I breathe you in, you heal my pain, when you come falling down from grace just like summer rain...
Well. blind_go reveals are up, and so here you have my entry. Not putting an author's note on my fics absolutely killed me, by the way. I have SO MUCH I wanted to say about this story. Lucky all of you, you get to read my comments now! *lol*
I was surprised that people saw this as a linear progression. I suppose it seemed to me that the relationship was different (in some cases, drastically so) in each fic. The way I intended 5 of Five initially was as a play of possibilities. Depending on actions, reactions, circumstances... where could Hikaru and Akira end up? All the drabbles are meant to take place on the same day, the same year... but in different potential timelines ^_^. Other overall notes... the order of the fics is not the order they were written in, rather a progression from worst-case to best-case scenario, which is what probably made them seem linear *lol* Finally, all the titles are lyrics from Kurt Nilsen's song Breathe You In which makes me think of Hikago more than any song I have ever heard in my life. The song, and the idea of linking it with five possibilities, existed in my mind long before these fics were started. The title of the fic at large is, of course a play on words. Five possibilites of things that happen on the fifth day of the fifth month... "Go no go", an apt verbal joke *lol* Without furter ado, I present to you...
Title: 5 of Five
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Overall romance, some angst
Pairing: Hikaru/Akira or any permutation thereof
Wordcount: 4,305
Description: Five possible futures. Can be taken as one-shots and read out of order if you like, though I chose this order on purpose. Read the loooooong essay after the fic for more details.
Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own Hikago.
***
One of Five: Breathe
Akira always knows May fifth is approaching. The knowledge doesn’t come from the tear-off pages of the calendar or the warming in the air or the decline of the cherry blossoms. It is in Shindou’s eyes, the way the green is clouded, the way they are tilted down when he walks, the way the light in them is a little fevered. It is in Shindou’s voice, in its overly cheerful brightness, in the way Shindou trips over his words in the haste to get them out, in the way he lapses into silence over nothing at all and stares off into space until Akira is sure he is somewhere far away where he can’t follow. It is in Shindou’s Go, in every single ruthless, brilliant stone he places, in every tap of his fan against the board.
May fifth approaches and every year Akira tenses, with the profound certainty that something is about to happen. He feels it in his bones as the day comes closer and Shindou gets more and more strange and not quite himself. He stares at Shindou across the goban, and it’s a little mad but he swears he sees someone else looking back at him. Where have you gone, he wants to demand of Shindou, and put his hand on his rival’s shoulder and shake him back to where he is. But he’s never done it, not when May fifth is in the air, when Shindou is foreign and far away.
May fifth comes, and Shindou vanishes. Akira spends the day in a daze, year after year, trying to control the panic deep inside of him. May sixth comes, and Shindou reappears in front of him, with tired eyes and a wan smile and a certain resigned, calm air which is years older than his rumpled five shirt and tousled hair. Year after year after year, Shindou returns to his side, quiet and peaceful, and Akira remembers how to breathe again.
Between them, there is too much silence. Sometimes Akira wonders what would happen if he dared to reach out, just once, and touch the pain he sees hidden on Shindou’s face. He’s not very good with words and emotions, and so he doesn’t know how to tell Shindou the things he needs to know. Forever is in all the words he has never said.
He’s tried a few times, but never hard enough. They spend the last afternoon of April sitting on a bench in the park after their matches, eating ice cream. Shindou’s suit jacket is open carelessly in front and there is a chocolate stain on his dress shirt. Lately he’s been looking disheveled and somehow frantic; he is in one of the phases where he cuts off in the middle of phrases and talks twice as fast as usual, when he talks at all. But that day, he is calm and quiet and so Akira tries to broach the subject. “My mother would like to know if you’d come to dinner on Saturday.”
Immediately there is a wall between them. Akira can feel it even before Shindou speaks, trying to sound carefree. “Oh, sorry, I’ve got something to do that day.”
“What?” Akira persists, though he never has before. Shindou is smiling, and the way the light plays across his face makes Akira want very badly to touch his sunwarmed cheeks and taste the dapple of light on his lip, but he knows very well that he will never do so.
“I’ve got to go to this funeral,” Shindou says, and the way he says it, it might almost be true. “Tell your mom I’m sorry. Really.”
“Maybe next week,” Akira says, and thinks, well, maybe next year.
“Maybe,” Shindou says, his voice very noncommittal though he usually jumps at the idea of free food. Before they go their separate ways, Shindou looks at him for a long time, and Akira gets very uncomfortable, wondering what he’s thinking. “Good luck, Touya,” he says.
“I’m only playing Kadowaki this week,” Akira tells him.
“Yeah,” Shindou says. “Good luck, anyway.” His smile leaves Akira a little breathless; he is smiling as though he knows everything. Akira opens his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but no sound comes out. Shindou turns and leaves.
Akira thinks it will always be like this. Years pass. May fifth comes. Shindou vanishes. May sixth comes, and Shindou with it. That year, May sixth comes, and Shindou doesn’t. Akira waits as the world grows dark around him, and knows with a leaden certainty that this time Shindou has finally lost himself, wherever he has been all this time. He has chased him for years, has spent countless eternal moments looking off into the distance, searching for Shindou’s silhouette. May seventh comes, and Akira knows that even if he runs until there is no breath in his lungs, Shindou will not be there, waiting up ahead.
***
Two of Five: Falling
If he ends up having dinner with Shindou, it’s only because he’s one of the few people around who speaks proper Japanese-though his grammar is disgraceful at times-and Akira’s head is starting to pound from too much rapid Korean. Shindou doesn’t seem bothered by it; he orders their dinner with a thick accent but absolute certainty in his words. He doesn’t appear to be concerned with grammar or anything else save his gamjatang, which the waitress promises to bring with a flirtatious smile.
Shindou smiles back, and Akira thinks it must be as natural to him as breathing, the incessant grinning, the unconscious flirting. He’s still smiling when he turns his head back to Akira and says, “I like the food here.”
Of course you do, Akira wants to say, and other things besides. That hurts more than it should. Shindou didn’t even know the first thing about Korean the last time they were here together several years ago. Akira remembers playing interpreter, back when they were still rivals who only saw each other. These days, the rivalry has mellowed to something placid and utterly unsatisfying. Shindou Honinbou has better things to do these days than remember a childhood rivalry, such as traipsing all around Asia giving lectures and carrying on with Ko Yongha of all deplorable people. Akira doesn’t understand the appeal of sleeping with someone you can’t stop yelling at, but he supposes Shindou has a weird fetish for that sort of thing, considering.
“You’re sulking, Touya,” Shindou tells him as the food arrives.
“I’m not,” Akira tells him shortly, then, as an afterthought, “At least you didn’t order ramen.”
