn't indicate she's afraid of anything. But she's feeling nervous for all the small, just infinitesimal things she has noticed so far--just the tiniest things that tell her time has elapsed. Akira was gone for only a few months, no more than a semester abroad, and those months crawled by slower than being trapped in molasses and then getting dipped in a goddamn tar pit. All the same, that time really did go by. Akira's hair is longer than before. Not by much, but it's longer. And her cheeks are thinner. Her throat has more of an elegant hollow to it, and her legs cross over Hikaru's at different angles than they used to. She's getting taller. She's getting older. In another few months, just how different is she going to be? Physically? Mentally? What about another year? Two years? What about five more years, or another ten? Hikaru doesn't want to think about that kind of thing, but she never stops thinking about it. Probably, Akira would chide her for giving it a single thought. Probably, most likely, Akira would tell her "eternal" isn't a word she's using for shits and giggles...

Hikaru didn't plan to linger like this, wrapped up in tenderness, even with Akira's fingertips exploring her face. She wanted to hustle them both out of bed, and get dressed, and get spruced up a little, so they could go grab that bite to eat before it gets too late. But the warmth spreading throughout her chest tells her not to take any of this for granted, especially after waiting for months and months to have it. Her impatience is getting washed away, one inarguable ripple at a time. She's relaxing into the contentment of it, too. They don't have to rush. Don't have to hurry all over the place.

If she could have more of this careful reacquainting, she'd gladly pay for it with more tears.]

Mm, not too long, [says Hikaru, squirming in closer.] I woke up a little while ago, but it hasn't been all that long... [She unbuttoned her blouse earlier on, but she never peeled it off before climbing into bed. Another shift, then, and it's getting dragged down her shoulder, exposing the strap of a ribbon-adorned bra. Pale blue with white accents. Nothing too risqué. (She bought it while Akira was away, wanting it to be a homecoming thing, and she felt pretty stupid about that, afterward. She felt like some helpless girlfriend pining for her lover who had gone off to a great war.)]

I just wanted to see you again. As soon as possible.

[Her voice dips into something more conspiratorial, more intentional, just before she pushes Akira onto her back and then climbs on top of her. That's more like it.]

[ashlar]

[Yes, it has always been easy for Akira to come to love things. According to some, it would sound like a total joke, but love has never forced its way inside her. She loves her mother in a quiet way and has never associated her with anything other than the most steadfast lamplight warmth; she loves and has always loved her father in purest, proudest adoration. She's loved his Go since its earliest presence in her early mornings, mesmerized by his grace in the grey of dawn. She has loved Go itself since her father steadied her back with his broad hand and showed her how to hold stones between her baby-fat fingers. "Why did you choose to place it here, Akira?" "It felt good. It was the most beautiful place to put it." All these loves came easy to her, as natural as the moth's wing quality of her eyelashes. She looks past their dusting into the color of Hikaru's eyes, and the way they always keep her guessing.

Likewise, Hikaru is easy to love. Akira may not say that loving her is easy: it's sometimes frightful for the need it creates, and it sometimes flings her into fury. But it is so easy to love Hikaru, nearly unthinkable not to. Akira inhales while Hikaru squirms, ever seeking one more gulp of this colorful person, this masterwork, landmine of a person--unthinkable not to love her, the restless squirm of her, the slope of her shoulder and the confounding delight of a bra strap against it.

Akira was proud of herself, in China, even as she felt that she was suffering. China was another love that came to her with ease. Everyone was fearsome, and she felt vindicated in baring her own fangs to them. In the same tormented breaths she spent missing Hikaru, she felt noble. As if she had gone off to a great war. For both of us, she thought. She would show China so much, for herself and for Hikaru, who was waiting for her to return in triumph.

