[Eiju]
by trixie_chick
112
The light changed.
A hand came to the small of her back, she let him lead. Her hand slipped down the handle of the shared umbrella, and she felt his fingers twitch. She smiled, his eyes were fixed straight ahead. They didn't talk. He was shy, she was nervous. She would look up sometimes, and see his cheeks the same color as his hair.
She enjoyed his reactions.
She called him Yuki last night. He called her Akari this morning. They would have to separate; she would continue on to the bus stop, he would go up to the train. He would give her the umbrella.
Childish domesticity, but she was happy.
123
The light changed.
He wondered if they argued for the same reason that the people all around them were busily moving to and fro. Slight pain twitched across his forehead. He was tired of this, even though he was just as responsible for the state of everything that went between them. After crossing the street, he lagged behind, needing to see if Shindou would notice.
He did, right away. Touya! Are you even listening to me!? He huffed.
No. He tried bald honesty, another experiment.
Shindou blinked, momentarily stunned. Well. Are you hungry?
It was Akira's turn to be surprised. Yes.
Shindou beamed, and all traces of the previous argument disappeared. Ok, then! This way!
Despite himself, he smiled. Despite himself, he followed.
235
The light changed.
He pressed his foot down hard. He had to thread through traffic, but he loved it. Reckless, overly dependent on his skill, like he owned the world - just like his go play, although he would hate to be described as reckless.
He thought it might rain though he hadn't heard that it would. He shifted gears to speed through a yellow. He narrowed his eyes, and routes like potential hands flashed through his mind. A turn here, he'd have that set of lights; a turn there, he'd have to navigate one way streets. If he had a destination in mind, he would be more decisive. There was no territory to capture here.
His phone rang. His eyes darted down; he recognized the number, but not the name. Names mattered only if the owner did. He answered it, turning it on speaker.
"Yes?"
"Ogata-sensei..." He recognized the voice. Young, cute, a pro. She was eager. "You're on your way, right? There's only a few minutes until the scheduled match time..."
She sounded hesitant. He frowned. It was a qualifier for the Kisei title match. She signed up to be the recorder. And he... "Tell them I can't come in." She started to protest but he continued. "My mother died this morning." He hung up and gunned the engine, narrowly avoiding a bus to make a light.
He despised his lack of composure.
358
The light changed.
He didn't notice it, but a hand caught his arm, stopped him. He smiled gratefully, but Isumi-san's nose was stuck in the Weekly Go they had picked up at the last corner. For a moment, he just looked at Isumi-san's face. Just for a moment, and then he looked away.
"Did you go to a temple for New Years?" he asked, making conversation out of the nothingness between them. Isumi-san wouldn't make him feel stupid for chitchat, of course.
"Mm, yeah, I took my little brothers. You?" Isumi-san folded up the paper, and tucked it under his arm.
Giving Waya his full attention.
"Eh, I meant to, but some friends came over and we started drinking..." He flushed, because Isumi-san wouldn't approve. Of drinking, or of playing go while drinking, which he would rightly and immediately assume Waya did, and of skipping out on family time at temple...
For a moment, Isumi-san seemed to go into big brother mode, but then he relented, his lips quirking in a smile that he held back, but Waya saw it. "You didn't invite me?" he asked, pretending to sound heartbroken. He wasn't that good at pretending.
"I did! Many times!" Waya laughed. "You said you had family stuff!"
"Fine, fine," Isumi-san sighed, still looking amused. "I thought you went to temple with Morishita-sensei's family?"
"I have, in the past," Waya shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, after all. He looked away, and shifted from foot to foot. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being with his own family, or Morishita-sensei's...
"Uh-huh..." Isumi-san ruffled his hair. Waya ducked away quickly. That was how Isumi-san treated that kid from China. "Well. You have a big match today?"
"Nah, I mean, I hope I win and all, but. You?" He straightened out his hair, or at least smoothed his hands over it.
Isumi-san poked him in the shoulder, and they started to walk again. "Not really. Normal play."
"Hey, let's have lunch," Waya suggested.
Isumi-san just nodded absently, his eyes darting around. "Sure." It hardly needed to be asked, as they usually did, but.
He never took it for granted.
132
The light changed.
He stood still though, his back against the glass corner of the building, and he watched the people moving back and forth, endlessly. He hated Tokyo, and yet he was fascinated by it. Seoul was more beautiful, more peaceful. More conducive to human habitation. The life in Tokyo felt electronic. Sterile.
He'd learned enough Japanese to be able to speak to his opponent without being misunderstood... again. He practiced reading descriptions of Shuusaku's matches. He impressed the new Hokuto cup panel with his ability to discuss igo in Japanese. On the street, though, he was lost; a fish swimming in sand.
He kept telling everyone that it wasn't the games that brought him back to Japan; that was better in Korea, too.