“Life’s not all about ramen,” Shindou tells him. “And I don’t like how they make it here, anyway. Ko’s addicted to the stuff, and it’s disgusting.”
“And the truth comes out. You bonded over ramen.” He rolls his eyes, trying to keep the mood light, to act like he really couldn’t care less who Shindou has been spending his spare time with. “How like you.”
“It isn’t like you care,” Shindou tells him, and Akira wants to scream that of course he cares, anyone half-blind and stupid can see that he cares, damn it. But that time is long past. He knows all too well that you can’t go back and move a stone when you realize you’ve played the wrong hand.
“That’s right, I really don’t,” he says, his voice steady. He concentrates on his soup awhile, then adds, “It’s odd to see you here. You’re not usually around this time of year.”
“I had an obligation I couldn’t dump on someone else,” Shindou says. “It’s probably better to be here today anyway. I’ve just been wasting time every year. It’s stupid.”
Akira doesn’t know where Shindou goes, but he can deduce from the carefully neutral tone of his voice that it isn’t stupid at all and he isn’t likely to stop. When Akira looks up, his former rival looks achingly young as he stares into his bowl. “You look like you need a drink,” he says.
“Maybe,” Shindou tells him. “I’m fine, though.”
“Obviously. Where’s Ko when you’re brooding like this?” It’s irritating, horribly irritating to sit here like this with him in a tiny restaurant in Seoul and know that whatever it is that’s got Shindou upset enough to drag him out to dinner against his protests, he has thrown away the right to know. Ko has more right, and that burns.
“I don’t keep tabs on him, obviously,” Shindou snaps. “I thought you didn’t care. God, could you maybe just for ten minutes stop acting like I’m the one who hurt you?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Akira tells him, even though it’s true. It’s his fault, he reminds himself. He can’t blame anyone but himself for this.
“Which is pretty much what you said at the time, as I remember it. ‘You can’t be in love with me. That’s ridiculous.’” He takes a deep breath, shakes his head as if to clear it. “Okay, clearly I’m not okay today. That’s ancient history. We’re fine, right?”
“We’re fine,” Akira tells him, and wonders what would happen if he dared to say otherwise. It’s impossible to retrace your steps, he reminds himself. They have to play with what they have now, which isn’t much, but at least Shindou is sitting in this restaurant with him instead of going wherever he goes every spring. He’s the one who’s here, not Ko or anyone else. “You do need a drink.” He calls over a waitress, orders it.
They sit late into the night until the restaurant closes and Akira has to support Shindou’s weight all the way to the taxi. Shindou slumps against him, breathing against his neck, his lips just there, and Akira’s heart pounds all the way to the hotel. He helps Shindou up to his room, and at the door Shindou’s arms come around him, and he is whispering brokenly about everyone leaving, always leaving him alone and please, please, just for a little while, just tonight, just this night, please stay. Akira covers Shindou’s mouth with his own to stop the pleading, and it’s good, even better than he thought, incredibly hot but incredibly bitter. Shindou’s cold, trembling hands find their way under his shirt and Akira stumbles with him towards the hotel bed, his mind wonderfully blank as the light outside turns the gray of pre-dawn.
Shindou is asleep before the sun peeks in the window, but Akira is awake and finally thinking again. Shindou’s breathing is even and deep and strangely loud in the morning quiet, and Akira wonders what happens next. Should he leave? Probably. Shindou won’t want to see him after something like this. They can’t go back and start over, pretending nothing happened. But then he thinks, maybe he can resign the hopeless game he’s been playing the last couple years and begin fresh. And thinking that, he pulls Shindou closer, closes his eyes, and wills himself to sleep.
***
Three of Five: Something I Want to Say
Shindou shows up at his door, and that’s not all that unusual. It happens sometimes, generally when Akira is least desirous of company. Shindou has a knack for interrupting study sessions, meals, and sleep, because Shindou clearly has no concept of how normal people live. The fact that Akira lets him in every single time probably doesn’t say much for his self-control, but really, he argues with himself, if he didn’t, his rival would probably stand outside the gate all night and scare the neighbors.
Shindou at his door is not unusual, and Akira is, for once, not doing anything vitally important, so he isn’t opposed to letting Shindou in-at least, he isn’t until he gets a whiff of his breath and a good look at the glassy green of his eyes. “You’re drunk,” he says, somewhat appalled and a little scared because while he has seen Shindou in all manner of states and moods, he has never seen him like this.
Shindou shrugs as if to say, so? “Only a little. I hate sake,” he proclaims in a surprisingly clear voice. “It’s disgusting.”
He stumbles while trying to remove his shoes and Akira catches him more on instinct than anything. “What in the world did you drink it for, then?” he says, exasperated, and helps Shindou into the living room and onto the couch, because it’s that or stand there in the entry hall under his weight.
“Cause. Seemed like a good idea.” He shrugs again, looking put out. “Wasn’t.”
“And why did it seem like a good idea?”
“May fifth,” Shindou says, as though it explains everything. “Or will be, at midnight.” Akira isn’t at all sure he understands, but he has noticed over the years that Shindou isn’t at his best in spring, except on the goban-there, he is a demon. Just last week, he literally destroyed Akira in an Ouza league game. He doesn’t look capable of it now, rumpled and drunk and clearly miserable. “You know,” Shindou continues, and kind of tips over until his head is on Akira’s shoulder, “it’s too quiet. I can’t sleep. I think the sake was supposed to help.”
Akira lets him stay as he is, though he is blushing something fierce. At least, he reasons, he can always blame Shindou’s drunken state for this intimacy, later. “Clearly not, if you’re here.”
“Clearly,” Shindou mimics. “Too quiet. I like it better when you’re yelling at me.”
“You’re the only person in the world, Shindou, who likes being yelled at.” And he isn’t yelling, anyway. There is annoyance in his voice, sure enough, but layered thin over a tenderness he’s having a hard time disguising. Usually, Shindou is loud and brash and Akira can keep such emotions put away where they belong, but there are moments such as this when he has the overwhelming urge to comfort. Why, he wonders, did Shindou, the essence of vitality, show up at his door looking so broken?
“At least it’s noise,” Hikaru says. “Too quiet in my head, otherwise. Let’s play a game,” he decides suddenly, ambling up. Akira watches, transfixed, as he weaves towards the goban and collapses to the floor, upsetting a goke and spilling black stones everywhere.
“You need to sleep,” Akira tells him, but Shindou’s already picking up the scattered pieces. “I’ll slaughter you in your current deplorable state.”
“We’ll see,” Shindou says, doggedly collecting the stones, and Akira sighs and gives in, because he isn’t about to drag Shindou to the guest room, where he so clearly belongs. He sits, but before he can take the other goke, Shindou pulls it to his side of the board and begins laying something out.