Oh, and: the homecoming blue pairs nicely with Hikaru's chest. Akira settles onto her back with a smooth little sigh, with her face turned, pressed into the spread of her own hair. Her eyes are closed while she relishes nothing more than Hikaru's weight above her. Then she opens her eyes and reaches up. Without preamble, she draws open the front of Hikaru's blouse, and pulls it down and away from both shoulders.] So how do I look to you? [she asks, which is not a request for praise, but a demand for attention in general. She looks... like herself. Oh--like an exaggerated version of herself. Like she's been living off green tea and high standards. Her hair is a little bit longer, yes, and her determined legs shift beneath Hikaru at a different length. But this is the same boring white bra she stubbornly picked out with Hikaru early this year. Akira's homecoming lies in her familiarity, in how her hands still remember how and where to hold Hikaru. First she cups her palms against the blue and white fit of Hikaru's bra.] How pretty, [she says. She lets the appreciation strain brightly through her voice. Her praise is deliberate and strident, almost stern for its insistence. She slips her hands away from Hikaru's breasts, down along her sides.] How pretty. Pictures of you aren't fair at all. I felt pleased to have them while you were so far away, but now I'm mad at them.

[protential]

[Hikaru doesn't want to take anything for granted. She doesn't want to overlook anything that's different, or anything that's stayed the same by some miracle. Even though Akira's hands are a little broader, with fingers that might be a little longer, the way Akira touches her isn't noticeably different from before. It feels as undeserved as it did the first time, and the second time, and the third. It feels like a reward for something she didn't actually do. It's the kind of thing that makes her want to, like, stop, you know, just stop and take Akira by the shoulders and have her explain why she wants to be with someone like Shindou Hikaru anyway. Akira's love for her came so easily, apparently, that much is apparent, and Hikaru knows it's never been like that with anybody else. Her mom treats loving her like a hardship, like it's a responsibility she never asked for, and her dad didn't bother with it in the first place, and then Sai... Sai. Well, Hikaru tries to smile as much as possible, thinking about how lucky she is, being loved and cherished. If she stops smiling, she'll probably start crying again instead, so it's better to smile as wide and wonderfully as she is. Akira is still Akira, she tells herself, this close to an embarrassing outburst. Akira is still Akira, and Akira is someone who loves her, who came back home in order to be with her. Akira came back. Akira went away, but then she came back. It's more of a revelation than it should be right now. Hikaru's cheeks are really starting to ache from how much she's smiling.] You look like... [They're honestly starting to hurt. She laughs it off, then, effervescent, a mist to match Akira's peaceful water lily. Akira's hands have this cool, smooth quality to them, too, like stones at the shore of a pond. They feel good on Hikaru's breasts and when they're slipping down her sides.] You're...

Like you're glad to be right where you are. That's what you look like.

[That, too, shouldn't be as much of a revelation as it is. But Hikaru knows it wasn't the easiest decision in the world to agree to this vacation. She knows Akira has other things she could be doing right now. More important things. All the things she's supposed to take care of after being abroad for months... She knows she asked for way too much when it came to her birthday. Just because Akira loves her (easily, and so fiercely) doesn't mean Akira is going to have the time and energy to cater to her every single selfish whim. Thinking about that, Hikaru swallows past a lump in her throat that tastes more like acid or mealworms or mealworms dissolving in acid. The warmth she's feeling right now--she wonders if that's just the guilt burning a hole straight through her chest. Akira doesn't have time for Hikaru to start bawling over stupid garbage like being afraid Akira's never going to come back to her ever again. How can she be scared of something that's been proven wrong? How can she be scared of anything when Akira is holding her?

Akira said she's pretty, even. Akira thinks she's pretty and she's supposed to repay that by not being a messy, needy, neurotic girlfriend. Hikaru closes her eyes and makes a noise that could be a pleased half-note of a hum, if a bit lodged in her throat. Then she leans back down, bringing them together, chest to chest, soft, and it's warm, with her face tucked in and against Akira's spotless neck. She has stuff she wants to say to Akira's heartbeat. She's going to keep smiling while she says it. She's going to speak slowly and steadily, inspired by the conviction of a setting sun.]

I spent a long time thinking about... in my pictures, how I'd want to look in them... what I was going to wear for them, and how I was going to look. I wanted you to like them. For all the ones I sent you, there were tons more I didn't send 'cause I looked like total shit in them. I didn't know what else I was supposed to do for you, when you weren't here, so...

[That isn't quite true, to be fair. Hikaru handed over all the other games she played through SGF files, and Akira was always grateful about being up to date on Hikaru's Go. She was always adamant that Hikaru's Go was this amazing thing even when it was full of bewildering, enraging moments. She was always saying Hikaru was good enough for her, no matter what.]

I just wanted you to keep looking at me, [she admits.]