He liked the feeling of being lost.
112
The light changed.
A hand came to the small of her back, she let him lead. Her hand slipped down the handle of the shared umbrella, and she felt his fingers twitch. She smiled, his eyes were fixed straight ahead. They didn't talk. He was shy, she was nervous. She would look up sometimes, and see his cheeks the same color as his hair.
She enjoyed his reactions.
She called him Yuki last night. He called her Akari this morning. They would have to separate; she would continue on to the bus stop, he would go up to the train. He would give her the umbrella.
Childish domesticity, but she was happy.
123
The light changed.
He wondered if they argued for the same reason that the people all around them were busily moving to and fro. Slight pain twitched across his forehead. He was tired of this, even though he was just as responsible for the state of everything that went between them. After crossing the street, he lagged behind, needing to see if Shindou would notice.
He did, right away. Touya! Are you even listening to me!? He huffed.
No. He tried bald honesty, another experiment.
Shindou blinked, momentarily stunned. Well. Are you hungry?
It was Akira's turn to be surprised. Yes.
Shindou beamed, and all traces of the previous argument disappeared. Ok, then! This way!
Despite himself, he smiled. Despite himself, he followed.
235
The light changed.
He pressed his foot down hard. He had to thread through traffic, but he loved it. Reckless, overly dependent on his skill, like he owned the world - just like his go play, although he would hate to be described as reckless.
He thought it might rain though he hadn't heard that it would. He shifted gears to speed through a yellow. He narrowed his eyes, and routes like potential hands flashed through his mind. A turn here, he'd have that set of lights; a turn there, he'd have to navigate one way streets. If he had a destination in mind, he would be more decisive. There was no territory to capture here.
His phone rang. His eyes darted down; he recognized the number, but not the name. Names mattered only if the owner did. He answered it, turning it on speaker.
"Yes?"
"Ogata-sensei..." He recognized the voice. Young, cute, a pro. She was eager. "You're on your way, right? There's only a few minutes until the scheduled match time..."
She sounded hesitant. He frowned. It was a qualifier for the Kisei title match. She signed up to be the recorder. And he... "Tell them I can't come in." She started to protest but he continued. "My mother died this morning." He hung up and gunned the engine, narrowly avoiding a bus to make a light.
He despised his lack of composure.
358
The light changed.
He didn't notice it, but a hand caught his arm, stopped him. He smiled gratefully, but Isumi-san's nose was stuck in the Weekly Go they had picked up at the last corner. For a moment, he just looked at Isumi-san's face. Just for a moment, and then he looked away.
"Did you go to a temple for New Years?" he asked, making conversation out of the nothingness between them. Isumi-san wouldn't make him feel stupid for chitchat, of course.
"Mm, yeah, I took my little brothers. You?" Isumi-san folded up the paper, and tucked it under his arm.
Giving Waya his full attention.
"Eh, I meant to, but some friends came over and we started drinking..." He flushed, because Isumi-san wouldn't approve. Of drinking, or of playing go while drinking, which he would rightly and immediately assume Waya did, and of skipping out on family time at temple...
For a moment, Isumi-san seemed to go into big brother mode, but then he relented, his lips quirking in a smile that he held back, but Waya saw it. "You didn't invite me?" he asked, pretending to sound heartbroken. He wasn't that good at pretending.
"I did! Many times!" Waya laughed. "You said you had family stuff!"
"Fine, fine," Isumi-san sighed, still looking amused. "I thought you went to temple with Morishita-sensei's family?"
"I have, in the past," Waya shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, after all. He looked away, and shifted from foot to foot. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being with his own family, or Morishita-sensei's...
"Uh-huh..." Isumi-san ruffled his hair. Waya ducked away quickly. That was how Isumi-san treated that kid from China. "Well. You have a big match today?"
"Nah, I mean, I hope I win and all, but. You?" He straightened out his hair, or at least smoothed his hands over it.
Isumi-san poked him in the shoulder, and they started to walk again. "Not really. Normal play."
"Hey, let's have lunch," Waya suggested.
Isumi-san just nodded absently, his eyes darting around. "Sure." It hardly needed to be asked, as they usually did, but.
He never took it for granted.
132
The light changed.
He stood still though, his back against the glass corner of the building, and he watched the people moving back and forth, endlessly. He hated Tokyo, and yet he was fascinated by it. Seoul was more beautiful, more peaceful. More conducive to human habitation. The life in Tokyo felt electronic. Sterile.
He'd learned enough Japanese to be able to speak to his opponent without being misunderstood... again. He practiced reading descriptions of Shuusaku's matches. He impressed the new Hokuto cup panel with his ability to discuss igo in Japanese. On the street, though, he was lost; a fish swimming in sand.
He kept telling everyone that it wasn't the games that brought him back to Japan; that was better in Korea, too.
He liked the feeling of being lost.