Akira watches the framework of the game emerge with halfhearted interest that grows into confusion as he recognizes something in the pattern. When Shindou places the last stone and passes him the black, Akira stares at him. “You’re black,” he says.
“Yes,” Hikaru tells him, “I know. I was. Take it.”
“Who’s white?”
For a moment, the glassiness is gone from Shindou’s eyes, replaced with a look of such utter heartbreak that Akira finds he cannot say another word. He takes the black, looks at the board, and places his first stone. Shindou responds after a few moments, his hand shaking until Akira thinks he might drop the stone. It lands on the board with a bright pa-chi, and Akira stares at it a few moments, trying to calm the anxiety that is welling up inside him. “This is…”
“Play,” Shindou says shortly, and Akira does, no longer thinking of this game as an easy win.
They play through the night. It’s a good thing there is no one to time them, Akira thinks, because neither of them is playing in his own skin. He plays Shindou hands, placing his stones in daring, impossible places. The game grows, slow and halting as they both stop to adjust, but Shindou’s hands are no longer shaking. He plays with silent determination now. He is not playing like a drunk man at all; he certainly isn’t playing like himself.
Akira knows he is losing.
Dawn has broken outside when the game lies complete. Akira looks down at the board and thinks: five and a half moku. If it weren’t for the komi, a tied game. “Okay,” says Shindou, and he is staring at the board until Akira is sure he will be able to replay this game in his sleep. Then he slumps forward, whatever has been keeping him upright suddenly gone. “All right,” he mutters.
Akira realizes his legs are asleep and his head is pounding. Six hours? Seven? He doesn’t know anymore. Shindou is slumped over the board, covering half the game, but Akira can still envision it. “What is it?” he asks, a little breathless.
Shindou looks up at the window, and he no longer looks miserable. He’s even smiling a little as he watches the sunrise. “Let me tell you a story,” he says.
***
Four of Five: Just Like Summer Rain
Hikaru likes the rain. He purposely finds reasons to walk places and forgets his umbrella. He likes the cool water sliding over his face, plastering his hair to his forehead, beating out all his thoughts and the silence with its steady rustle against the sidewalk. He knows Akira thinks he’s a little crazy, but he also knows that no matter how wet and miserable he looks, he will be allowed to enter into the hallowed halls of the Touya household and drip on the priceless wood floors.
He allows the usual tirade to pass in one ear and out the other and accepts the towel thrust into his arms. He rubs it over his head and then shakes the water out of his ears. Akira squawks, because now he has droplets of water on his hideous sweater vest and the pristine white collar of his shirt and, Hikaru is sure, all over his dignity. “-Shaking yourself like some sort of dog, and really, Shindou, if you think I’m going to keep opening the door to you when you come around in such a state, then you had better-”
The endless stream of words cuts off as Hikaru grabs Akira by the wrist and neatly trips him into his soaking arms. This has to be timed very carefully, Hikaru knows, so that their lips meet before Akira can remember to protest. Then the stiffness pours out of Akira’s body, and he is very close and warm and soft. When Hikaru pulls back at last, Akira opens his eyes with a little sigh.
“I’m Shindou now?”
“When you annoy me,” Akira tells him. “You’re soaked.”
“You, too,” Hikaru points out, and kisses him on the nose because he is cute and miffed and the best sight he’s seen all day.
“Because of you. You’re going to catch a cold,” Akira tells him. “It’s dark already. Where have you been?”
“I missed the afternoon train,” Hikaru replies. “Anyway, it’s practically summer. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s barely May,” Akira tells him, and tugs on his sleeve. “Come on, get upstairs before you turn blue.”
Akira fills the bath and they maneuver themselves into the tub, cramped together as the steam rises around them. Hikaru traces wet patterns on the back of Akira’s neck, parting his heavy, sodden hair as the rain knocks at the window. Akira shivers under the touch of his fingers and bends forward to rest his chin on his knees. “How was Innoshima?”
“Wet,” Hikaru tells him, and smoothes lines over his shoulders where he senses tension. “It rained so hard, the ferry wasn’t running. The bridge was closed for repairs. I had to bribe this guy to take me over.”
“I’ll bet you stood in the rain all afternoon.”
“Maybe.”
“Without an umbrella.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re hopeless,” Akira says, but Hikaru can hear the smile in his voice. He leans back as much as he can, rests his back on Hikaru’s chest, his head on his shoulder. “Do you really think he’d want you to catch pneumonia and die?”
Hikaru can smile now, thinking about him, even on a day like this one, spent kneeling in a silent, rain-washed Innoshima graveyard. “He liked umbrellas. But he didn’t believe me that people had been to the moon.”
He feels Akira’s laugh rumble through him. “You make no sense.”
“If I catch a cold,” Hikaru continues, “you’ll take care of me.”
“I won’t,” Akira argues. “Not if you’re forgetting your umbrella on purpose.”
“You will,” Hikaru says with certainty.
“Maybe next year, I can go with you,” Akira says instead of refuting again. “I’d like to.”
Hikaru thinks about that a moment. The way they are now, that’s one thing, but Innoshima is something else, probably because he knows that he goes every year to mourn someone who would have stood between them always, had he not passed. He thinks that if it weren’t for Innoshima, they would never be here, like this, at all. There would be no warm slick skin under his fingers, no long hair sticking to his neck and shoulders, no one to open the door to him when he comes in out of the rain. It is almost easy conversation between them, now, what he might have wanted, might have thought, might have done, had things gone another way. But Hikaru knows very well that there was never any other way leading here.
He tightens his arms around Akira and reminds himself to put his ghosts to rest. Whatever else may be, he is here, right now. “Thanks for warming me up,” he murmurs, and he knows Akira knows this means that he isn’t ready to say anything yet. But he’ll think about it.
Akira turns, making water slosh to the floor, skin sliding against Hikaru’s in a way that makes him shiver. The look in his eyes suggests they’re about to get a great deal warmer. Water falls from the ends of his hair and meanders down Hikaru’s chest like warm, comforting raindrops. Hikaru smiles and closes his eyes.
***
Five of Five: Never Let You Go
The brisk wind over the water seems much colder than May has any right to be, but Touya’s hand is in his and that is enough to keep him warm. He takes it on instinct, with the strange feeling that if he doesn’t, Touya will blow away on the wind. And Touya lets him, twining their fingers together, looking up at the blue sky, his cheeks flushed with wind and maybe something else. The ferry rocks under them in the silence of the early morning, and Hikaru knows he is probably supposed to be sad, but he can’t work himself up when Touya is standing so close and the wind is making a tangle of his perfect hair.
They don’t speak as the ferry docks, and their hands are still linked as Hikaru pulls his rival down the path he has always preferred to walk alone: up a hill, down a winding street past shrines and houses with carp streamers snapping in the wind. Sometimes the quiet overwhelms him when he comes here and finds himself alone with sea and sky and his thoughts. It is too quiet in his head most of the time; he hasn’t had enough time to adjust to the silence. He talks to himself sometimes, walking these streets, just to block out the quiet. But Touya is here, warm and solid and real, and there isn’t any need for words until they reach the shrine and make their way through the stone markers.
Hikaru kneels and Touya follows suit. It’s strange, Hikaru thinks as he bows his head, that peace is so easy all of a sudden. He cried, coming here last year. He feels, in this place, the tug of the past. There are ghosts here, though he doubts they are the kind he has grown accustomed to. The air is full of his ghosts, his memories, his unspoken words and unfinished deeds. But the edge of grief is dull now; he kneels in the sunlight as a gull cries overhead and finds comfort instead.
This isn’t how he thought it would be. There have been no harsh words, no accusations, no animosity. Just a thoughtful look and a promise to meet him at the train station the next morning. It’s so easy it seems surreal. Hikaru wonders if Touya senses the ghosts, too. Maybe he doesn’t. It’s his place, after all, the symbol he has chosen for himself to represent what he has lost. He could just as easily go to his grandfather’s attic. It’s probably stupid to go to a shrine in a different city where the person he’s mourning isn’t even buried. Touya must think he’s an idiot. Why won’t he say anything?
He turns his head, dreading what he might find, and discovers Touya is watching him, and it strikes him all of a sudden that in all his life, he has never seen anything so beautiful as Touya’s wind-kissed cheeks and hesitant smile. “Are you okay?” Touya asks, breaking the silence, and he doesn’t sound like he thinks this was a stupid idea.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Hikaru says. “I’m glad you’re here with me. This place…”
“Yes,” Touya says, “I can tell.” Hikaru realizes their hands are still linked when his is squeezed with a sort of awkward reassurance.
It is instinct that has him leaning in to place his lips, for just a moment, at the corner of Touya’s mouth. Then Touya is staring at him, his face a shade of pink that matches his horrible shirt, and Hikaru can’t help it-he throws his arms around Touya and holds on tight before the wind can carry him away.
***
One of Five: This was the first one I wrote, and the only one I didn't rush! I was thinking, okay, worst case scenario... what could happen? It seems to me not the most likely of possibilities, but at the same time, it's got some potential so I felt it needed to be put in. I think in this fic, Akira is quite desperately in love with Hikaru, really, but too terrified and unsure of himself to do anything about it. That would make for occasional awkwardness and tension which had nothing to do with rivalry... I think maybe if Hikaru felt Akira was pulling away, he could potentially revert to his grief as well, because he might feel as though he has nothing really to anchor him in reality. Where did he go? Ah, that's the question, isn't it? I have a few theories, but I think I won't share them. Suffice to say, I doubt he's coming home.
Two of Five: I wrote this fourth, and I have to say, this is potentially my favorite of the whole set. They are such real PEOPLE here, and there is very little gloss over the ugliness that once was between them. There is a whole lot of backstory here, but let me give a quick rundown. I see Hikaru confessing his feelings, probably in a clumsy way, complete with an uninvited, inexperienced kiss, and Akira freaking. "That's ridiculous," I see him saying, because really, he has no idea what to think about ANY of this, and he's not out of his own denial far enough yet to realize there is something between him and Hikaru. And so Hikaru, in an attempt to lash out against his own pain and humiliation, lets the rivalry slide. He finds someone else who can give him a good game--and with Hikaru, there really is a penchant for mixing up professional rivalry and attraction. I will say very little about the Yongha relationship here, mainly because I am working on another fic set in this universe. What I will say, though, is that it's a rather empty way to put aside the love of your life... Hikaru probably knows it, too, but after he wakes the next morning, it's very likely he will kick Akira out. And Akira will have to spend the next year chasing him down very relentlessly before the get-drunk-have-desperate-sex-wake-up-realize cycle happens again a year later, at which point, Hikaru will probably reconsider *lol*
Three of Five: Written third and my least favorite of the set. I think I'd like it a lot more if I had had a chance to make it longer; as it is, it feels like it lumbers along like a wounded bear instead of flowing as it should. You may have noticed a word in the title has changed--my fault, that. I'm clearly too retarded to listen to the song properly the first two hundred times. The concept is fun though--a pre-relationship fic in which they both sense they are getting near some sort of resolution. Hikaru probably thought that before they did, it would be better to tell. Then got drunk, trying to get to sleep so he could go in the morning. Then decided he couldn't wait and went in the middle of the night *lol* I like the idea of them finishing that last Sai game this way, too, and it was probably self indulgence on my part that made the game a tie (therefore with a 5.5 moku difference, as I am using this number all over the place anyway). I think once Hikaru tells the story, Akira will sit there, staring at him dumbly for a few minutes. Then, after the weirdness of the game they have just played, decide to give in and believe. They'll probably resolve personal feelings as well at some point in the near future... I will admit, either Four of Five or Five of Five could follow this in reasonable succession, Four of Five a year later, Five of Five the next day. I don't see any of them as connected, but if you want a connection, that is probably the only one that's there ^_^.
Four of Five: I wrote this second, looking for a peaceful, settled feeling after the unsettled ending of One. The relationship here is obviously established. There is a certain long intimacy implied with sitting in the bathtub together, just sitting, getting warm, talking. It seems to me a poignant picture, not really sexual so much as warm. This fic is obviously unique because Akira knows all about Sai and accepts it as part of the way things are. If you choose to link this with Three (and maybe Five) then you have some idea how he told, if not, well... make up your own mind ^_^. I do think Hikaru will take Akira to Innoshima someday, but at this point, I think he sees his relationship with Akira and his relationship with Sai as existing in completely different worlds that he's scared to merge. I don't think he's completely wrong. If Sai had not vanished, I don't think Hikaru and Akira would ever have come to be so close, because there simply would not have been ROOM (that, and a ghost watching you trying to figure out sex would probably be a real downer, pun definitely intended).
Five of Five: The last thing I wrote, with the deadline looming and in a state of utter panic. The fact that I managed to protray a sort of peace amazes me considering the state I was in *lol* Still, there's a bit of buzz in the air in this one... anticipation of a sort. I don't really see this linked with Four as it has to happen before, because again, I don't see an established relationship here. I see the POTENTIAL for one, and clearly so do my protagonists. I think Hikaru's impulsive little kiss is probably the first (of many, we hope!) and as for Akira, I'm not sure of much regarding him here except his inhibitions are about as far down as they come. I think he sees this trip to Innoshima as a sort of pilgrimage, rather like Hikaru does. Whether or not he feels what Hikaru feels in that graveyard is basically irrelevant. He believes because he wants to believe. Happily ever after ^_^.
All in all? Awesome experience. I will be doing this again!
I was surprised that people saw this as a linear progression. I suppose it seemed to me that the relationship was different (in some cases, drastically so) in each fic. The way I intended 5 of Five initially was as a play of possibilities. Depending on actions, reactions, circumstances... where could Hikaru and Akira end up? All the drabbles are meant to take place on the same day, the same year... but in different potential timelines ^_^. Other overall notes... the order of the fics is not the order they were written in, rather a progression from worst-case to best-case scenario, which is what probably made them seem linear *lol* Finally, all the titles are lyrics from Kurt Nilsen's song Breathe You In which makes me think of Hikago more than any song I have ever heard in my life. The song, and the idea of linking it with five possibilities, existed in my mind long before these fics were started. The title of the fic at large is, of course a play on words. Five possibilites of things that happen on the fifth day of the fifth month... "Go no go", an apt verbal joke *lol* Without furter ado, I present to you...
Title: 5 of Five
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Overall romance, some angst
Pairing: Hikaru/Akira or any permutation thereof
Wordcount: 4,305
Description: Five possible futures. Can be taken as one-shots and read out of order if you like, though I chose this order on purpose. Read the loooooong essay after the fic for more details.
Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own Hikago.
***
One of Five: Breathe
Akira always knows May fifth is approaching. The knowledge doesn’t come from the tear-off pages of the calendar or the warming in the air or the decline of the cherry blossoms. It is in Shindou’s eyes, the way the green is clouded, the way they are tilted down when he walks, the way the light in them is a little fevered. It is in Shindou’s voice, in its overly cheerful brightness, in the way Shindou trips over his words in the haste to get them out, in the way he lapses into silence over nothing at all and stares off into space until Akira is sure he is somewhere far away where he can’t follow. It is in Shindou’s Go, in every single ruthless, brilliant stone he places, in every tap of his fan against the board.
May fifth approaches and every year Akira tenses, with the profound certainty that something is about to happen. He feels it in his bones as the day comes closer and Shindou gets more and more strange and not quite himself. He stares at Shindou across the goban, and it’s a little mad but he swears he sees someone else looking back at him. Where have you gone, he wants to demand of Shindou, and put his hand on his rival’s shoulder and shake him back to where he is. But he’s never done it, not when May fifth is in the air, when Shindou is foreign and far away.
May fifth comes, and Shindou vanishes. Akira spends the day in a daze, year after year, trying to control the panic deep inside of him. May sixth comes, and Shindou reappears in front of him, with tired eyes and a wan smile and a certain resigned, calm air which is years older than his rumpled five shirt and tousled hair. Year after year after year, Shindou returns to his side, quiet and peaceful, and Akira remembers how to breathe again.
Between them, there is too much silence. Sometimes Akira wonders what would happen if he dared to reach out, just once, and touch the pain he sees hidden on Shindou’s face. He’s not very good with words and emotions, and so he doesn’t know how to tell Shindou the things he needs to know. Forever is in all the words he has never said.
He’s tried a few times, but never hard enough. They spend the last afternoon of April sitting on a bench in the park after their matches, eating ice cream. Shindou’s suit jacket is open carelessly in front and there is a chocolate stain on his dress shirt. Lately he’s been looking disheveled and somehow frantic; he is in one of the phases where he cuts off in the middle of phrases and talks twice as fast as usual, when he talks at all. But that day, he is calm and quiet and so Akira tries to broach the subject. “My mother would like to know if you’d come to dinner on Saturday.”
Immediately there is a wall between them. Akira can feel it even before Shindou speaks, trying to sound carefree. “Oh, sorry, I’ve got something to do that day.”
“What?” Akira persists, though he never has before. Shindou is smiling, and the way the light plays across his face makes Akira want very badly to touch his sunwarmed cheeks and taste the dapple of light on his lip, but he knows very well that he will never do so.
“I’ve got to go to this funeral,” Shindou says, and the way he says it, it might almost be true. “Tell your mom I’m sorry. Really.”
“Maybe next week,” Akira says, and thinks, well, maybe next year.
“Maybe,” Shindou says, his voice very noncommittal though he usually jumps at the idea of free food. Before they go their separate ways, Shindou looks at him for a long time, and Akira gets very uncomfortable, wondering what he’s thinking. “Good luck, Touya,” he says.
“I’m only playing Kadowaki this week,” Akira tells him.
“Yeah,” Shindou says. “Good luck, anyway.” His smile leaves Akira a little breathless; he is smiling as though he knows everything. Akira opens his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but no sound comes out. Shindou turns and leaves.
Akira thinks it will always be like this. Years pass. May fifth comes. Shindou vanishes. May sixth comes, and Shindou with it. That year, May sixth comes, and Shindou doesn’t. Akira waits as the world grows dark around him, and knows with a leaden certainty that this time Shindou has finally lost himself, wherever he has been all this time. He has chased him for years, has spent countless eternal moments looking off into the distance, searching for Shindou’s silhouette. May seventh comes, and Akira knows that even if he runs until there is no breath in his lungs, Shindou will not be there, waiting up ahead.
***
Two of Five: Falling
If he ends up having dinner with Shindou, it’s only because he’s one of the few people around who speaks proper Japanese-though his grammar is disgraceful at times-and Akira’s head is starting to pound from too much rapid Korean. Shindou doesn’t seem bothered by it; he orders their dinner with a thick accent but absolute certainty in his words. He doesn’t appear to be concerned with grammar or anything else save his gamjatang, which the waitress promises to bring with a flirtatious smile.
Shindou smiles back, and Akira thinks it must be as natural to him as breathing, the incessant grinning, the unconscious flirting. He’s still smiling when he turns his head back to Akira and says, “I like the food here.”
Of course you do, Akira wants to say, and other things besides. That hurts more than it should. Shindou didn’t even know the first thing about Korean the last time they were here together several years ago. Akira remembers playing interpreter, back when they were still rivals who only saw each other. These days, the rivalry has mellowed to something placid and utterly unsatisfying. Shindou Honinbou has better things to do these days than remember a childhood rivalry, such as traipsing all around Asia giving lectures and carrying on with Ko Yongha of all deplorable people. Akira doesn’t understand the appeal of sleeping with someone you can’t stop yelling at, but he supposes Shindou has a weird fetish for that sort of thing, considering.
“You’re sulking, Touya,” Shindou tells him as the food arrives.
“I’m not,” Akira tells him shortly, then, as an afterthought, “At least you didn’t order ramen.”
“Life’s not all about ramen,” Shindou tells him. “And I don’t like how they make it here, anyway. Ko’s addicted to the stuff, and it’s disgusting.”
“And the truth comes out. You bonded over ramen.” He rolls his eyes, trying to keep the mood light, to act like he really couldn’t care less who Shindou has been spending his spare time with. “How like you.”
“It isn’t like you care,” Shindou tells him, and Akira wants to scream that of course he cares, anyone half-blind and stupid can see that he cares, damn it. But that time is long past. He knows all too well that you can’t go back and move a stone when you realize you’ve played the wrong hand.
“That’s right, I really don’t,” he says, his voice steady. He concentrates on his soup awhile, then adds, “It’s odd to see you here. You’re not usually around this time of year.”
“I had an obligation I couldn’t dump on someone else,” Shindou says. “It’s probably better to be here today anyway. I’ve just been wasting time every year. It’s stupid.”
Akira doesn’t know where Shindou goes, but he can deduce from the carefully neutral tone of his voice that it isn’t stupid at all and he isn’t likely to stop. When Akira looks up, his former rival looks achingly young as he stares into his bowl. “You look like you need a drink,” he says.
“Maybe,” Shindou tells him. “I’m fine, though.”
“Obviously. Where’s Ko when you’re brooding like this?” It’s irritating, horribly irritating to sit here like this with him in a tiny restaurant in Seoul and know that whatever it is that’s got Shindou upset enough to drag him out to dinner against his protests, he has thrown away the right to know. Ko has more right, and that burns.
“I don’t keep tabs on him, obviously,” Shindou snaps. “I thought you didn’t care. God, could you maybe just for ten minutes stop acting like I’m the one who hurt you?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Akira tells him, even though it’s true. It’s his fault, he reminds himself. He can’t blame anyone but himself for this.
“Which is pretty much what you said at the time, as I remember it. ‘You can’t be in love with me. That’s ridiculous.’” He takes a deep breath, shakes his head as if to clear it. “Okay, clearly I’m not okay today. That’s ancient history. We’re fine, right?”
“We’re fine,” Akira tells him, and wonders what would happen if he dared to say otherwise. It’s impossible to retrace your steps, he reminds himself. They have to play with what they have now, which isn’t much, but at least Shindou is sitting in this restaurant with him instead of going wherever he goes every spring. He’s the one who’s here, not Ko or anyone else. “You do need a drink.” He calls over a waitress, orders it.
They sit late into the night until the restaurant closes and Akira has to support Shindou’s weight all the way to the taxi. Shindou slumps against him, breathing against his neck, his lips just there, and Akira’s heart pounds all the way to the hotel. He helps Shindou up to his room, and at the door Shindou’s arms come around him, and he is whispering brokenly about everyone leaving, always leaving him alone and please, please, just for a little while, just tonight, just this night, please stay. Akira covers Shindou’s mouth with his own to stop the pleading, and it’s good, even better than he thought, incredibly hot but incredibly bitter. Shindou’s cold, trembling hands find their way under his shirt and Akira stumbles with him towards the hotel bed, his mind wonderfully blank as the light outside turns the gray of pre-dawn.
Shindou is asleep before the sun peeks in the window, but Akira is awake and finally thinking again. Shindou’s breathing is even and deep and strangely loud in the morning quiet, and Akira wonders what happens next. Should he leave? Probably. Shindou won’t want to see him after something like this. They can’t go back and start over, pretending nothing happened. But then he thinks, maybe he can resign the hopeless game he’s been playing the last couple years and begin fresh. And thinking that, he pulls Shindou closer, closes his eyes, and wills himself to sleep.
***
Three of Five: Something I Want to Say
Shindou shows up at his door, and that’s not all that unusual. It happens sometimes, generally when Akira is least desirous of company. Shindou has a knack for interrupting study sessions, meals, and sleep, because Shindou clearly has no concept of how normal people live. The fact that Akira lets him in every single time probably doesn’t say much for his self-control, but really, he argues with himself, if he didn’t, his rival would probably stand outside the gate all night and scare the neighbors.
Shindou at his door is not unusual, and Akira is, for once, not doing anything vitally important, so he isn’t opposed to letting Shindou in-at least, he isn’t until he gets a whiff of his breath and a good look at the glassy green of his eyes. “You’re drunk,” he says, somewhat appalled and a little scared because while he has seen Shindou in all manner of states and moods, he has never seen him like this.
Shindou shrugs as if to say, so? “Only a little. I hate sake,” he proclaims in a surprisingly clear voice. “It’s disgusting.”
He stumbles while trying to remove his shoes and Akira catches him more on instinct than anything. “What in the world did you drink it for, then?” he says, exasperated, and helps Shindou into the living room and onto the couch, because it’s that or stand there in the entry hall under his weight.
“Cause. Seemed like a good idea.” He shrugs again, looking put out. “Wasn’t.”
“And why did it seem like a good idea?”
“May fifth,” Shindou says, as though it explains everything. “Or will be, at midnight.” Akira isn’t at all sure he understands, but he has noticed over the years that Shindou isn’t at his best in spring, except on the goban-there, he is a demon. Just last week, he literally destroyed Akira in an Ouza league game. He doesn’t look capable of it now, rumpled and drunk and clearly miserable. “You know,” Shindou continues, and kind of tips over until his head is on Akira’s shoulder, “it’s too quiet. I can’t sleep. I think the sake was supposed to help.”
Akira lets him stay as he is, though he is blushing something fierce. At least, he reasons, he can always blame Shindou’s drunken state for this intimacy, later. “Clearly not, if you’re here.”
“Clearly,” Shindou mimics. “Too quiet. I like it better when you’re yelling at me.”
“You’re the only person in the world, Shindou, who likes being yelled at.” And he isn’t yelling, anyway. There is annoyance in his voice, sure enough, but layered thin over a tenderness he’s having a hard time disguising. Usually, Shindou is loud and brash and Akira can keep such emotions put away where they belong, but there are moments such as this when he has the overwhelming urge to comfort. Why, he wonders, did Shindou, the essence of vitality, show up at his door looking so broken?
“At least it’s noise,” Hikaru says. “Too quiet in my head, otherwise. Let’s play a game,” he decides suddenly, ambling up. Akira watches, transfixed, as he weaves towards the goban and collapses to the floor, upsetting a goke and spilling black stones everywhere.
“You need to sleep,” Akira tells him, but Shindou’s already picking up the scattered pieces. “I’ll slaughter you in your current deplorable state.”
“We’ll see,” Shindou says, doggedly collecting the stones, and Akira sighs and gives in, because he isn’t about to drag Shindou to the guest room, where he so clearly belongs. He sits, but before he can take the other goke, Shindou pulls it to his side of the board and begins laying something out.
Akira watches the framework of the game emerge with halfhearted interest that grows into confusion as he recognizes something in the pattern. When Shindou places the last stone and passes him the black, Akira stares at him. “You’re black,” he says.
“Yes,” Hikaru tells him, “I know. I was. Take it.”
“Who’s white?”
For a moment, the glassiness is gone from Shindou’s eyes, replaced with a look of such utter heartbreak that Akira finds he cannot say another word. He takes the black, looks at the board, and places his first stone. Shindou responds after a few moments, his hand shaking until Akira thinks he might drop the stone. It lands on the board with a bright pa-chi, and Akira stares at it a few moments, trying to calm the anxiety that is welling up inside him. “This is…”
“Play,” Shindou says shortly, and Akira does, no longer thinking of this game as an easy win.
They play through the night. It’s a good thing there is no one to time them, Akira thinks, because neither of them is playing in his own skin. He plays Shindou hands, placing his stones in daring, impossible places. The game grows, slow and halting as they both stop to adjust, but Shindou’s hands are no longer shaking. He plays with silent determination now. He is not playing like a drunk man at all; he certainly isn’t playing like himself.
Akira knows he is losing.
Dawn has broken outside when the game lies complete. Akira looks down at the board and thinks: five and a half moku. If it weren’t for the komi, a tied game. “Okay,” says Shindou, and he is staring at the board until Akira is sure he will be able to replay this game in his sleep. Then he slumps forward, whatever has been keeping him upright suddenly gone. “All right,” he mutters.
Akira realizes his legs are asleep and his head is pounding. Six hours? Seven? He doesn’t know anymore. Shindou is slumped over the board, covering half the game, but Akira can still envision it. “What is it?” he asks, a little breathless.
Shindou looks up at the window, and he no longer looks miserable. He’s even smiling a little as he watches the sunrise. “Let me tell you a story,” he says.
***
Four of Five: Just Like Summer Rain
Hikaru likes the rain. He purposely finds reasons to walk places and forgets his umbrella. He likes the cool water sliding over his face, plastering his hair to his forehead, beating out all his thoughts and the silence with its steady rustle against the sidewalk. He knows Akira thinks he’s a little crazy, but he also knows that no matter how wet and miserable he looks, he will be allowed to enter into the hallowed halls of the Touya household and drip on the priceless wood floors.
He allows the usual tirade to pass in one ear and out the other and accepts the towel thrust into his arms. He rubs it over his head and then shakes the water out of his ears. Akira squawks, because now he has droplets of water on his hideous sweater vest and the pristine white collar of his shirt and, Hikaru is sure, all over his dignity. “-Shaking yourself like some sort of dog, and really, Shindou, if you think I’m going to keep opening the door to you when you come around in such a state, then you had better-”
The endless stream of words cuts off as Hikaru grabs Akira by the wrist and neatly trips him into his soaking arms. This has to be timed very carefully, Hikaru knows, so that their lips meet before Akira can remember to protest. Then the stiffness pours out of Akira’s body, and he is very close and warm and soft. When Hikaru pulls back at last, Akira opens his eyes with a little sigh.
“I’m Shindou now?”
“When you annoy me,” Akira tells him. “You’re soaked.”
“You, too,” Hikaru points out, and kisses him on the nose because he is cute and miffed and the best sight he’s seen all day.
“Because of you. You’re going to catch a cold,” Akira tells him. “It’s dark already. Where have you been?”
“I missed the afternoon train,” Hikaru replies. “Anyway, it’s practically summer. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s barely May,” Akira tells him, and tugs on his sleeve. “Come on, get upstairs before you turn blue.”
Akira fills the bath and they maneuver themselves into the tub, cramped together as the steam rises around them. Hikaru traces wet patterns on the back of Akira’s neck, parting his heavy, sodden hair as the rain knocks at the window. Akira shivers under the touch of his fingers and bends forward to rest his chin on his knees. “How was Innoshima?”
“Wet,” Hikaru tells him, and smoothes lines over his shoulders where he senses tension. “It rained so hard, the ferry wasn’t running. The bridge was closed for repairs. I had to bribe this guy to take me over.”
“I’ll bet you stood in the rain all afternoon.”
“Maybe.”
“Without an umbrella.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re hopeless,” Akira says, but Hikaru can hear the smile in his voice. He leans back as much as he can, rests his back on Hikaru’s chest, his head on his shoulder. “Do you really think he’d want you to catch pneumonia and die?”
Hikaru can smile now, thinking about him, even on a day like this one, spent kneeling in a silent, rain-washed Innoshima graveyard. “He liked umbrellas. But he didn’t believe me that people had been to the moon.”
He feels Akira’s laugh rumble through him. “You make no sense.”
“If I catch a cold,” Hikaru continues, “you’ll take care of me.”
“I won’t,” Akira argues. “Not if you’re forgetting your umbrella on purpose.”
“You will,” Hikaru says with certainty.
“Maybe next year, I can go with you,” Akira says instead of refuting again. “I’d like to.”
Hikaru thinks about that a moment. The way they are now, that’s one thing, but Innoshima is something else, probably because he knows that he goes every year to mourn someone who would have stood between them always, had he not passed. He thinks that if it weren’t for Innoshima, they would never be here, like this, at all. There would be no warm slick skin under his fingers, no long hair sticking to his neck and shoulders, no one to open the door to him when he comes in out of the rain. It is almost easy conversation between them, now, what he might have wanted, might have thought, might have done, had things gone another way. But Hikaru knows very well that there was never any other way leading here.
He tightens his arms around Akira and reminds himself to put his ghosts to rest. Whatever else may be, he is here, right now. “Thanks for warming me up,” he murmurs, and he knows Akira knows this means that he isn’t ready to say anything yet. But he’ll think about it.
Akira turns, making water slosh to the floor, skin sliding against Hikaru’s in a way that makes him shiver. The look in his eyes suggests they’re about to get a great deal warmer. Water falls from the ends of his hair and meanders down Hikaru’s chest like warm, comforting raindrops. Hikaru smiles and closes his eyes.
***
Five of Five: Never Let You Go
The brisk wind over the water seems much colder than May has any right to be, but Touya’s hand is in his and that is enough to keep him warm. He takes it on instinct, with the strange feeling that if he doesn’t, Touya will blow away on the wind. And Touya lets him, twining their fingers together, looking up at the blue sky, his cheeks flushed with wind and maybe something else. The ferry rocks under them in the silence of the early morning, and Hikaru knows he is probably supposed to be sad, but he can’t work himself up when Touya is standing so close and the wind is making a tangle of his perfect hair.
They don’t speak as the ferry docks, and their hands are still linked as Hikaru pulls his rival down the path he has always preferred to walk alone: up a hill, down a winding street past shrines and houses with carp streamers snapping in the wind. Sometimes the quiet overwhelms him when he comes here and finds himself alone with sea and sky and his thoughts. It is too quiet in his head most of the time; he hasn’t had enough time to adjust to the silence. He talks to himself sometimes, walking these streets, just to block out the quiet. But Touya is here, warm and solid and real, and there isn’t any need for words until they reach the shrine and make their way through the stone markers.
Hikaru kneels and Touya follows suit. It’s strange, Hikaru thinks as he bows his head, that peace is so easy all of a sudden. He cried, coming here last year. He feels, in this place, the tug of the past. There are ghosts here, though he doubts they are the kind he has grown accustomed to. The air is full of his ghosts, his memories, his unspoken words and unfinished deeds. But the edge of grief is dull now; he kneels in the sunlight as a gull cries overhead and finds comfort instead.
This isn’t how he thought it would be. There have been no harsh words, no accusations, no animosity. Just a thoughtful look and a promise to meet him at the train station the next morning. It’s so easy it seems surreal. Hikaru wonders if Touya senses the ghosts, too. Maybe he doesn’t. It’s his place, after all, the symbol he has chosen for himself to represent what he has lost. He could just as easily go to his grandfather’s attic. It’s probably stupid to go to a shrine in a different city where the person he’s mourning isn’t even buried. Touya must think he’s an idiot. Why won’t he say anything?
He turns his head, dreading what he might find, and discovers Touya is watching him, and it strikes him all of a sudden that in all his life, he has never seen anything so beautiful as Touya’s wind-kissed cheeks and hesitant smile. “Are you okay?” Touya asks, breaking the silence, and he doesn’t sound like he thinks this was a stupid idea.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Hikaru says. “I’m glad you’re here with me. This place…”
“Yes,” Touya says, “I can tell.” Hikaru realizes their hands are still linked when his is squeezed with a sort of awkward reassurance.
It is instinct that has him leaning in to place his lips, for just a moment, at the corner of Touya’s mouth. Then Touya is staring at him, his face a shade of pink that matches his horrible shirt, and Hikaru can’t help it-he throws his arms around Touya and holds on tight before the wind can carry him away.
***
One of Five: This was the first one I wrote, and the only one I didn't rush! I was thinking, okay, worst case scenario... what could happen? It seems to me not the most likely of possibilities, but at the same time, it's got some potential so I felt it needed to be put in. I think in this fic, Akira is quite desperately in love with Hikaru, really, but too terrified and unsure of himself to do anything about it. That would make for occasional awkwardness and tension which had nothing to do with rivalry... I think maybe if Hikaru felt Akira was pulling away, he could potentially revert to his grief as well, because he might feel as though he has nothing really to anchor him in reality. Where did he go? Ah, that's the question, isn't it? I have a few theories, but I think I won't share them. Suffice to say, I doubt he's coming home.
Two of Five: I wrote this fourth, and I have to say, this is potentially my favorite of the whole set. They are such real PEOPLE here, and there is very little gloss over the ugliness that once was between them. There is a whole lot of backstory here, but let me give a quick rundown. I see Hikaru confessing his feelings, probably in a clumsy way, complete with an uninvited, inexperienced kiss, and Akira freaking. "That's ridiculous," I see him saying, because really, he has no idea what to think about ANY of this, and he's not out of his own denial far enough yet to realize there is something between him and Hikaru. And so Hikaru, in an attempt to lash out against his own pain and humiliation, lets the rivalry slide. He finds someone else who can give him a good game--and with Hikaru, there really is a penchant for mixing up professional rivalry and attraction. I will say very little about the Yongha relationship here, mainly because I am working on another fic set in this universe. What I will say, though, is that it's a rather empty way to put aside the love of your life... Hikaru probably knows it, too, but after he wakes the next morning, it's very likely he will kick Akira out. And Akira will have to spend the next year chasing him down very relentlessly before the get-drunk-have-desperate-sex-wake-up-realize cycle happens again a year later, at which point, Hikaru will probably reconsider *lol*
Three of Five: Written third and my least favorite of the set. I think I'd like it a lot more if I had had a chance to make it longer; as it is, it feels like it lumbers along like a wounded bear instead of flowing as it should. You may have noticed a word in the title has changed--my fault, that. I'm clearly too retarded to listen to the song properly the first two hundred times. The concept is fun though--a pre-relationship fic in which they both sense they are getting near some sort of resolution. Hikaru probably thought that before they did, it would be better to tell. Then got drunk, trying to get to sleep so he could go in the morning. Then decided he couldn't wait and went in the middle of the night *lol* I like the idea of them finishing that last Sai game this way, too, and it was probably self indulgence on my part that made the game a tie (therefore with a 5.5 moku difference, as I am using this number all over the place anyway). I think once Hikaru tells the story, Akira will sit there, staring at him dumbly for a few minutes. Then, after the weirdness of the game they have just played, decide to give in and believe. They'll probably resolve personal feelings as well at some point in the near future... I will admit, either Four of Five or Five of Five could follow this in reasonable succession, Four of Five a year later, Five of Five the next day. I don't see any of them as connected, but if you want a connection, that is probably the only one that's there ^_^.
Four of Five: I wrote this second, looking for a peaceful, settled feeling after the unsettled ending of One. The relationship here is obviously established. There is a certain long intimacy implied with sitting in the bathtub together, just sitting, getting warm, talking. It seems to me a poignant picture, not really sexual so much as warm. This fic is obviously unique because Akira knows all about Sai and accepts it as part of the way things are. If you choose to link this with Three (and maybe Five) then you have some idea how he told, if not, well... make up your own mind ^_^. I do think Hikaru will take Akira to Innoshima someday, but at this point, I think he sees his relationship with Akira and his relationship with Sai as existing in completely different worlds that he's scared to merge. I don't think he's completely wrong. If Sai had not vanished, I don't think Hikaru and Akira would ever have come to be so close, because there simply would not have been ROOM (that, and a ghost watching you trying to figure out sex would probably be a real downer, pun definitely intended).
Five of Five: The last thing I wrote, with the deadline looming and in a state of utter panic. The fact that I managed to protray a sort of peace amazes me considering the state I was in *lol* Still, there's a bit of buzz in the air in this one... anticipation of a sort. I don't really see this linked with Four as it has to happen before, because again, I don't see an established relationship here. I see the POTENTIAL for one, and clearly so do my protagonists. I think Hikaru's impulsive little kiss is probably the first (of many, we hope!) and as for Akira, I'm not sure of much regarding him here except his inhibitions are about as far down as they come. I think he sees this trip to Innoshima as a sort of pilgrimage, rather like Hikaru does. Whether or not he feels what Hikaru feels in that graveyard is basically irrelevant. He believes because he wants to believe. Happily ever after ^_^.
All in all? Awesome experience. I will be doing this again!